The shorter one definitely had an attitude, but the taller one … she seemed too prim and proper to be in a tattoo shop.
The shop girl was gone to grab coffees, which left him and Jerome—the flash dude who took the afternoon walk-ins—to greet the customers until she returned. Everyone else was off today.
“What up, ladies? You looking to get inked?” Jerome called out after lifting his machine off the dude getting a Geaux Tigerstattoo.
Nic was even more surprised when the taller one answered, “Only if you have time. Otherwise, we will definitely make an appointment.”
They’d left in a hurry last time, after he gave them Leo’s number.
She was looking directly at Jerome, trying to ignore him.
Damn, she’s beautiful.
“Hey, let’s take five,” Nic said to Joe, his client for the day, who was lying face down on the table. “I need to stretch and grab a drink.”
“Fuck yeah. I thought you’d never take a break, man.”
He chuckled. “Cool. One sec,” he said as he wiped off the ink. “Let me put something on this.” He swiped ointment over the fresh work. “You can get up. Easy does it though.”
Nic peeled off his gloves and dropped them in the trash before coming out into the reception area. The taller redhead’s eyes got wider as he came toward her.
“Hey. You get what you needed?”
The shorter one opened her mouth to talk, but Big Sister beat her to it. “You watched us last night. You were upstairs.”
He glanced at Jerome before looking back at her. “Yeah.”
“Where is the other guy? Who is he?” the shorter one asked. “You’re Niquaise, right?”
He choked out a laugh. “Someone did some internet searching. I’m Nic. Nice to meet you officially.”
“You do tattoos.” This came from the smoking hot one.
“Yeah. Couple of days a week.”
“Who was your friend?” her sister asked again. “We need to talk to him.”
“You got his number,” Nic replied. “If he answers, talk.”
“He didn’t.”
“Then leave a message.”
“His voicemail was full.”
“Then I guess … keep trying?”
“We need to know if?—”
He held up a hand. “You want art, I’m your guy. Anything else, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t know shit about fuck, okay?”
Big Sister’s gaze pinned him. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She paused, as if she was considering not giving it to him. And then she said, “Imogen.”
“Nice to meet you, Imogen. Want to have dinner with me tonight?”