Page 13

She chuckles. “I’ll be gentler with your emotions. Thank you for the snacks . . . How tall are you, anyway?”

“Eight feet, fourteen inches.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Six feet, seven inches,” I answer honestly. “Just so you know, usually when women ask how tall I am, it’s while twirling their hair around their fingers.”

“Well, I’m using my fingers to stuff my face with gummy bears. It was a mild curiosity. For future reference, I don’t flirt accidentally.”

“That’s debatable.”

She laughs. “If I were flirting you’d know.”

“If you say so,” I say, wiping away the ink. My next line is going to be through a particularly rough-looking section where I have to trace the path of the scar.

I’m not surprised when she flinches.

“We still pretending this doesn’t hurt?” I ask.

“I felt that one,” she admits.

“Relax your shoulders.”

She exhales a held breath and releases the tension.

“Atta girl.” I dip my needle into the ink and return to her back. “A couple more of those and then you’ll have a break.”

“No pain, no gain.”

“My preferred type of client. Talk to me, it’ll take your mind off it. What’s your favorite color?”

“Pink.” She winces. “What about you?”

“Orange.” I was fully expecting a sarcastic quip. It’s obvious that’s her favorite. It’s not just her hair, her fingernails always seem to be freshly painted with the same soft pink. For the first time, she bites into the sucker. She must really need a distraction.

She’s holding her breath, but I can’t rush it without compromising the tattoo. Ink can be finicky when it comes to scar tissue.

“You’re doing great, Anna. Almost done with this part.” The surrounding skin turns an angry red hue. “Relax your shoulders,” I repeat.

“’Kay.” She nods, dropping them.

“So, I’ve tattooed your brother, he’s a nice guy. Do you go to his games?”

“Sometimes.”

“He was the golden rookie on the team for a while there,” I comment, regurgitating what I’ve heard Logan say. I know dick about hockey.

“Yeah. He’s a prince.”

I gasp. “Wait, does that mean you’re a princess? See, the pink makes sense now.”

Her laughter causes me to pull back my needle; I glance up at the back of her head and grin.

“Pink hair or not, I’m very much the black sheep.”

“Oh, so a duchess, then.”

“Sure.” I can hear the smirk in her voice when she says it. “What about your family?”