Page 5 of Resisted

“Yes!” she squealed. “Everywhere! Can I get them everywhere?”

Would painting tattoos up Bella’s arm make Silas angry? Yup. Was I going to resist the temptation of infuriating him? Nope. “Let’s just start with your arms.”

Ten minutes later, Bella had every art supply known to man laid out at my feet as she explained to me the difference between pastel paints and permanent markers. I knew the difference obviously, but the way she passionately spoke of art and colors was so damn adorable, I let her talk. Fast-forward another twenty minutes, and I was artfully drawing a rose sleeve with permanent markers while secretly enjoying the fact that Silas was gonna be pissed.

It came out perfectly, and the kid loved it. In fact, she loved it so much that she requested a replica of my sleeve on her left arm. I had almost finished the last piece—ironically, a wolf—when Bella cleared her throat. “Is getting matching tattoos the equivalent of getting married?”

I choked on my spit. “Yeah…absolutely not.”

“Well, my friend Lynette said she was going to marry you and you will both have matching tattoos. She’s going to be so jealous.”

I cleared my throat. “Your friend is delusional.”

“What does that mean?” She tilted her head to the side and as she watched the marker glide over her skin.

“It means there is no fucking way I’m marrying her.”

She blinked a few times. “I don’t think that’s what delusional means.”

The kid was delusional too. “It’s close enough.”

“When you’re done, can we have popcorn and watch a movie?” She moved her head around, trying to get a better angle to view the image.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” I asked.

“No.”

Good enough for me. “Popcorn it is. But no movie.”

She tried to stomp her feet, but where she was on the chair meant her feet just dangled, with no ground to meet her stomps. “That’s not fair, Vincent.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Stop calling me that. I’ve told you I hate it.” The little squirt tried to kick me but missed.

“I’ve told you to call me Vince, and you’ve seemed to magically not hear that either,” I pointed out as I capped the pen.

“Well, because you call me baby.”

“Well, because you call me Vincent,” I countered.

“I’m not a baby.” She glared.

I lowered my voice to sound squeaky. “You’re like the cutest little infant.”

“Vincent, you’re the absolute worst babysitter.” This time, she intentionally stepped on my toes as she dramatically jumped from the stool.

“Ironic that you called me a babysitter when you claim to not be a baby,” I pointed out.

She growled. “The worst.”

“You’re saying this like I don’t already know, baby. I tried to tell them not to pick me, but they didn’t listen.” I capped the last of the markers and tossed them into her plastic bin.

“Can you just get me popcorn?” she asked, her big eyes staring directly into my soul, but I refused to cave.

“Get the popcorn yourself.”

“I can’t even reach the microwave.” She rolled her eyes, which was fucking adorable and infuriating at the same time.

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