Page 25 of Inked Heart
There’s a specific kind of torture involved in realizing you like someone at exactly the wrong time.Not the casual kind of like.Not theshe’s pretty and fun to talk tokind of like.
I’m talking about the kind that sneaks up on you slowly until one day you realize the person has somehow taken up permanent residence inside your head.And you can’t evict them.
That’s where I’m at with Quinn Thomas.
Unfortunately for me, Quinn Thomas also happens to have a boyfriend.Which means the smartest thing I can do is exactly what I’ve been doing.Nothing.
Instead of going upstairs to my office like I know I should, I sit at the small desk in the corner of House of Ink, staring at a spreadsheet full of numbers that suddenly seem a lot less interesting than they did ten minutes ago while pretending not to stare at her.
Across the shop, Quinn laughs at something Skye just said.
It’s not a loud laugh.More like a soft burst of sunshine that slips into the room and brightens everything around it and my eyes flick up automatically.Because apparently I have the self-control of a goldfish when she’s nearby.
She’s leaning against the counter with a coffee cup in her hands, blonde hair falling loosely around her shoulders.Sunlight from the front windows catches the edges of it, making it glow like something out of a shampoo commercial.
She looks comfortable here.Relaxed.Like this place belongs to her just as much as it does to the rest of us.
Which is both wonderful ...and a problem.
I force my gaze back to the laptop screen.Numbers.Focus on the damn numbers.Numbers don’t flirt with you by accident.Numbers don’t smile in that soft way that makes your brain forget basic human functions.Numbers definitely don’t date former high school quarterbacks who used to shove you into lockers.
That last thought drags my attention away from the spreadsheet again.
Because no matter how hard I try to ignore it the image of Quinn standing in that grocery store aisle last night keeps replaying in my head.The humiliation in her eyes, the way she tried to brush it off like it was nothing, and the way Emette Black walked away without a second thought.
My jaw tightens and I look up again.She’s still talking to Skye, completely unaware that half my brain is busy analyzing every tiny detail about her existence.This is not healthy.I lean back in my chair and rub a hand across the back of my neck.
“You’re staring.”Laine’s voice appears beside me like an annoying ghost.
I glance up.My older brother stands next to my makeshift desk with a cup of coffee in one hand and an expression that says he’s been watching me longer than I realized.
“I wasn’t staring,” I say.
“You were absolutely staring.”
“I was observing.”
“That’s just a fancy word for staring.”
I sigh.“Don’t you have clients to harass?”
“Not right now.”
Of course he doesn’t.Because apparently my personal misery is today’s entertainment.
Laine leans against the edge of the desk and follows my line of sight across the shop.Quinn is now laughing at something Alistair said while trying to balance a cupcake wrapper on Skye’s head.
“She’s something, huh?”Laine says casually.
I stare at him.“What?”
“You heard me.”He nods in Quinn’s direction.
“She’s nice.”
“Nice,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
