Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“You having fun with your aunt and uncle?” I ask in an attempt to break the ice. Kinsley climbs up into my tattoo chair and shrugs, and that’s when I remember she’s here because her mom was late to drop her off for her field trip. I think she said it was the science museum. “Sucks you missed your field trip.”
“That’s a swear word,” she says. “I’ll give you a warning, but next time I get a dollar.” She’s dead serious, not even a hint of a smile on her face. It takes me a second to put together what she said, but once I do, I bark out a laugh.
“All right... So, what’s your favorite part of the science museum?”
This gets me a small smile. “All of it,” she says softly. “The bodies and dinosaurs and space and music and…and…water and animals and all of it.” Her smile grows with each word she speaks, and by the time she stops to take a breather, her face is lit up like a Christmas tree, reminding me of the way her mother’s skin flushed pink in embarrassment earlier. They don’t have the same hair or eye color, but both of their skin is that shade you see on dolls, almost a translucent porcelain, and their smiles are identical, just a tiny bit crooked with a hint of mischief.
“I’m sorry you missed it,” I tell her. We’re both quiet for a long beat, and I’m not sure what to do with her. Being in a tattoo shop kind of limits what I can do to entertain a small child.
I glance around my room, trying to find something that might interest her. When I spot my markers, an idea forms. “Want me to give you a tattoo?” I flash her a playful grin, holding up my markers so she knows I don’t mean a real one. And just like her damn mother, her eyes roll to the top of her head.
“My mom told me never to get a tattoo by anyone except my uncles and Aunt Willow because they know what they’re doing.” She shakes her head to emphasize her point. “Just because you can pick up a pen, doesn’t mean you can draw.”
“What?” I ask. I mean I heard her, but how old is this little girl? Twenty? “I work at the same shop as your uncles and Aunt Willow,” I say, unsure why I’m trying to convince this mini version of Quinn that I’m not just another guy with a pen in his hand.
“Yeah… but how do I know you can draw? They’re my family, and I can’t really draw that great, and my mom can’t draw at all.” Her eyes go wide, and I laugh.
“Check these out,” I say, grabbing my portfolio and placing it in her lap. She spends the next few minutes flipping through the pages before she finally reaches the end and closes the book.
“So?” I prompt.
“I guess you’re good.” She eyes me with cautious eyes…just like her fucking mother.
“You guess I’m good?” I scoff. “Listen here Mini-Q, I’m damn good.”
“What’s a Mini-Q? Wait! You owe me a dollar.” She puts her hand out, and it takes me a second before I catch on that I just said the word damn. Pulling out my wallet, I flip through my bills until I find a dollar, then hand it to her. I can’t even imagine how much she’s made over the years from her uncles and Willow. Those three curse like drunken sailors.
“Where does the money go?” I question. “Into a swear jar or something?” My cousin Milstead uses one with her kids because her husband has a horrible habit of cursing in front of the kids, and when it gets filled to the top, they use the money to do something fun.
“Nope, right into my pocket,” she says, folding the bill and shoving it into her pocket as she answers me. “We tried a jar once, but I caught Uncle Jax ‘borrowing’ from it.” I laugh at the way she actually uses air quotes when she says the word borrowing. She’s obviously been hanging out with too many adults.
“So what happens when you curse?”
“I don’t,” she says, deadpan.
“What if you did?” I press.
She thinks about this for a moment. “I guess whoever catches me gets to keep the money.”
“Nice. So am I good enough to tattoo you or not?”
“I suppose so.” She shrugs a shoulder.
“Great!” I smile at the thought at having won her over. Hopefully it will be just as easy to win her mother over. “So, what do you want? A butterfly? A pretty heart? How about a unicorn?”
Her nose scrunches up in disgust, and she gags. “Mommy says a unicorn dies every time one is tattooed above a woman’s ass.”
I laugh hard, loving that Quinn would say something like that. I seriously need to get to know this woman. Then it hits me she just cursed. “Hey Mini-Q, you owe me a dollar.”