Page 38 of Lost & Found

“What did you think?” he asked, his tone teasing as if he already knew the answer.

I rolled my eyes. “Impressive. But we both know Kinsley was the centerpiece. You’re the backdrop.”

He chuckled, a sound that resonated with the self-confidence he wore like a second skin. “Backdrop, huh? Princess, I steal the show every time.”

“Wow. Your ego is growing by the minute. Might want to dial it down a little.”

“That’s not the only thing growing.”

His words were low enough that the girls didn’t catch them. His hand sensually swept across his chest, down his stomach, and my stupid eyes trailed the movement like Phineas bird watching. They stopped just shy of the waistband of his stretch jeans. I sputtered, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

“You have issues, you know,” I stammered, placing my hands on my hips.

“That mind of yours again. Damn girl. I meant your new look. It’s growing on me. I like it,” he said. There was that light rasp to his words, and it had the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.

Kinsley handed him his water bottle. “I refilled it for you,” she said. “Isabella Caruso, is that a nose ring?” she said, grabbing my face and twisting it closer. “When did you get that?”

I groaned, detangling her hands. “Yesterday. If you weren’t tied up, literally you might have seen it.”

Her face turned ten shades red as Pasha laughed. “You’re not supposed to tell my secrets.”

“Then maybe you should preface your late-night texts with that then.”

“I’m heading to the shower. We’ll practice it again tomorrow, mouse. You ready for our session later?” He turned his attention to me.

My stomach flipped. I nervously nibbled on the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with this time. Probably something wild and crazy.”

“Those are my middle names,” he said, walking away with that cocky swagger in his step.

I was lying on my back in the half-reclined tattoo chair. We were twenty minutes in and aside from the initial pain when she started, I loved being under her needle. The sting barely registered now. I’d grown used to it. I was becoming a walking art gallery of her work.

In addition to the lion on my chest, my right arm—which was what we were working on today—had a series of roses and skulls intricately interwoven and blending seamlessly into one another. I didn’t ask to see the designs anymore, giving her free rein.

“Can I ask you something?” I ventured.

“Of course.”

“How do you control the saturation?” I nodded my head toward her hand.

“With a lot of care, a deep understanding of skin anatomy and how it interacts with the ink. Everyone is different, so it’s all about being mindful and adjusting the technique to deliver the best results for each individual client.”

“Interesting, so it’s a lot like dancing then.”

“I suppose so. It’s about finding that perfect rhythm. I’ve always wondered, are you as fluent with other women like you are with Kinsley?”

“You’ve seen me dance with other women. You tell me?”

“Actually, I’ve only seen you dance with one other woman. So if I was basing it on that, then, no.”

Her brow furrowed, and I wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but her eyes flashed with confusion, and she spoke again. This time, sarcasm laced her words.

“You know you can wear a vest since we’re only doing your arm. No need to bare your chest for the world to see.” Isabella brought the needle down.

“And deprive Sandra up-front from getting her eye candy.”

“It’s Stephanie. If you’re going to try to get in her pants, probably should get her name right.” She leaned closer, moving the gun carefully and with precision.

I breathed her in deeply. Her scent was as complex as her personality. It was berries and something soft beneath them. Floral maybe. I could never quite place it and was too embarrassed to ask.