Pretend You're Mine (Inked Hearts 3)

“How could it not?”

“It’s just acting.” She taps the counter with her shiny silver fingernails. “I was Abigail Williams in The Crucible. I’ve performed more difficult roles.”

“More difficult than pretending you can tolerate Ryan?” Dean’s voices jumps back to bouncy. “Is that possible?”

“Not for most,” she teases. “But I’m a true thespian.”

“This is getting interesting.” He motions go on.

She rolls her eyes. “Are you fourteen? Even you are better than that.”

I shake my head. “He’s not.”

His smile jumps back to playful as he flips me off.

Leighton laughs. Her eyes find mine. They’re greener today. It must be that purple makeup. Or the teal and black cat-print dress. “I, uh. I do agree with Dean. It’s a stupid idea. But if you’re going to do it, you might as well do it with someone you trust.”

It’s a fair point.

But it’s not enough.

There are only three times my world brightens: when I’m doing a tattoo, when I’m working out, and when I’m with her.

I’m not risking that.

Not for something as stupid as proving I’ve moved on.

I stare into her eyes. “I’ll find a way to call it off.”

She nods sure, but her expression screams you won’t.

My client shows. I sit her down, clean her up, talk her through the first line of the day.

The world fades away as I fall into the piece—an epic sleeve of produce. This girl loves fruits and vegetables so much she wants them on her body forever.

It’s weird in a charming way.

She’s going against the grain.

Same way I did when I first walked into a tattoo shop. I never managed to please my parents, no matter how hard I tried. My B.A. in business is useful (not that I’d ever admit that to them), but it didn’t do anything to get them off my back.

I started apprenticing halfway through college. I always wanted to do tattoos but as soon as I actually put ink to skin—a spade on my ankle—I fell in love.

This is where I belong.

This is the place where everything makes sense.

Always.

For three hours, I work to the buzz of that gun and the breathy groan of Leighton’s favorite band.

Technically, no one is in charge of music. Technically, me, Dean, Walker, and Brendon each own a quarter of the shop.

We each get a quarter of the say.

Really, I’m the boss and Brendon is second in command. I do the books, I make the schedule, and I veto the music.

Only I let her listen to whatever.