Page 19 of The Heart Breaker

Tony still comes in every couple of months, like clockwork. I never told him how much I was sweating that first time, or that I kept a photo of the piece on my phone, but I look at it sometimes anyway. Just to remind myself.

The sun’s already setting, and for a second, I let myself think I might actually get out of here on time for once. I’m halfway through lining up the caps on my tray when the bell over the door rings.

The sound cuts through the shop and immediately pisses me off, mostly because I was already halfway out the door in my head. We close in five minutes. The sign says it. The hours are posted. I don’t know why people still act shocked every single time I have to turn them away.

I head out the back, already preparing to tell whoever it is to come back tomorrow, but the words die in my throat the second I see her.

Christ. Is there anywhere on this campus she doesn’t turn up?

My jaw locks on instinct. My eyes dip before I can stop them, catching on the short skirt she’s somehow wearing when it’s cold as hell outside, and I drag my gaze back up, folding my arms across my chest.

“We’re closed.”

She’s quiet for a second. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Considering we don’t talk, that’s not exactly surprising,” I say dryly. “What are you doing here, Prescott?”

She shrugs and steps farther into the shop, her eyes drifting over the flash designs on the walls. “I want a tattoo.”

A short laugh leaves me, already shaking my head. “Not fucking happening. Go somewhere else.”

She shoots me a glare and steps up to the counter instead of leaving. She digs her phone out of her pocket and slides it across to me. “Don’t be a dick. This place has the best reviews. I just want this piece.”

I look down despite myself.

It’s a big floral piece, starting high on her thigh and climbing into her hip, soft petals and fine lines with enough shading to make it a pain in the ass. At least three hours if she sits well. Longer if she doesn’t.

My jaw goes tight, grinding my teeth down on my gum.

Three hours with her leg under my hands. Three hours of her in my chair, trusting me not to fuck up something that’s going to live on her skin forever. Three hours of trying not to think about how that same skin looked under club lights.

Yeah. No.

I straighten and shove the phone back toward her. “I’m not giving you your first tattoo.”

Her head jerks up, those blue eyes flashing. “How the hell would you know it’s my first?”

I hold her gaze, letting my eyes drag over her once before I bring them back to her face. “I saw every inch of you at the club,” I remind her. “You’ve got virgin skin, and I’ve got no interest in being the one to break it.”

Her throat works when she swallows, but a second later she’s rolling her eyes. “Congratulations, you got an eyeful. Doesn’t mean you get to make decisions for me.”

My jaw tightens, that night flashing back.

When I don’t answer, she lets out a sigh. “I don’t have all day. You gonna do it or not?”

“You don’t want me doing it,” I say, shaking my head. “Trust me.”

Her mouth curves into that infuriating little smirk. “Why? Are you scared you can’t handle it?”

She’s baiting me, and goddamn if it doesn’t work. My jaw locks, which only makes her eyes sharpen with satisfaction. I hate how easy it is for her to get a rise out of me.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” she says, tilting her head.

“I don’t,” I grit out through clenched teeth.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asks. “I’m happy to book for another day.”

I drag a hand down my face, already wishing I’d locked the door five minutes early. I could tell her to leave again. I should. That’s the smart move. Probably the only smart move. Nothing about this is a good idea.