Page 53 of Pink Ink

“Miss Sinaga, you cannot be walking—”

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Shaw.” She cuts me off.

The absolute gall of this woman. “We’ve discussed this before. It’s not safe for you. I can either call you a cab or walk you to the station.”

“No, thank you.”

I sigh, exasperated. “Miss Sinaga, must we keep going around in circles?”

“It appears we must.” She grabs her headphones off the table. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Shaw.” Then she turns around, plays her music, and pretends I’m not standing here staring at her like some lunatic.

Add one more thing on my to-do list: escort Reyna home without her noticing.

REYNA

“Guess how much these cost me.” Kimi taps her acrylic claws on the table, half an inch away from my bowl.

I could guess, but either way, it didn’t come out of her wallet. Whenever her dad limits her bank account, random men step up—hair, nails, eyelashes, Botox, weekly facials, massages, all the things I wish I were in the tax bracket to eventhinkabout doing.

“You could take an eye out with those things.” I spoon the disappointing, Westernized nasi goreng into my mouth.

She holds her hand up, admiring the flowery design. “Exactly. You know who to call if you need them for one of your scenes. As long as it’s not too fucked-up, I’m in.”

There are those words again.Fucked-up.

I brush them off because I know she doesn’t mean it as an insult. She supports what I do and what I like, but she doesn’t see what I see. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. I need to come up with a new concept for that to happen.”

There are plenty of kills by the Shadow that I could choose from for my next project, but none of them have me hooked. The recent ballerina-esque murder was inspiring, except I don’t know anyone who does ballet. My two left feet sure won’t be playing the victim in it.

Obviously, I could come up with my own murder idea. In fact, I really want to. But it weirdly feels like I’d be betraying the Shadow if I did. So unless he has a new kill, I’m stuck with the ballerina idea. But…

“You took dance when you were younger, right?”

Kimi grimaces. “I did hip-hop for, like, six months, then got kicked out for arguing with one of the other girls.”

“Arguing?”

“I threw my shoe at her,” she clarifies.

“Same thing.” It’s a wonder how she’s never spent a night in jail.

“I love that you support women’s wrongs.” Kimi grins.

I roll my eyes. “That’s not a blanket rule. A lot of women do terrible things.”

“And we love it. A woman doing wrong is just a woman acting the way men get away with—wait.” Kimi double-taps her phone to check the time. “Shit. I’m so late.” She jumps to her feet and contorts her fingers in an unnatural angle to hold her iced coffee, phone, wallet, keys, and books in a single hand.

Frowning, I check my watch. “Our next class doesn’t start for another two hours.” We both picked psychology as our elective paper. Turns out, we both suck at stats, so we’re like dumb and dumber in that class.

Kimi winks at me. “I have a hot date.”

“With a new flavor or an old one?”

“A rich one.Owen.” She sings his name.

“What happened to Jake?”

“Jack,” she corrects. “Jake was the one before him. I saw him run up the stairs, and immediately got the ick. His personality was nice while it lasted—and he didn’t last very long.”