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“Gotta fly, bro.” I snatch my keys.
“To where?”
“I’ll show you later,” I call over my shoulder, bolting out the door, not even knowing what time it is.
I start the engine of my old Jeep Wrangler—it’s a classic from the ’90s and is still going strong for me—and check the clock.
“Eleven fourteen,” I mumble.
The tattoo parlor in the middle of town should be open by now.
Reversing out of the drive, I’m grateful it didn’t snow last night. Digging it out is a bitch of a job, and whoever leaves first has to do it.
The weather hasn’t been too bad considering it’s mid-February. We’ll get another dump of heavy snow before the winter’s out. Colorado always delivers, right?
I start wondering if I should try to be squeezing in a boarding weekend at some point, but until hockey season is over, I basically have no life. Between study, tutoring, practices, and game play, I can only just squeeze in the odd party and lunch break.
I’m not complaining. I love hockey, and I’ll do whatever it takes to go pro, but the fact that after I get this tattoo, I’m gonna have to go back to Hockey House and spend the afternoon studying is hardly thrilling.
But I’ve got to keep my grades up. My scholarship demands it.
Pulling onto Main Street, I drive the length of it, then take a left, ducking into a small parking lot. My Jeep shudders as I brake too hard, and I have to remind myself to slow the fuck down.
I’m wiped out after the away games. They were tough, intense. We lost one, won the other, and ended up busing back to campus on a high. But when you’re dragging your ass in the door at two in the morning after a few celebratory drinks, then spend your night dreaming about a redhead who just won’t leave you alone, the exhaustion is inevitable.
The bell dings above the door, taking me back in time to my first tattoo and the Japanese goddess who gave it to me. She also took my V-card that night, and she has been impossible to forget. The dragon on my back was my attempt to get over her. It kinda worked, plus all the random sex I had when I started college. That helped. It helped a lot. And it’s probably what I need to do to get over Lil’ Red.
But let’s start with a tat.
“Hey, Case.” The chick behind the counter smiles at me, her multiple piercings moving as she talks. They always do. She has an expressive face, which pulls the different rings and studs—from her eyebrow to her nose to her lips and tongue—in different directions. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yeah, I’ve been busy.” I lean my hands on the counter, tapping my finger. “Don’t suppose there’s a chance you can fit me in. Just a little quick one on my wrist.” I stretch my arm out and point to a clear spot just above my watch strap.
Her lips pull to the side as she checks her computer screen. “You know what? My eleven fifteen is running late, so fuck it. You can take his place. Come on back.”
“You’re the best.”
She smirks at me. “I know.”
We walk behind the curtain, and I head to my usual chair, waving to… shit, why am I so useless with names?
“Case, my man!” He grins at me, coming over to slap my hand and give me a quick hug. He pats my shoulder before I step back with a grin.
“Hey.” I point at his neck tattoo. “That’s looking good.”
“Thanks.” He cranes his neck so I can get a better view. “We just finished it last week.”
“It’s awesome.”
“What are you in here for?”
“Just a little something on my wrist.”
“Ah.” The guy starts to laugh. “Who was she?”
He knows me too fucking well.
I answer the question with a little smirk and head to my chair.
