Playing (Inked Hearts 2)

"You're getting a PhD, right?" he asks.

"Right."

"Where?"

"UCLA."

"Good school."

"Yeah. Great psychology department." I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. It does nothing to distract me from the needle stabbing my arm several times a second. It's uncomfortable. But tolerable.

"How far into it are you?"

"Just started."

"So, what, four or five years to go?"

"It's a six-year program." And I took a leave of absence winter quarter. I'm already behind schedule.

"Damn." He moves the gun to the next level. "That's a commitment."

"More than ink on your skin forever?"

"Not when you put it that way."

I press my lips together. That's two letters down. Three. Almost there.

"Are you going to be a shrink?"

"No. Most people who are counselors get a Doctorate of Psychology. A PhD is more focused on research and teaching."

"Which appeals to you?"

"Research."

"You are a nerd."

"Who suggested otherwise?"

"You." He finishes the first line and moves to the second. "It's cute that you hide it."

"You always torment women

when you're tattooing them?"

"Of course. They have to listen. It's perfect."

I laugh.

He holds my arm steady. "Don't move."

"Don't make me laugh."

"Sounds fair, but I don't like it." He holds my arm as he traces the last word.

I stare at the beige wall. At the framed tattoo art. At the heart string lights lining the roof. "This shop is kinda girly."

"You're teasing me now?"