Most people stared in horror. Or fear. But Anna? She stared for another reason. Wasn’t sure what that reason was, but I knew fear and horror.
The look on her face wasn’t it.
Every time I felt her eyes on me, I peeked over at her. She’d quickly avert her stare, and it would give me a chance to do the same. Her hair fell into her face every once in a while, and every time she tucked it back behind her ear, it showcased the side of that tattoo she had climbing up her neck.
“What’s the tattoo?” I asked.
She snickered as she chewed and swallowed. “Vines.”
I crooked an eyebrow. “Vines?”
She nodded and reached for her drink, looking over at me. “Mhm. Vines. I’ve got them crawling around everywhere, with different flowers on them and such.”
I never noticed the beauty mark off to the side of her lips. It sat on the right side, just above the corner of her upper lip.
How did I never notice it before?
“Nice,” I said as I cleared my throat and forced myself to look back down.
There was a moment of silence before her voice filled the room again. “Do you have tattoos?”
I just shook my head.
“Why not?” she asked. “Not a fan of needles?”
I took a sip of my drink. “Not a fan of sitting for so long.”
She barked with laughter, and the sound wrapped itself around my ears and held on for dear life. It echoed off the corners of my mind, and I felt my lips ticking upward again.
Which made her stop and stare.
Again.
“You have a nice laugh,” she said.
I’d never heard her voice so sheepish before. “Not much to laugh at nowadays.”
“Ah, I can fix that.”
When she bent forward to take another bite of her food, I saw something else. She had a birthmark that ran up the length of her spine along her neck. I saw that it disappeared beneath her shirt, and I wondered how long the darkened strip of skin ran for.
My tongue tingled with a need I couldn’t put words to.
“Why flowers?” I asked.
“Hmmm?”
I looked down at my food just so I wouldn’t feel like a goddamn creep. “Why different kinds of flowers on the vine? Are they your favorites or something?”
“Or something.”
I flickered my eyes at her, but she didn’t elaborate. “How many kinds of flowers?”
She answered without hesitation. “Fourteen.”
“That’s a pretty specific number.”
She looked at me with a cheeky grin. “It’s a pretty specific question.”
