She shakes her head slightly. “No. I ink too.”
“How…fascinating,” I say. And hot. Propping my elbows on the counter, I lean toward her. “We should go out for a drink and talk about what inspires both of us.”
She blinks at me with those eyes the color of gunmetal. “Ah, I don’t date potential inkees.”
Shit. Still trying to move too fast here. “I’m not a customer…yet, but a drink doesn’t mean a date. People do go out to converse—don’t they?”
“Maybe I don’t drink.”
“Coffee then?”
Her chin drops. “Caffeine is the world’s most addicting drug.”
I’m getting desperate here. “Milk shakes?”
A deep, sexy laugh escapes her. “If you’re really interested in me designing for you, Mandy”—she nods toward the back counter—“can set up an appointment. But I have to get back to work.”
Damn. She’s leaving me high and dry, and all I want is to hear more of that voice. “Oh, I’m interested.” Those eyes. That lip ring. I force a smile. I can’t keep my tone from conveying that I’m interested in more than her talent.
Her chin lifts slightly. “Okay then, I’ll see you soon, Justin.”
“Very soon, Allie.”
She gives me a slow nod, then walks away.
I watch her—a figure dressed in a shapeless sweatshirt and tight jeans—until she disappears into a hallway beyond the counter.
After taking in a deep breath and snatching a hooded sweatshirt from the shelf at the end of the glass case, I move toward the counter.
“What did you decide on?” Mandy asks, giving me hot eyes.
She hasn’t gotten any less sexy since I walked in the door, but—with Allie now in the mix—my lust-o-meter isn’t registering even a one for her. “This,” I say, dropping the hooded sweatshirt on the counter. “And I’d like to set up a design appointment with Allie for Monday, if possible.” I’m already haunted by her smoky voice and those stormy gray eyes.
Fuck. I’ve fallen in lust. Big time.
Chapter 2
Justin
When I signed up for a communication class called Persuasion and Attitude Change, it sounded like it would be a breeze—and maybe somewhat interesting. But the class blows. And I have to deal with it every single Monday afternoon. How can it be called a communication class when the professor lectures at us for three hours?
I doodle possible tattoos in my notebook for my appointment with Allie as the professor drones on. I couldn’t concentrate on the art of communication even if I wanted to because I’m trying to come up with ideas to inspire her art. And I’m going to look like an idiot because all I can think of are musical notes or instruments. Or even worse, the traditional skull or dragon shit.
I’m not too deep. I don’t like deep. I sing. I party. I fuck. Occasionally, I study. In general, emotions pretty much suck. I try to stay away from them. I shouldn’t be surprised that creating a meaningful graphic illustration is beyond my skill set and emotional range.
The guy next to me takes pages of notes while I sketch a shitty snake wrapped around a musical note, like middle school kids draw all over their notebooks. As if I’d show this crap to a tattoo artist. Much less one who has been on my mind sexually for the past three days. I went home alone Saturday night, that’s how infatuated I am with Allie. Caught a ride with another dorm student. None of the girls who’d hit on me at Rats had that voice or those eyes or a lip ring. Until I have her, no girl will be able to compare.
Finally, the professor who never shuts up releases us.
With my notebook clutched against my hip, I race across campus. Several people, mostly girls, try to stop me to chat and others yell out hellos, but I just nod. I’m on a mission.
In our dorm room, Romeo sits at his desk in front of a laptop. He glances at me over his shoulder as I throw my notebook on my dresser, then turns back to his work. “You need to apologize to Gabe before practice tomorrow,” he says while typing.
“I’m not apologizing to that dick after he hit me. As far as I’m concerned, we’re even,” I say, searching my closet for a clean shirt. Something dark that will bring out the green in my eyes.
“If shit blows up during practice, then I’ll dock both of you on the next gig for wasting time.”
Shrugging—our pay is like chump change to me—I spray on some cologne and grab my keys.
At the rattling of keys, Romeo’s head snaps around. “Where are you going?”
I almost snicker at his confusion. I rarely drive, and not just because my car has only two seats. The main reason is that if I’m not on campus, I’m usually out partying. And since I don’t really date, whatever girl I end up with usually does the driving. If we have band practice, I catch a ride with Romeo.
“Dragonfly Ink,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Tattoo shop.”
His eyes roll and he turns back to the computer. “You’re not lifting tonight?” he asks absently, referring to our usual workout. Since he trains people—mostly kids in an after-school program—in boxing, he has access to the weight rooms on campus. And since the weight room is the one place where we get along, we’ve been spotting each other since freshman year.
“I’ll be there. Just going for a consultation today. Might be getting a custom tat this time around.”
He shakes his head.
Grabbing my coat from the bed, I almost snort. Romeo is such an uptight fuck. If they hadn’t stuck us together freshman year, the two of us would have never agreed to room together. Though my parents won’t spring for an apartment, I could afford one on their ridiculously generous allowance, but living in the dorm makes life easier. I’m all about the easy life.
Done with my stupid ass roommate, I head out the door.
It’s almost a hike to my car in the back corner of the dorm parking lot. I’ve had the car since I turned sixteen, when my father bought a new car and gave me his old one. He only drives BMWs, so I do too. Not a big deal. Not like he was giving me a Lamborghini or some other car from his collection, which sits 99 percent of the time in his monstrous garage. But I have no problem with my Z4, and I’m lucky my father went on a sports car buying spree in his early fifties. Otherwise, I would have ended up with a sedan.
I get into the car, push on my sunglasses, and start the engine purring with a turn of the key.
A glance at the clock tells me I’m going to be early. I drive slower than usual. People pass me on the highway, but I keep my speed around fifty. Damn. I’m nervous. Music usually blasts while I drive, but I’m hoping the quiet will help calm my nerves. I can’t remember the last time a girl made me nervous. I’m not sure if I want to date her—shit, I haven’t dated anyone since high school, and that was just a few times—or what. Though there is one thing I know I’d like to do with her.
After a twenty-five-minute ride that should have taken fifteen, I park across the street from Dragonfly Ink. I do some breathing techniques I regularly use prior to going onstage, then force myself out of the car. Time to turn on the charm. Just like onstage—time to shine.
The girl behind the counter isn’t Mandy or Allie. “Hello,” she says with a smile. “May I help you?”
With her bronze skin and a mane of light brown curls, this girl is hotter than Mandy. She could be a model. Like runway in Paris shit. But like Mandy, she doesn’t move me. She doesn’t have that voice or those eyes. Or that talent.
Out of habit, I smile back. “I have an appointment with Allie,” I say, walking to the counter.