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He remained quiet through the next tattoo—a small moon, on some girl’s shoulder. She was a new werewolf, if her horny-smelling, grinning mate was anything to go off of.
When they left, I let out a long breath.
Cleaning my supplies was all muscle memory, and I let my mind wander back to my little vampire as I did so. I kept glancing at the clock, though. Waiting for her.
She was five minutes late when I finished the cleaning.
My chest was rumbling in a low growl—my frustration making it a struggle not to grab my keys and drive to her place.
I gave her another few minutes before I stopped fighting my instincts, but there was a knock at the studio’s door as soon as my fist closed around the keys.
I released them with a slow breath.
Why was she knocking?
The place was unlocked.
I crossed the room, taking in the shape of her body through the dark windows and door.
Just the sight of her had me growing hard—and relaxing.
I tugged the door open, and silently inhaled her scent as I let her in.
My shoulders relaxed further as the sweet smell of her flooded my space.
Shit…
This was what I’d needed.
Which was infuriating, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
“You smell different,” I said, studying her. She was wearing one of her little dresses, like before, but it had wrinkles in it like it had been folded until recently.
“Uh, that’s rude.” She folded her arms over her chest, eyes scanning the studio’s walls.
“You didn’t need to knock.Don’tneed to knock. If I’m here, it’s unlocked.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
She waited where she’d stopped, just inside the door.
“Come on.” I headed into the back room, fighting the itch to grab her hand and lead her back. My equipment was stored back there on shelves, and there was a small table inside with just one chair in front of it. I’d never had anyone join me for lunch or anything; it didn’t seem like the kind of place I should bring Lucas.
Mostly because I could still remember Elle’s critical remarks about how tattoos couldn’t be a career.
She’d wanted me to be a doctor—absolutely loved doctors. Because she’d had cancer for so long, I guessed loving them or hating them was a given.
To her, the work they did made my chosen path seem unimportant, but that didn’t change how much I liked it.
And, half to spite her, I’d finally opened my studio in town about two years ago.
The other half was because I got tired of trying to clean my equipment in my trailer’s tiny sink, frankly.
“Are these like sample books?” Iris asked, picking up one of the binders stored neatly on the shelf.
“Yeah.” I dipped my head, sliding my hands in my pockets when she didn’t just grab me and bite me.
I wasn’t great at interacting with her—didn’t know what to say, or how to say it.
