“Stop,” she says, pushing my hands away. She turns and points to her hip, showing the artist where she wants her flower and how it should fit on her body.
“You’ll have to pull your shorts down a bit,” he says, watching my reaction. “Lie on your side.” He nods toward the table and waits for her. With her shirt lifted and her shorts hanging lower than I’d like them to be in public, he sets her design on her and pulls away the paper.
Her flower will sit just above her hipbone with vines above and below. Small stars will be added as accents.
“What color do you want the flower?”
“Purple,” she answers.
I pull a chair closer to her and hold her hand. She looks at me, her eyes showing concern. “You’ll be fine. You’ve given birth to twins, this will seem easy.”
She rolls her eyes and scoots her head closer to me. She rests there, waiting. I lean down and kiss her on the nose. She stiffens when the gun turns on. I know she’s nervous. I was too when I got my first one, but I know she’ll do just fine and will likely want another one soon.
As soon as the needle touches her skin, she squeezes my hand. I watch her for any sign of distress, but see none. She keeps her eyes closed, likely concentrating on her happy place. Where that is, I don’t know, she won’t tell me. Either way, if it keeps her calm and levelheaded, she can go there whenever she wants.
I was informed of said happy place when we moved into the house. Combining two households was a nightmare. We had a mix match of stuff and it didn’t blend. A week after we moved in, I threw my hands up and took her shopping. I told her that for seven days the kids and I had listened about how nothing matches and now she can have whatever she wants. She balked at first, saying she can go to her happy place and make it work. I didn’t know what that meant, but each day she was spending more and more time there and I’d had enough. She finally relented and bought a houseful of furniture. Now everything is new and ours – which I think was the problem from the get-go.
I kissed Katelyn for the first time in front of the kids on the day that we told them we were moving in together. I figured it was a good time. It was much easier than I thought it would be – kissing her. She gathered them in her living room and told them we had some news. Elle asked if she was going to be a princess again, referring to her stint as Josie’s flower girl. Peyton didn’t say anything. But Quinn, he looked at me and smiled. He knew. I cupped Katelyn’s face and planted one square on her lips.
I wasn’t sure what Quinn would think, but he, along with the girls, said it was going to be cool since they spent most of their time together anyway. Peyton asked if she and I would still practice together, and I told her nothing would change, except I’d be around more. The kids seemed to like that idea.
I look over at the design taking shape on her side. The impure thoughts are rampant. I can’t wait to lick, kiss and nip every square inch of her body. When she asked me what I thought about her getting a tattoo, I showed her. Words didn’t even come close to describing what I thought. We played a little game that night – it was ‘let Harrison find the location of the tattoo’ – each time I thought I was close, she’d tell me I wasn’t and I had to start all over again. I loved that game.
“How does it look?”
“Sexy.”
She pushes me in the shoulder. “It doesn’t look sexy. I looked up the procedure online. I’m sure it’s red and gross looking.”
I lean in and whisper, “Baby, nothing on you is gross looking.”
She snuggles into my neck and places small kisses there. I refuse to move, relishing in the attention. There are two sides of Katelyn. I learned this as well after we started living together.
There’s the mom side. That Katelyn is on her game. She’s making breakfast for five, packing three lunches, checking homework, doing all our laundry and making dinner. She dresses in tight ass yoga pants and has her hair piled on top of her head. Believe it or not, this is my dirty girl Katelyn. This is my, come-home-at-lunch–for-a-quickie, Katelyn.
Then there’s the shy, reserved Katelyn. That’s what I have now. She wants to be held and caressed and will show affection, as long as it’s hidden from everyone else. She’s not afraid to let it be known that I’m hers though, but it takes some good goading for her to be flashy about our relationship. This is the Katelyn that I get at night when we’re all sitting around watching TV. She’ll curl up in a chair or I’ll come home to find all three kids piled around her.
The first time I saw her and Quinn sitting together, I thought I was going to lose my shit. I almost broke down and cried like a baby. She treats him as her own and that is more than I could ask for.
“You’re done,” the artist says.
Katelyn bends to look. She gasps and covers her mouth. “It’s beautiful.”
“I told you,” I say, kissing her temple.
He covers it and gives her the instructions that I have memorized. When she hops down from the table, I pull her to me. I kiss her once and move aside, taking my shirt off as I do.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“It’s my turn.” I jump up on the table just as the artist returns with my sketch.
“Where?” he asks.
I point to my chest and he nods.
“What are you getting?”
“You’ll see.”