Page 22 of Ink

“Don’t say that too loudly,” Ink insisted, “Cynthia will kill you. It’s more like she works with me, not for me.”

“So, she’s an artist too?” Spade asked.

“Yep,” Ink said. “Why?”

“No reason, I was just wondering if maybe she could do my next tattoo,” Spade said.

Ink chuckled, “Oh, if I had a dollar for every time one of the guys from the Road Reapers came in and asked for Cynthia, I’d be a very rich man.”

“I hear that you already are a rich man, so how about if we skip the dollar and you properly introduce me to your pretty new artist?” Spade asked.

“I thought that I heard you two talking when you came in,” Ink said.

“Yeah, but I fucked it all up,” Spade insisted, “I had diarrhea of the mouth, and I can’t even remember what I rambled on about. I do that sometimes when I’m nervous—you know, ramble.”

Ink smiled and slapped Spade on the shoulder. “I hadn’t noticed man,” he said with a laugh.

“Don’t be an ass, Ink,” he insisted. “Just introduce me to the pretty girl and then, I’ll let you do my tat.”

“How gracious of you,” Ink drawled. “Hey, Cynthia, can you come out here for a second?” She came out from the back of the shop, holding Ink’s baby, and damn if Spade didn’t feel tongue-tied again.

“Yeah, what can I do for you, Ink? You know, besides change your daughter’s very stinky diaper,” Cynthia asked. Ink chuckled and crossed the room to take the baby from her. “How about you prep Spade for his tattoo, and I’ll change Bethany’s stinky diaper?” She looked at Ink as though he had lost his ever-loving mind, but when she nodded her agreement, Spade let out a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Great,” Ink said, “Spade, this is Cynthia,” he said, introducing the two of them. “My work is done here. Now if you will both excuse me, I have a date with a princess.” He smiled down at his daughter and disappeared to the back room, talking some kind of baby gibberish that only a new parent could understand.

Cynthia walked to the front of the shop, where her station was set up, and pointed to the chair. “Sit,” she ordered. She didn’t seem at all happy about having to do this for Ink and suddenly, Spade felt like an ass for asking him to get Cynthia to do his tat.

“Um, sorry that you have to do this,” he said. “If you want me to wait for Ink, I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I overheard you telling Ink,” she said. “I mean, you did ask him to get me to do your tat, right?” she asked. Shit, he wasn’t the quietest person, but he didn’t think that he was loud enough for Cynthia to hear him talking to Ink about her.

“You heard that?” he asked, suddenly feeling very unsure of himself and quite nervous.

“Yeah, I heard that,” she grumbled. “So, what are we doing today?” she asked, seeming to shift from angry to professional mode.

“I’m just having this area filled in,” he said, pointing to his arm sleeve. “Ink came up with the color scheme and that’s what we were supposed to work on today.”

“Got it,” Cynthia said. “Be right back.” Spade watched as she disappeared to the back again and he could hear her and Ink whisper arguing and he had a good idea what they were talking about—him. He was really fucking everything up.

She came back out to where he sat, holding the artwork that Ink had come up with. “Ready?” she asked.

“Sure,” Spade drawled, “I think the question here is are you ready?” She shot him a look that told him she wasn’t going to entertain his question as she pulled on her gloves.

“So, all business then?” he asked.

“Yep,” Cynthia said. “That’s how this works. You’re my client and I’m your tattoo artist for the next few hours.”

He knew that he was taking a chance, and maybe even being a bit careless, but he just couldn’t help himself. “What are you doing after you’re done being my tattoo artist?” he asked.

“I have another client coming in,” she said as she got her tools ready.

“Oh, well, I was thinking that you might want to have dinner with me tonight,” he said. Asking her out wasn’t a part of the plan, but he really never had a plan when it came to pretty women. He usually just rolled with whatever came out of his mouth and that worked for him—sometimes.

“No thank you,” Cynthia said.

“Just like that?” he asked. “That’s all you’re going to say to my dinner offer?”

“Yep,” Cynthia said.

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