“I’m sorry?—”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” I said and pulled her against me. “I was surprised by your observation, but in a good way. Dice is the only other one who put it together. I took the bet and got the tattoos because of my dad. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to be like him. From then on, I knew—I take bets if I want, and I turn them down if I don’t. There’s no struggle. I know it wasn’t the best way to go about it, but it made sense to me at the time.”
“What about the rest of your tattoos?” she asked.
“They’re the plot twist I didn’t see coming,” I chuckled. “Gambling wasn’t the addiction I needed to be worried about.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
I shrugged. “I love everything about getting a tattoo—from searching for the perfect design to showing it off after it’s inked and healed. It takes a few months from start to finish. I don’t allow myself to start looking for a new one until the last one has healed.”
“All right, back to the inkblots. I want to hear that story.”
“This happened years ago when I was a prospect. Harper bet that she could take me down. You’ve met her. She’s tiny. She’s always been tiny. I thought I would be able to stand there until she wore herself out. Nope. That tiny little swindler took me down in under fifteen seconds. Since I lost, she got to pick my next tattoo, but I wasn’t allowed to see it or know what it was until after it was done. So, I chose to put it on my ass in case it was something I never wanted to look at.”
“Why did she choose an inkblot? And why are there two?”
“Harper’s a therapist. When she was learning about inkblot tests in college, she thought they would make cool tattoos. An opportunity presented itself, and she took it. She was right. It did look nice as a tattoo. Which is why I asked her to pick another one to have tattooed on the other cheek.”
“Is that when you showed your ass to everybody?” Presley laughed.
“It is,” I grinned. “And that’s why they call me Ink.”
17
INK
Igrinned when my phone rang with Presley’s name on the screen. I hadn’t seen her since Sunday, and I didn’t fucking like it.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m finished with my errands and wanted to see if I could bring you something for lunch.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I just walked into Irene’s. Do you want to meet me here for lunch instead?”
“It’ll take me ten minutes to get there. Is that okay?”
“Take your time. I’ve already ordered, but I can add yours to mine. Do you know what you want?” I asked.
“A grilled chicken salad, please.”
“Okay. See you in a few,” I said and waved my hand to get Irene’s attention. “Can you add a grilled chicken salad to my order? Presley’s going to meet me here for lunch.”
“Got it,” she said and pointed to an empty booth. “That’s about all I’ve got right now. If you hurry, it’s yours.”
“Thanks, Irene,” I said and claimed our table before someone else could.
Presley arrived moments after our food was delivered to the table. She sat down and started telling me about her morning.I was listening at first, but she lost my attention the moment Detective Coleman walked through the front door. He looked around the dining area before heading to a vacant table, seeming not to notice me or Presley, which I thought was bullshit. I knew he saw us and was choosing to ignore us. The question was why.
Presley tapped her glass with her fork. “Are you listening to me?”
“I was,” I told her, and reached for her hand. “Don’t react and don’t look around, but Detective Dickhead got here shortly after you did. He’s sitting at a table near the front door.”
“I see,” she smiled awkwardly. “Do we think that’s a coincidence?”
“No, we do not,” I said cheerfully.
“Okay, that’s creepy.”
“Says the creepy smiler,” I countered.
