Page 81 of Treat

Esme handed her the bottle, grabbed an energy drink for herself, and sat. “Have a seat. Jude didn’t come with you?”

Brynn sat and sipped her water, hoping it would ease the tightness in her throat. “He’s having lunch with his agent. He said he’d come by after.”

“Cool.” Esme leaned back in her chair. “So, what do you think of the expo?”

“The man in the next booth is getting Scooby-Doo tattooed on his penis.”

Esme let out a low laugh. “I figured by the crowd it was something like that.”

“Do you see a lot of that sort of thing?”

“Well, Scooby-Doo is certainly a choice,” Esme said. “Or did you mean the penis?”

Brynn nodded. “That part.”

“Sometimes. Usually, the person asking for it is too drunk to tat. And they hardly ever come back when they’re sober. But every once in a while.” Esme took a sip of her drink. “Do you have any?”

“Tattoos?” Brynn shook her head. “No. I’m too scared it’ll hurt. My friend Amy has a couple, and she says it’s not that bad, but…”

“Everyone’s different,” Esme said easily. “What feels like nothing to one person can be horrible for another. And placement matters.”

“Amy says I should just get one on my ass. Because, you know, padding.”

Esme’s lips twitched. “I do know.”

“But if I’m going to get a tattoo, I want to be able to see it.”

“I agree,” a new voice chimed in, and Esme looked up to smile at Tuck, who had poked his head through the drape at the back of the booth.

“There you are,” she said warmly, reaching out a hand. “I thought you got lost.”

Tuck pushed the drape aside and bent to kiss her. “Sorry. I got distracted watching someone do a traditional Maori face tattoo.”

“Oh, nice. But you were supposed to bring me food.”

Tuck reached back and produced a chocolate bar from his pocket. “Got you covered, babe.”

Esme took it with a grimace. “I wanted real food.”

“Which is why I ordered you a salad,” Tuck said. “It’s on its way.”

“You’re the best.” Esme grabbed a fistful of his beard and tugged him down for another kiss.

“I know.” With a smirk, Tuck scooped her up, sat, and settled her on his lap. “You want something, Brynn? I can add to the order.”

Brynn shook her head and tried not to sigh with envy at the picture they made. “I’m good, but thanks.”

“No problem. So, did you and Jude bone?”

Brynn spit out the water she’d just drank, and Esme whacked him with her candy bar. “Tucker!”

“What? Like you don’t want to know?”

“Of course, I want to know, but you don’t just blurt it out like that.”

“Why not?”

“I apologize for my husband, Brynn,” Esme said, whacking him with the candy bar again. “He has no tact.”

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