“I…uh. I should replace your shoes,” she says, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m so sorry. They got ruined just because you were trying to do a good thing.”
I shake my head. “Nah. Not a problem. Both these shoes and I have been through much worse. They’ll dry.” I lift the cup in mock salute. “Consider us even. Really good coffee. Best I’ve had in Star Falls yet.”
She smiles, and the action softens her considerably.
She’s got jet-black hair that doesn’t look dyed. It’s glossy and cut in long layers that frame her face. She’s wearing a loose-fitting tank top with a skull made out of roses on it and a tighter tank underneath. It’s hard not to notice the cleavage that seems to want to be anywhere but hidden. Her arms and the backs of her hands are covered in tattoos. She looks and sounds scary as hell, but up close, when she smiles, she’s pure sugar.
“My brother’s wife,” she explains, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “Next door. They make the best coffee in town. And peanut butter crisps. But you got to get there early because they sell out fast.”
I nod in thanks. “I’m an early riser,” I tell her, not sure why I’m offering so much personal information to a total stranger. “I’ll have to try them someday.”
I give her a smile, but something stops me from grabbing the door handle. I should go. I mean, Ishouldjust leave. What I came here for is something I definitely don’t need. Hell, I’m not even sure I want a tattoo. But I’m here now and have a few more hours to myself. I can afford to linger. Even if it is just to talk to a beautiful woman for a couple more minutes.
It’s been so long…
And with this woman, it feels easy. Way too easy.
The way she’s looking at me feels like she’s thinking about saying more too. With just a lift of one of those perfectly shaped brows, she’s expressive and thoughtful. I’d always know where I stood with a woman like this, and that feeling intrigues me.
“Did you have an appointment?” she asks, sounding both a little confused and a little suspicious.
“No,” I admit. “No appointment.”
“But you came here for a tattoo?” she presses.
Her gaze skating over my body is as sensuous as a caress. My skin heats under her appraisal.
“Yeah…” I laugh awkwardly. “I did want a tattoo. I still do, maybe? I thought I’d come in, look at a few pictures, get ignored by some hipster at the front desk, and feel ashamed enough of myself to never think about getting a tattoo again.”
“Why would you be ashamed?” she asks again with that brow.
I consider her question, and I debate being honest. I’d actually prepared an answer just in case anyone did ask me what I was doing here. It felt better having something prepared so I wouldn’t be surprised into giving anyone the whole truth. At least, not before I am ready.
I hold up my arms, the last dregs of the coffee sloshing in the cup I’m still holding. “I’m a virgin,” I admit. “Blank canvas. Clean slate. I have no clue what I’m doing.”
She softens even more, and if it’s possible, she grows even more gorgeous. Her eyes are an inviting gray, like the soothing, welcoming gray of the wallpaper. She has heavy wings of eyeliner that accentuate the shape of her eyes and the stark black peaks of her brows. She’s beautiful and unlike anyone I’ve ever known.
“Does anybody?” she asks. Her words are serious, and somehow the sincerity in them makes my heart rate speed up.
There was a time when I thought I had all the answers. A time when every moment of my life was scheduled and full and happy and safe.
Until it wasn’t and nothing made any sense.
I know I’m not the only one who’s lost a hell of a lot at far too young an age. But every battle is different. And what I’ve learned over the last couple of years is that no playbook can prepare you for every possibility. Foul balls, penalties, injuries, and illness…
All of that is the chaos of life.
The cost of being alive.
I’m guessing by her reaction that this woman’s bright colors mask a darkness underneath. No, scratch that. It’s not darkness. There’s wisdom behind those gray eyes. Maybe the same kind of weariness that I recognize in myself.
“You got that right,” I say, shaking my head. “One day you think you’re going to get your first tattoo, and the next thing you know, the only new colors in your life are the water stains on your sneakers.”
Her mouth falls open, and both brows get moving. I hold up a hand before she can insist on replacing my trainers again. “Kidding,” I tell her. “Humor. It’s a coping mechanism. No harm done.”
I take a step closer to the door.
She smiles then. Her teeth are white, her lips full and perfectly painted on with dark red lipstick.
