FOUR
The bench is adjusted so Russia’s seated in a reclined position, his left arm stretched out in front of him on a placeholder. The stencil’s been placed, adjusted, and I look up at him from my seated position, eyebrow raised.
“You finally good to go?” I ask, licking at my bottom lip, and I don’t want to talk about how my entire body feels engulfed in flames when he watches my mouth for a second too long, my attention span and focus taking a critical hit.
It’s honestly warm in here, the back of my neck getting damp enough that I have to shake out my hair like a dog, from side to side, to build up a breeze back there, trying to cool myself down.
We’ve got the radio station on the Top 40 hits, all songs I can hum and bop along to as I get my mind in gear for preparing for the tattoo,
