Page 12 of Wicked Takeover
“It’s amazing, really.” She spoke gently. “But not my style. I’m more into flowers and butterflies or other stuff that’s on the pretty side.”
“I can do that with fluorescent tats. Just say the word, and I’ll ink butterflies all over you. Even on your face and tongue.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m not really the type of person for that. But these are freaking awesome. Is there nothing you can’t do?”
Van Gogh guzzled his Dr. Pepper, crushed the can, then lobbed it into the corner wastebasket. “I don’t do black eye or corneal tattoos.”
She leaned away from him. “You mean people actually have their eyes tattooed?”
“Not by me.” He sagged in his chair. “That’s some weird shit.”
Dante grabbed a tattoo magazine off the counter, flipped to what he wanted, then gave the periodical to Lauren.
She stared at photos of men who’d had their scleras tattooed black or in various colors. One guy’s right eye was bright pink, the left neon green.
Lauren wrinkled her nose. “I’d ask why anyone would do something like that to himself, but I figure you’d only say, ‘Why not?’”
Dante leaned down. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Her luscious mouth turned up in a smile that said, “Sure.”
Already, she knew him—how he liked to kid around.
Van Gogh totally missed it. “I’ll do tongues, balls, and cocks, but not that. Or this.” He turned the page and showed her a human eyeball with thick black lines snaking from the pupil like spider legs.
Lauren smiled weakly. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re a good guy.”
Van Gogh looked at Dante as he had earlier when she’d commented about the transition period. Like he wanted confirmation that she just said his job was safe.
Dante lifted his shoulders.
Van Gogh wilted. He dumped his Styrofoam container in the waste can and left.
Finished with her tostada, Jasmina tossed her trash without interrupting her now-serious conversation with her boyfriend.
“No.” Though firm, she used a mild tone. “I think we should scope out Burger King and Dairy Queen, too. You need to learn what the competition is doing if you want your future franchise to be a success.” She paused and listened, then shook her head at whatever he’d said. “You can’t count on corporate to do your thinking for you. Now listen to me…” Still talking, she wiggled her fingers at Dante and Lauren, then jogged to the front.
Dante settled in his seat, his legs stretched out next to Lauren’s.
She adjusted herself in the chair but didn’t pull her legs from his.
Her proximity made his cock and balls ache pleasantly.
After taking a bite of the refried beans, she flipped a page. Her chews slowed and stopped.
Dante didn’t bother to look at the magazine photo. He focused on her as he ate, chewing mechanically, not tasting much. His other senses had kicked in. Her perfume filled him again. Her gentle throat clearing made his hair stand on end. A peppy salsa tune pulsed from the sound system, the kind of music a man and woman could easily make love to.
Undressing her would be a joy. Hearing her soft sighs and tired laughter after their intimacy would enrich the private moments. Having her fall asleep in his arms, content to be with him, liking the person he was, made his skin tingle.
The air conditioner kicked on. Its cool breath provided needed relief for his feverish state.
Jasmina’s voice floated back to them, still friendly but businesslike, the way she behaved with customers. Dante hoped one hadn’t come in here for him.
A soft pink tint flushed Lauren’s cheeks and forehead. Her heightened color could have been from the spicy food or her emotions.
He bet on the latter.
She fiddled with her food, then looked at him.
