Page 20 of The Fallacy of True Love
A few seconds later, my phone pinged.
Tala
We’re here for you, @Lonzo.
Luna
Always!!!
Through my haze of disbelief, I realized that maybe it wasn’t my worst day after all. Not when I still had my sisters on my side.
Chapter Eight
Cam
“Are we doing this?”
Shaking my head, I focused on the blond man sitting in front of me. “Sorry,” I muttered.
Here was reason number seventy-one why Alonzo pissed me off: he’d distracted me from doing a job that I took pride in even when I didn’t want to do it.
Unacceptable.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, channeling the tone I’d practiced for my waitressing stint.
A familiar prickle crept across my chest, telling me his eyes had strayed where they shouldn’t have.
“What’s on the menu?” he asked in a voice he probably thought was sexy but that only grated on my temper.
Narrowing my eyes, I shot back, “I only do tatts, so if you’re looking for something else, you better go.”
He laughed, and my left hand balled into a fist on my thigh. “I’m just playing with you,” he said. “How about something simple? Maybe a heart with an arrow pierced through it?”
The urge to stand up and walk away hit me hard. I could not believe I’d have to ink such a thing—and on this pervert too.
This served as another reminder that I wasn’t cut out to be a do-gooder. One day when I was rich enough, I’d do my part by donating money to causes I cared about. Never again would I offer up my art like it was a stupid tourist attraction.
But for now, I’d suck up my pride and get the job done. I’d given my word to my friend, and my word mattered.
“Sure. I only do hand-poked tatts in black ink. If you want it in red or done by machine, you should transfer to Hector.” I cocked my chin toward the other tattoo artist in the stall next to mine.
“Black’s fine. I wanna see what you can do.”
I pushed down a retort, reminding myself that I was doing this for Eric. For the sea. Between city boy hijacking my routine and this guy leering at me like he’d never seen big boobs before, my self-control was strained near its breaking point.
Only three hours to go till my shift ended. I could hold on for that long.
Inhaling deeply, I set to the task of sketching his design and adjusting it to his liking.
I was preparing my needle and ink when he said, “I love your tatts. You do them yourself?”
My grip tightened on the needle. “Some of them.”
“Guess the parts you could reach, huh? How many do you have?”
“Stopped counting.” Now you should stop talking.
“Any chance you can show me the ones you did? You know, so I know what to expect.”
