One can hope…
“I thought maybe you were a shut-in or something.”
“No,” I say. “I’m a writer, but sometimes it’s close to the same thing.” I laugh at my own joke, and he stares down at me with those bright, burning eyes. “You’re a tattoo artist, right?”
“I work downtown at Thunder Ink.” My eyes fall over the delicate filigree decorating his massive biceps. “You should come in some time.”
“Oh, I don’t do tattoos.”
“Maybe not yet.” He leans in closer. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
My body pulses with excitement. Is he actually flirting with me?
“Well, thank you again.” I give a curt nod and turn toward the house. Dammit, me and my panicky instincts.
“No problem,” he calls out. I shoot Creed one more glance before I round the house and catch him staring back at me.