Page 42 of Spring Break Fling

But was tattooing really art?

Did Nikko actually enjoy looking at art? That was not something I had considered. What an odd man.

But I wasn’t going to go. He was not going to distract me again. This little revenge game was not going to help me win in my career. I would just have to have someone else fix the tattoo.

Game over.

I forfeited.

14

NIKKO

Ipulled up to the curb of Hannah’s hotel in my Toyota Supra. The valet, who couldn’t have been older than twenty, gave me a onceover like he couldn’t decide if I belonged there. I was used to it.

I ignored him, leaning casually on the hood of my car while I waited for Hannah. I knew there was a chance she might not show up. She might want to play hard to get.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored that too. All my attention was focused on the entrance. If she didn’t show up, I was going to knock on her room door.

She was going to learn I wasn’t the type to give up so easily.

“Sir, you need⁠—”

I held up my hand to stop the valet’s demand I move. My attention was completely on Hannah.

Holy hell.

She looked like she’d walked straight out of my fantasies and into reality—curves poured into a black dress that somehow managed to be both classy and sinful at the same time. Strappy black heels showed off legs that made my mouth dry, and the cropped jacket gave her an edge I hadn’t seen before.

“Damn,” I said as she approached, because that was about all my brain could manage.

She arched an eyebrow, amused. “If I’d known you’d clean up this well, I might have dressed up a little.”

She was giving me shit. We both knew she was dressed to the nines. And she looked fucking hot.

“Oh, I clean up just fine,” I said, opening the car door for her. She slid in gracefully. I took a second to collect myself before getting in on my side.

I almost regretted not putting just a little more effort into what I was wearing. I put on my good black jeans. The ones I only wore when I was trying to be fancy. My good black ankle boots and a black button-up that I knew fit me just right. It wasn’t much, but it was the best version of me dressing up.

I started the car and glanced over at her for a second look. The delicate aroma of her perfume filled the space. It was subtle yet intoxicating—just like her.

“Not on the bike tonight?” she teased as I merged into traffic.

“You didn’t seem like you enjoyed it much the first time.”

She laughed, fiddling with the edge of her jacket. “I was terrified for my life, but that’s beside the point.”

I smirked. “So, you’re welcome.”

“I was fully prepared to tell you I couldn’t come tonight because I was wearing a dress,” she said. “I wasn’t about to get on that bike wearing this.”

“Why not?”

“Um, besides the obvious.”

“My body would be in front of you, blocking the view of things.”

She giggled softly. “There is that, but I’m just not sure that’s a look I want for myself.”