Tats, Calder and Sutton

“Let’s get matching tattoos.”

Calder looks up from his drink, the one he’s been nursing since we walked into the bar.

I can always tell when he’s going to say no to something I want to do. Because he chews on it for too long. Like he’s trying to reject the idea of not giving me everything I ask for.

So before he can speak, I lean forward, whispering, “Say yes,” before I skate the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip and kiss him.

He doesn’t move or kiss me back, but when I pull away, he’s grinning.

“So, are you going to say yes?” I whisper sweetly.

“Baby, I sure as hell ain’t gonna say no. But if I hear you even squeak because it hurts too bad. I’ll break his fucking hands.”