“Yes,” I say, clarifying the desire I’ve had since I walked out of King Ink. “Yes, I will.”
Emily beams and returns to her coloring, satisfied. But I stay crouched there for a moment longer, one hand pressed against the bandage.
The incomplete tattoo is a reminder of something I started and didn’t finish. A promise I made to myself and almost broke.
I need to see him again. I need to finish this.
The thought rises with crystal clarity. Not just for the tattoo—though yes, I want to finish the tattoo. But more than that, I want to seehim.
I’ve spent my whole life being the good girl. The one who ignores her needs and follows the rules other people give her. But something about Knight makes me desperate to ask for everything I’ve denied myself.
My phone weighs heavily in my pocket. His card is still there, too, edges worn soft from how many times I’ve pulled it out to stare at his name. I could text him right now. I could ask for what I want instead of hoping someone else would give it to me.
I close my eyes. My father’s voice whispers through my head:Good girls don’t chase men.
But Sarah’s voice is louder:You’re allowed to want things for yourself.
And underneath both of them, quieter but more certain:I want to go back. Not just for the tattoo. For the way I felt like I’d found something I didn’t know I was looking for.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone. Pull out his card and hold it gently in the palm of my hand.
Hi, it’s Daisy. I wanted to thank you for being so understanding the other day.
I stare at the words. Delete them.
Hi Knight. It’s Daisy. The tattoo is healing well, and I—
Delete.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
My thumb hovers over the send button.
Delete.
I shove the phone back in my pocket. I want to find the words that say everything I’m feeling without sounding desperate or crazy.
But I don’t know how.
CHAPTER 5
KNIGHT
This is insane.
I’m sitting on the floor of the city animal shelter’s kitten room, a black-and-white ball of fluff climbing my arm while its orange sibling attacks my bootlaces. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a dog barks. And I’m watching the door like a stalker.
Which, technically, I might be.
The black-and-white kitten reaches my shoulder and head-butts my jaw. Its sibling has given up on my bootlaces and is now curled against my thigh, purring loud enough to rattle my bones. They’re bonded, the shelter assistant said, and they need to be adopted together.
When they finally stop moving, they cross their paws over each other, just like the cats in my art.I’m going to need to kitten-proof my apartment.
The door swings open, and my heart stops.
Daisy stands in the doorway, cleaning supplies in her arms, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that saysReading is Magicalin sparkly letters. Her brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail.
I long to push her shirt aside and see the tattoo I started.
