His innocent weakness
“is just for fun.”
Heat climbed up my neck. “And what’s the fun one supposed to mean?”
“You’d have to find out for yourself.” His voice dipped low again, and I swore my heart skipped.
One of his friends Ryan grin leaned in then, resting an elbow on the table.
“You’re not the only one with ink worth showing off,” he said, tugging up his own sleeve.
The tattoo was intricate, swirling with roses and blades, like beauty tangled with danger.
The other two joined in, each showing me their designs a phoenix across one’s back that peeked over his collar, a serpent winding down another’s arm in precise, dangerous curves.
Bab Populer