“I look like a frat boy.”
She laughed. “You look like my boss. Otherwise, it’s a very tempting offer.”
Our bodies were still close, and she turned back to the control panel. Heat radiated between us, and if I leaned slightly forward, I could take her lips. Soft at first, then deeper. “What are you? Thirty-two?”
“Rude!”
That made me laugh. “You started it!”
She exhaled, shaking her head and stepping away as the doors opened. “Add five and you win.”
I hung back, admiring how those capris hugged her ass. “Seven years is not that much older.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re horny.”
“You only live once.”
“Exactly.” She turned away from me and back to her computer. “Find a girl closer to your own age.”
At that I shrugged, “Suit yourself.”
Neither waiting nor begging was my style. She might change her mind with a little break to think about it, and in the meantime, I had to take care of my other problem. Opening my laptop, I typed in “Living Arts” and “tattoos.” A professional-looking website popped up, and I grabbed my phone, punching in the address.
This afternoon, I’d have the final evidence of my irritating past removed.
* * *
Living Arts Tattoo Parlor was located in what appeared to be the head part of town. It was squeezed between a shop that specialized in likely illegal pot paraphernalia and another that had nothing but crystals of all shapes and sizes hanging in the windows. It was nearly impossible to imagine Mr. Gucci Alexander coming here for anything.
Figuring I’d have to stay a few hours, I’d stopped by my apartment and changed into faded blue jeans and a T-shirt. When I’d had the tattoo put on, a biker chick and two inked-up guys cultivating the ex-con look had run that establishment. Entering Living Arts, I didn’t expect to see a petite girl—woman?—waiting behind the counter for the next customer.
Her skin was ivory-white and contrasted starkly with her artificially black hair and red-velvet lips. At first glance her hair appeared long and swept over her shoulder, but the closer I got, I realized it was actually cut short on one side, tapering off at an angle and down the other. Asymmetrical or whatever.
I was ready to dismiss her when she hit me with a pair of ice blue eyes that made my stomach tighten. They were beautiful, although when they met mine they narrowed and blinked down to the counter. Her lips pressed together into a frown.
I didn’t know what any of that meant, and I didn’t care. Shit, Nikki was right. I was too keyed up for my own good. Shaking it off, I glanced around to see who might work on my arm. A beefy skinhead covered in ink was chatting and working on another guy getting what looked like a full-back tat. They’d be a while. Nobody else was in the place, so I turned back to the girl.
“Hey,” I said and waited.
Her hands fluttered over a stack of papers on the counter, and she didn’t look up. “Can I help you?” Her voice was small but defiant.
She still wouldn’t look at me, so I allowed my eyes to travel over her thin body. Dark jeans were slung low on her hips, and they were so tight, they made her look like she had an ass, which I was pretty sure she didn’t. A
bove a thin strip of pale mid-drift she had on a black, transparent blouse that draped over one shoulder. A black tube top was underneath, and her skin was smooth and free of ink. Odd.
“Yeah,” I cleared my throat, double-checking for anyone else. “I have a reworking job for… somebody.”
That’s when her eyes met mine again, but now hers were confused. “Reworking?”
I gave her The Smile, and she blinked quickly away, seeming irritated. Ignoring her response, I stretched my arm out to her, palm up.
“I think there’s a rule that as soon as you get their name tattooed on you, it’s over.”
She studied the cursive Stacy on my inner forearm, and for whatever reason, that broke the ice slightly. Her red lips parted over straight white teeth. “What happened with Stacy?”
“Long story,” I said. “Can somebody help me?”
She exhaled as she leaned down then hefted a huge binder containing plastic-coated sheets onto the counter. Flipping large chunks over and over, she stopped in the back on a page of line drawings.