Inked on Paper by Nicole Edwards Read Free Book Online Page B

woman next to me, the old guy in the corner. Back to the pen and paper. I must’ve done it a hundred times, because the next thing I knew, the blueberry scone had disappeared, as had half of my large coffee.
    “Shit,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a napkin.
    “Try playing tic-tac-toe with yourself. It’s good for your ego,” the coral-haired woman beside me said, her husky voice drawing my attention her way once more.
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. At least it works for me. Usually.”
    I really liked the sound of her voice. And the sweetness of her face. And the color of her eyes, accentuated by the dark liner circling them. The perfect curves of her mouth. The slight dimple in her chin. And … I let my eyes drift lower.
    Again, I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help but notice her hands. She had slender, elegant fingers but no fancy fingernails glued to the end like most of the women I knew. Then again, her fingernails weren’t what caught my attention. No, the credit for that went to the intricately detailed tattoos that covered each of her hands.
    On the right one, she had a light pink and white rose with delicate petals wrapped in what appeared to be barbed wire that snaked down her index finger. The design was done so well that the flower looked almost real, the shading causing the petals to practically stand up. On her other hand was a vibrant turquoise candy skull with dark blue eyes in the shape of hearts, a matching upside-down heart for a nose, and pink teeth that tied in with the random designs throughout.
    I forced my eyes away, concerned she’d caught me staring—which honestly wasn’t something I tended to worry about—but when I looked up, she seemed more interested in the x and o she was jotting down on the most recent tic-tac-toe board she’d drawn. My attention was snagged by a napkin tucked beneath the sketch pad, part of which I could see had a colorful design on it, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
    When she turned her head, peeking out from beneath the white hood, I quickly turned back to my notebook, pretending to be…
    Shit, I couldn’t even pretend. I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to write.
    So I started with … Chapter One .
    Kind of pathetic, but it was a start.

Chapter Eight
    Presley
    Was it me, or did this guy look really familiar?
    I was pretty sure I recognized the attractive man who had settled at the table beside me, but I had no idea from where. Being that I lived and worked in the area, it was possible I’d seen him at the grocery store, or perhaps he’d been a customer at the tattoo shop, which would’ve been the most logical place to have seen him.
    Then again, he didn’t look much like the tattoo type. He was too clean cut for that, in a very male model kind of way.
    Damn it. Yes, I was stereotyping—something I’d been trying to work on for some time now. I’d learned long ago not to do that. In my line of work, I’d realized that people of all walks got tattoos. College kids, kindergarten teachers, fathers of three, Girl Scout leaders… They all got ink. These days, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a nun stroll into my shop.
    But this guy… I don’t think I’d seen him at the shop.
    Maybe it was the bad boy thing he was rocking that seemed familiar. Scruffy jaw, tousled black hair, faded jeans, black hoodie covering what looked to be a rather impressive upper body—he could’ve easily been one of the many I’d seen over the years traipsing around downtown Austin, attempting to make a name for themselves in the music world.
    Along with all that, even with the scruffy, rough edge I saw, there was something beautiful about him. I honestly had no idea what it was about him specifically, though.
    Still, I had no idea where I might’ve seen him. Since this was only the third time I’d come in to this particular coffee shop, I doubted I’d seen him here, but again, it was possible.
    While I’d been scribbling x ’s and o ’s between the lines,