Page 3 of Tiger Bitten

Ren pursed her lips. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

The man moved around the store, checking different records. He lifted one out and looked at it for a few seconds before he brought it to the register to pay.

She looked at the cover. It was an old Bush album. Their first. “You like Bush?” she asked.

“I did. I guess I still do.” He gestured to the record. “That just gave me a memory of walking around with my discman playing this album, trying to walk steady so it wouldn’t skip.”

Ren couldn’t help her smile. “Funny how records do that.”

He didn’t say anything, just pulled out cash from his wallet.

“I used to have a discman too,” she said conversationally. “It was purple. I wore that thing out.”

“What are you?” he asked suddenly.

Ren closed down immediately. “That’s rude,” she said softly. She lowered her gaze to the cash register as she made change, then set the record into a bag and pushed it across the counter toward him. “Have a good day.”

The man nodded, his eyes boring into her.

“Can you tell me where I can get a record player?” he asked in a deep, rumbling voice. “I’ve never had one. I don’t know anything about them.”

She glanced up at him, and his bright blue gaze was trained on her. She’d known he was well built and handsome before he’d removed his sunglasses, but now he was stunning and hard to look away from. “You’re a white tiger,” she said.

He nodded. “I thought you said it was rude to talk about the animal.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

She shrugged then pointed to the back room. “There are record players back there.”

He glanced toward the room and then back to her. “Any recommendations? I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

She stood and made her way around the counter then led him to the back room. She waited for chills to ripple up her spine at having him behind her, but it didn’t happen. “What kind of music do you like?” she asked just to get him talking.

“A little of everything. Not jazz as much. I mean, I’ll listen to it, but it’s not my first choice. Elevator music grates on my senses.”

“Mine too,” she said honestly. “It hurts my ears sometimes.”

“Yeah. Same. Elevators get overwhelming if the music is playing too loud.”

“Yes!” she said, feeling a connection. She was good at this part—at talking to people. It’s why her mom trusted her with the store. “Okay, what’s the budget?” she asked, gesturing to two priced tags on the wall of record players. “Those are your ranges at this store.”

“No budget. What’s the best one to listen to Comedown on and feel like I’m at the concert?”

A smile confiscated her entire face, and she pointed to the third most expensive record player. “That’s your guy.”

The man nodded and cleared his throat. “I’ll take it.”

As she grabbed a boxed one off the stack, she told him, “Your life is about to change. It’s hard to stop at just one record. There is something about coming home after a long day of work, putting that needle on the record, and drinking a beer while relaxing into the song.”

A soft smile flashed on his lips, and he took the record player from her arms.

Oh. That was nice. She strode into the main room and toward the cash register, but he stopped her with his words. “What record would you pick?”

“My favorite?”

“What would you pick for me?”