Page 30 of Falling in Love with Two

Me: Do you really care?

Veronica: Nope. Not even a little bit.

Me: Why are you asking about sports? Are you okay?

Veronica: Fine. Just bored. Waiting on a Zoom call with a client.

I ask her a couple more questions to make some small talk, but she ghosts after a few minutes. That’s Ronnie—here one minute and gone the next. I love her, but she takes being flighty to a whole new level.

My eyes get heavy as I stare back at the TV screen. I really need to get up and do something because it’s way too early to go to bed. I’d wager I’m not even tired—just bored.

I start scrolling through news stories on my phone, but once again, I don’t pay attention to a single one. I’m still thinking about Leah.

Usually, I have no problem with leaving my one-night-stands in the past. We’re both aware that it’s just some fun where we both get our jollies off.

So, why can’t I seem to think about anything aside from Leah?

It can’t just be the good sex. I’ve had plenty of that.

It has to be more.

Maybe it’s the fact that I have more questions than answers.

What was she drinking to avoid thinking about?

What was going on behind those blue eyes of hers?

How did she drink that much alcohol without falling over?

And how the hell is she so good at darts?

I’d like to get an answer to at least one of those questions.

Feeling a little intrigued, I pull out my phone and type Hot Pink Ink into the search bar.

It’s the first result, and I click the link.

The tagline read not your average tattoo shop.

Immediately, I go to the tab that says meet our artists.

I recognize Amy as the first one, and the second one is Leah. I stop to read the small bio.

Leah recently relocated from Portland and has close to ten years of experience. She loves doing all sorts of tats, but her favorites are ones with intricate detail. Even when Leah isn’t working, she’s constantly drawing and thinking of new designs.

Well, that tells me practically nothing.

I look at her photo which is her in the middle of doing some ink. She’s wearing latex gloves and has a tattoo gun in one hand and is giving devil horns with the other. Her hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s sticking out her tongue.

Even in just a photo, she’s stunning.

I click on the button to take me to her portfolio, and I scroll through pictures of the work she’s done. It’s all incredible. I wonder if she had won the bet, what kind of tattoo she would have given me.

Maybe I should find out.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I click on the phone number at the bottom of the page.

It only takes one ring for a young female voice to answer. “Hot Pink Ink. This is Luanne. How can I help you?”

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