Hating You, Loving You (Inked Hearts 4)

"I do."

"I wasn't sure."

"You wore Vans every day this week. Why is that less interesting than my combat boots?"

"The high hit eighty every day."

"It's thirty below zero in the shop. What is your electricity bill to keep the air-conditioning that high?"

I chuckle. "A lot."

"Our customers are taking off their clothes. Aren't they cold?"

"You ever go to a tattoo shop without AC?"

"Yeah."

"You ever go back?"

She shakes her head.

"Bet it smelled like old combat boots."

"Yeah, but not mine. My boots smell like flowers."

"Fifty bucks says otherwise."

"Sure. We'll check Monday." She offers her hand to shake. Deal?

I love a bet. Even one where I have absolutely no chance of winning. I take her hand. "Deal."

She shakes. Pulls her hand to her side. Slides it into the pocket of her skinny jeans. They're black. As is her tank top. And the halter straps under it.

There's something on her forearm. Something that wasn't there yesterday.

Meat is Murder in all black.

Fuck, that's commitment to getting her way. "That isn't—"

"Sharpie." She holds it up. "Why? Does it suit me?"

"Yeah."

"I feel like that's an insult."

It isn't. She has principles. I have my own, but they don't ask me to sacrifice anything. They don't put me at odds with the majority of the people I meet. They're nothing like hers.

She looks up at me with a curious stare. Looking for a deeper meaning.

There isn't one.

That's what everyone thinks.

I'm the fucking court jester.

The easily placated idiot.

I know my role. Most of the time, I savor it. Keeping shit light is easier. Safer. Infinitely more comfortable.