Page 9 of Midnight Ink

Until I get my own shop.

“How old are you?”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I’m curious by nature.”

“I think you’re nosy.”

“Curious by nature sounds more whimsical.”

“Whimsical?” He shakes his head. “I don’t trust whimsical.”

“Pessimist.”

“No. Just . . . severely over everything and everyone.”

“At the ripe old age of . . .” I wait, smirking when I see his eyes give in.

He stares flatly. “Nineteen.”

Old enough for a tattoo. “Well, since you’re killing time and my plans just fell through, I have a proposition.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Excuse me.” I scoff. “You can’t afford me, sweetheart.”

I expect him to scowl, but instead a soft blush sprinkles across his nose. Oh. Okay then. I look at the pale skin available to me and don’t see a tattoo in sight. “Dare to be a little reckless?”

“I don’t really do reckless.”

“Well, can I interest you in a dash of danger? I promise you’ll be back at your apartment in one solid healthy piece.” I look down at his drawing. “Have you ever tattooed before?”

“No.”

I smile. “I’m a tattoo artist.”

He looks at my arms. I have a few, but I plan to get covered. “Yeah?”

“Aspiring tattoo artist. And you see that Vietnamese girl over there with the black hair and scowl?” He cranes his neck and finds Anna.

“Yeah?”

“That’s my best friend, and she had to cancel her appointment with me tonight. Which means I’m free if you want to get a tattoo.”

“Are you high?”

“No. Unfortunately. Why, you got some?” I wink.

His dimples sink with his laugh. “Sure thing. I’ll just go with a stranger and get a tattoo. Real smart.” He shakes his head and goes back to his book. “How do I even know you’re any good?”

I lean in, smiling. “Oh baby, I’m the best.”

I watch his cheeks light up. “You’re an idiot. I meant at tattoos.”

I flip my wrist over. It’s small and not as detailed as I want, but it’s the first one I did on myself. “I did this.” He looks at the Puerto Rican flag on my wrist. “I also have a bunch on my legs. A unicorn, a rubber duck⁠—”

“A rubber duck?”