Free Just One Bite by Kimberly Raye Page B

Hearts dotted the tops of her knuckles. Tweety Bird peeked up over the neckline of her tank and the tail of a dragon curled from under her shirt and encircled her belly button.
    She eyed the candles and arched one black brow. “Human sacrifice?”
    “That was last night.”
    “Bummer.” She glanced around and held out her arms. “So where are the dudes? Your assistant said you had over one hundred eligible guys for me to pick from.”
    “In our database. We don’t actually keep them here on display.”
    “Oh.” She shifted from one foot to the other and I could tell she felt way out of her element. She was obviously used to being the one in control rather than the one asking for help.
    One glance into her heavily rimmed eyes and I could see why. Mia van Horowitz had been on her own since sixteen, when she’d snuck away to Atlantic City to get her first tattoo.
    It had been right before her younger brother’s bar mitzvah, and her parents had been so outraged (by the tattoo and the fact that she’d dyed her strawberry blond hair a bright, vivid blue) they’d kicked her out of the house. A Jewish princess didn’t have blue hair and a purple snake wrapped around her neck. She had a tasteful bob and a four-carat diamond wedding band wrapped around her finger. Her parents had disowned her and she hadn’t been welcome at family functions since.
    I quickly envisioned myself showing up at the next hunt with blue hair and a snake winding around my neck.
    Nah. My cousin Jeanine had blue hair and a real live snake (a pet named Buddha) that she wore to the annual Marchette family reunion, and no one batted an eye.
    “So how do we do this?” Mia asked me.
    “Well, first you fill out a profile. Then we’ll talk a little bit about what you’re looking for and your preferred dating package. The super-deluxe is my personal favorite.” And the most expensive—which, of course, was why it rated numero uno with yours truly. “You get six months in our database and ten guaranteed prospects. Plus we pay for your first date.” I motioned Mia into my office and settled behind my desk. I pulled up her appointment information on the computer. “It says here you’re a tattoo artist?” As if I didn’t already know.
    “I own my own shop down in the Village. I started small about ten years ago as a one-woman show. Now I’ve got eight other artists working for me. I recently bought the storefront next door and doubled my space to accommodate more clients. Scribble—that’s my place—does everybody who’s anybody in New York. I’ve worked on the lead singer of Nickelback, the fashion editor from Vogue, even Mr. Weather.”
    Mr. Weather was the local celebrity bachelor who had been featured on MMW last season. He was also the one I’d scared the shit out of during a wild carriage ride through Central Park.
    “You’re kidding, right?” The only thing I’d seen painted on Mr. Weather had been an overdone tan. He was vain and self-centered and overly obsessed with his hair, and I just couldn’t picture him doing anything to alter what he considered a perfect body. “Are you sure it was him?” I added. “The meteorologist from Channel 5?”
    She nodded. “Did a self-portrait on his left pec. I wanted to do the shoulder blade, but he wanted to be able to see himself without looking in a mirror.”
    That was Mr. Weather, all right.
    “I work at least fourteen hours a day and do anywhere from two to ten tattoos during that time.” She pulled a knife out of her pocket, slid the blade free, and started to clean under her thumbnail.
    I know.
    “That doesn’t leave much time to date,” I told Mia.
    “My social life doesn’t suck because of lack of time. Time I can make. It’s lack of patience.” She waved the knife. “I hate playing games. I have certain things I want from a guy and I’m not shy about telling them. Most men are intimidated by that, which is why I don’t get asked out much.”
    That, and the fact