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Drop it, the soft, weak part of me says. Go back to your car. Eat a gas station dinner and admit defeat. Everything I’ve done in this town so far has been a gigantic waste of time. I’ve heard a ton of angry words today. No reason to think this’ll be any different… except maybe this time I won’t get away unscathed.
I’m strong,I remind myself. I’ve got this.
I take three deep breaths and haul my exhausted ass off the bench. Then, as if an invisible force is driving me, I march toward the shop.
It looks darker than before.Maybe he just closed up. I squint through the barred windows, seeing nothing.
Okay, I can leave now. I can quit feeling all breathless and stirred up.
I’ve tried my best. Box ticked.
I wipe my perspiring palms on my jeans and turn to go—
And the door swings open.
My heart lurches, but I turn back slowly.
There’s no one there. Strange.
I take a deep, calming breath and walk up two dark stone steps. My legs are like jell-o. I’m not sure if I’m going to make it—
As I cross the threshold, he appears.
Holy crap, he’s tall. Massively built, too. His face is partially hidden in the shadows, but I make out dark hair, a beard, and glowing green eyes.
He frowns, looking me up and down.
I expect him to say something. Like, hello, or come in. Or—more appropriate to Perdue Town—fuck off.
But he doesn’t say a word. Just scans me, silently, while my body tingles.
“H-hi,” I stutter. My mouth has turned as dry as dust. “I’m interested in getting a tattoo.”
Damn.Now I really sound like an idiot. Should’ve thought this one through.
He gives a deep nod and gestures into the store.
I take several more steps. When the door swings shut behind me, I’m so keyed up, I jump and choke down a yelp.
He makes a soft sound—chuckle, growl, I’m not sure what.
A light flicks on, and I think my mouth just fell open. Because he’s the most scarily handsome man I’ve seen in my life.
He’s all hard lines—square jaw, razor-sharp cheekbones, and straight, firm lips. Thick black eyebrows sit low over narrow green eyes. His hair is jet-black, razored at the sides and left longer on top, and his beard is sharply sculpted. A long, silvery scar marks his left cheek, and tattoos creep up from the neck of his black T-shirt.
“A tattoo?” he says, and there might be something mocking in his tone, but I only notice it tangentially, because, his voice—
It’s growly, gravelly, like an avalanche of boulders cascading right through me and knocking me senseless.
“Yeah. Do I need to make an appointment?” I manage to croak.
He spreads his hands. Which, like the rest of him, are huge. The backs of them are covered in tattoos, while his palms are paler and callused. Rough hands. Perfect for running over my…
“So happens I’ve got a free spot right now,” he says.
I gulp. I’m not really planning on getting a tattoo, of course. But I was hoping I could buy some time, get him to loosen up until I could slip in a couple of pertinent questions.
I’m doing well so far. He’s gotten me so flustered I can’t even think straight.
