Free Freefall by Tess Oliver

released a breathy sigh. I ran my fingers down the entire stretch of the scar, and she moaned faintly when I reached the end of it. Then she let the t-shirt drop, and she stared up at me. She reached into her back pocket to pull out her pad of paper and pen and then she stared at the drippy cone in her hand. She held it up for me to take and flipped open the pad. She was just about to write but looked up and waved a finger at me.
    “I won’t drop it,” I smiled.
    She wrote something quickly and held up the note. “Lincoln wanted me to go to a different tattoo parlor.”
    It felt like someone fisted me in the chest. I would never see her again. “Why?”
    She wrote more. “He doesn’t like you.”
    “The feeling is mutual.” I looked down at her. “So you’re not coming back to my shop?”
    Her pen flew across the paper. The curtain of dark lashes lifted, and she gazed up at me. “I told him it had to be you.”
    I unclenched my jaw. “I’m glad.”
    She took the cone back from me. A huge drip of melted ice cream curled around my finger. She took hold of my wrist, brought my finger to her lips, and licked the ice cream off of it.
    I swallowed hard and smiled down at her. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
    Her lush bottom lip jutted out, and she shook her head. She finished the last bit of ice cream and tossed the cone to some pigeons. She wrote. “Your father was a race car driver?”
    “Yeah, how did you know?”
    “Google.”
    “I guess that makes sense.”
    She smiled and scratched her pen on the paper. “Not that I’m stalking you. I was just curious.”
    I smiled. “Yeah, it’s not like you have a picture of me in your wallet or anything like that.”
    She found that humorous.
    “My dad died in a race.”
    The dimples faded and she nodded. We’d been having this great, sexy conversation, and I brought it to a screeching halt by bringing up death.
    “Scotlyn.” She peered up at me, and for a second every thought went out of my head and all I could think about was dragging her into my arms. “I’m glad I’m going to be finishing the tattoo.”
    She looked away, and I panicked for a second wondering what I’d said wrong and then her blue gaze focused on me again. She reached up and pressed her palm against the side of my face, and I felt the heat of her touch race through me. Hammond’s distinctive, annoying voice let us know he was nearby. She stiffened at the sound of it.
    “You better walk out first,” I said. “I’ll walk around the back of the restaurant.”
    She slid her paper and pen back into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She handed it to me, and I punched in my cell phone number and handed it back to her. I watched her walk away wondering if it had all been real or if I had been dreaming.
    Scotlyn made a point of not looking my way as I met up with everyone in front of Rocky’s. But Hammond skewered me with a distrustful glare. Clutch didn’t look happy, which meant no sell. The second I reached them, Hammond took hold of Scotlyn’s hand and left. And, once again, I watched her walk away from me.
    “There’s nothing worse than a rich tightwad,” Clutch muttered.
    “Sorry about that. I thought he’d be freer with his cash.” Scotlyn disappeared into the crowd. “What the hell am I going to do, Clutch? Now that I’ve actually met her and touched her, I can’t stop thinking about her.”
    “I don’t blame you.” He grinned down at me. “But I have to say it is pretty damn funny watching Mr. Heartbreak having his own heart take a beating for once.”
    “I’m glad my emotional and physical pain is a source of entertainment for you.”
    People milled about in the waning light of the warm summer evening with no real purpose except to hang out with friends and eat greasy food. The loud rumble of a big motor preceded a nice looking Nova as it rolled through the crowd.
    “That’s Tucker,” Clutch said, as we watched the car go past, “although I