Page 57 of The Heart Breaker

I glance up, noticing her bottom lip pinned between her teeth.

“Still got a while to go,” I tell her, rolling back to swap the needle for the softer shading.

The first pass over the fresh lines makes her stiffen. I notice, because I notice everything about her, whether I want to or not. So, I try to take it easy, working on the less tender spots first.

The music from the shop playlist fills the room in a low hum while I continue to work. She doesn’t ask for any breaks or make too much noise, just lets out sharp breaths whenever the needle digs into a painful spot.

By the time I kill the machine, my shoulders ache, and my fingers cramp, reminding me I’ve been locked in the same position for too long. I set the machine aside and wipe the last smear of ink from her skin, taking a second longer than I should to look at it.

The piece climbs the outside of her thigh, the flowers coiling up, with sharp thorns along the stems and tiny, thin butterflies scattered around the piece.

It suits her, I realize, annoyed by the thought.

I snap off my gloves, toss them into the trash, and go over her skin one more time with a clean wipe. “All done,” I say, rolling my chair back a little.

She sits up slowly, then swings her legs over the side of the chair and stands. Doesn’t say a word. Just walks to the full-length mirror and angles her leg to see the tattoo.

I chew on my gum, staring at her expression in the mirror, seeing a hint of a smile curling on her lips as she admires the ink.

“Good?” I ask.

She meets my gaze in the mirror and shrugs. “It’ll do.”

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Glad I could meet your sky-high standards.” She turns back toward me, and I jerk my chin at the chair. “Sit. I still need to wrap it.”

She lowers herself down, and I grab the wrap, cut a strip, and press it over the fresh ink, smoothing the edges so it won’t peel the second she stands up.

“Keep this on for two days,” I say, taping down the last corner. “After that, wash it with a gentle soap, pat it dry, and keep it moisturized. Don’t pick at it or let every frat guy on campus paw at it. Stay away from saunas and swimming pools for at least four weeks, and try not to bake it in the sun.”

She scoffs, flicking me a look. “So basically… stay home?”

I arch a brow. “Would make my life a hell of a lot easier.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes herself upright, reaching for her jeans on the nearby chair. She steps into them, careful not to scrape the fresh wrap, and pulls them up slowly. She grabs her bag, slides the strap over her shoulder, and when she moves, I finally register the rain hammering against the windows.

“You going out in that?” I ask before I can stop myself.

She pauses and glances back at me with an arched eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“How’d you even get here?” I ask, even though I already know she doesn’t have a car. I hate how much I know about her.

“Ryan dropped me off.”

My brows pull together. “Is he picking you up?”

She watches me, curious about why I’m asking her these questions, why I care. I don’t know why I do, either. “No,” she says finally. “He and Isabella went out for lunch. I told him I’d walk home.”

I stare at her and lift a brow. “It’s raining.”

She lifts a brow right back. “I’m aware.”

“You don’t live anywhere near here,” I press. “You’ll be drenched by the time you get home.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, tilting her chin in that infuriating way. “You don’t need to act like you give a shit about me, Cole.”

My jaw tightens until I feel the gum flatten between my teeth. “I never said I did.”

Her brows lift, like that confirms exactly what she expected, and she pulls out her card. I snatch the reader, type in the price, and hold it out without looking at her. She taps the card and the machine beeps.