Adam’s POV
The first rays of sunlight had barely stretched across the sky when I slipped out of Emily's bed, careful not to wake her.
Her bare shoulder peeked out from beneath the sheets, and for a second, I paused, watching her chest rise and fall gently in sleep. My shirt was on the floor, crumpled near the edge of the bed. I grabbed it, threw on my jeans, and crept out like some secret agent escaping enemy territory.
Jogging home in the early morning air was strangely refreshing. The cool breeze helped cool down the thoughts swirling in my head—the way Emily had whispered my name, the warmth of her skin, the way she had looked at me like I was something more than just a temporary fix.
I barely tossed my keys on the kitchen counter before heading straight into the bathroom. The hot water hit my skin like a slap, and I leaned against the tiles, letting the steam fog up everything except my thoughts.
"What the hell are we doing?" I muttered to myself.
My phone buzzed from the sink.
"Crap," I said, cutting the water and stepping out, grabbing a towel as I wiped the foggy mirror. I checked the screen—three missed calls from Steve.
"Bowling," I groaned. "Damn it."
I quickly texted him:
Sorry, man. Something came up. Rain check?
I didn’t wait for a reply. My fingers were already curling around my car keys again.
I had to go back.
Maybe it was stupid. Maybe I was setting myself up for some serious emotional whiplash, but I couldn’t just leave things like that—not with her.
By the time I got back to Emily’s place, I half expected her to still be asleep, tangled in sheets and dreams.
But when I opened the door, she was already up. Fully dressed.
Our eyes locked. Hers widened. So did mine.
"You came back," she said, her voice sharp with surprise, almost like she was caught doing something she shouldn’t.
"Yeah, well… I promised to take you for that tattoo, remember?" I rubbed the back of my neck. "Didn’t think you’d be up so fast."
She blinked, then smirked. "Didn’t think you’d be back so soon."
"Touché," I muttered, then nodded toward her outfit. "Where were you headed?"
She shrugged. "Honestly? I just needed to get out of the house. It felt… suffocating."
That word hit me right in the chest.
"I get that," I said. "Let’s go."
I held the door open for her, and she stepped out with a small smile.
Once we got into the car, the silence was awkward at first, until I broke it.
"So… last night."
She groaned and turned to face the window.
"Too soon?" I grinned.
"Adam," she said, warning in her voice.
"Hey, I’m just saying. It was... unexpected."
"And yet, here you are."
"Yeah. Guess that says something, huh?"
She looked at me, her cheeks tinged pink. "Maybe."
The rest of the drive was easier. We joked about the broken shower in her apartment, how terrible my driving was, and whether or not she should get a tattoo of a turtle riding a skateboard.
"So, any ideas for the tattoo?" I asked as we pulled into the shop’s parking lot.
"Nope. Surprise me."
I stared at her. "You serious?"
She nodded. "Just make sure it’s something meaningful. And not stupid."
I held up my hands. "You wound me. I am the king of thoughtful gestures."
She raised a brow. "Prove it."
Inside the tattoo shop, the buzz of needles and low music filled the air. The guy at the counter looked like he’d seen more ink than sunlight.
"Hey, man," I said. "Got time for a small piece?"
"Depends. What are we working on?"
"Stomach tattoo. She doesn’t want to know what it is yet."
Emily added quickly, "He’s choosing. I trust him."
The artist blinked. "Alright then. This way."
We followed him into the back room, and I leaned in to whisper the word to him. His eyebrows raised slightly, but he didn’t comment. Just nodded and prepped his tools.
Emily lay on the bench, lifting her shirt to expose her stomach. She turned her head to me, eyes wide.
"Hold my hand."
"Already here."
The moment the needle touched her skin, she hissed.
"Ow, ow, ow! This was a mistake," she gritted through clenched teeth.
I squeezed her hand. "Breathe, Em. You’re doing great."
The buzzing went on for another fifteen minutes. Her grip didn’t ease for a second.
When it finally stopped, she sat up slowly.
"Alright," the artist said, wiping her skin gently and applying a thin sheet of film over it. "You want to see it?"
Emily looked at me. I nodded toward the mirror.
She walked over, lifted the film gently, and looked down.
Her mouth dropped.
She turned to me, eyes wide, stunned silence hanging between us.
"You… you chose this?"
I gave her a small smile, and she blinked hard, and for a moment, I thought she might cry.
There, etched in beautiful cursive across her lower stomach were the five words:
"To Love and Be Loved."