“Not a comp—”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.” I rubbed my hands together.
He took a breath. “You’re sick. I’m never playing Monopoly with you and Skip. It would destroy us.”
“Stalling.”
“I’ve only moved twice. I’ve broken three bones. I have a butterfly tattoo.”
“No broken bones,” I said.
This time his mouth dropped open. “How?” he asked seriously.
I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh my God. You have to show me that tattoo.”
“What!” He stood up. “No way. There’s no way you could have known about that.”
“Show me this tattoo,” I said threateningly.
I had no idea how I knew. Just like I had no idea how he knew so much about me. But I had to see that damn tattoo.
“No.” He crossed his arms looking genuinely upset that he lost that round. I had spotted the hidden ace up his sleeve.
“Show. Me.” I glared my most threateningly.
He reeled back with a grimace. “I’m going to regret this.” He turned to put his back to me and started to unbutton his pants.
“No.” I covered my mouth unable to contain my giddy excitement.
He lowered his pants just enough to show a tiny black tattoo at the base of his spine.
“It’s a butterfly.” I couldn’t stop the laughter. I couldn’t care less that I sounded like a crazed hyena. “You have a tramp stamp!” I had tears falling from my eyes I was laughing so hard.
He turned back to me and buttoned his pants. “I’ll have you know that this was done by one of the best artists in Denver. This beaut set me back a few hundo.”
In his defense, from what I was able to see, it was a beautiful tattoo. Black in a contemporary style with fine line work and clearly handled by a talented artist. I wanted more time to look at it but I couldn’t exactly ask him to let me stare at his ass.
Or could I? No, be a professional.
“How? Why? I must know everything.” I sat up and wiped the residual tears from my eyes.
“No,” he said haughtily. “You haven’t earned that story yet. Let’s move on.”
“Better than an ex’s name, I guess,” I said sobering.
“I would never do that. Everybody knows it’s bad luck. Plus, I’ve never loved anybody near enough for that sort of commitment.”
“Dark,” I said. I wanted to ask more but wasn’t about to delve into my past in exchange. Had that been a little skull hidden in the pattern of the wings?
“Your turn, Roxxo,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “That’s it. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I’m out for blood now.”
“I thought it wasn’t a competition,” I said. He growled and I chewed on my lip to think. “I was proposed to by the guy who married Sienna Diaz. My parents forgot me so many times after school the bus route added a special stop just for me. I had two dogs growing up, Rex One and Rex Two.”
This time his answer wasn’t immediate but his eyes wrinkled a bit at the side. Suddenly, I feared I gave too much away. I fussed with some gravel at my feet as he sat back down in front of me.
“No dogs?”
“No dogs.” I shrugged. “Always wanted one though.” He looked like he was about to ask another question, so I quickly added, “I’m still winning.”
