Page 19 of Ink's Devil

“How tall are you?”

“I was six-foot-one when I was twenty, I’m six-foot-one and three-quarters now I’ve reached twenty-seven.”

I almost spit out the mouthful of beer I’ve just taken. “You’re still growing?”

She gives a twisted grin. “It’s slowing down, hopefully stopped.”

An image comes into my mind and I spit out a mouthful of beer as I laugh.

“What?” Her brow furrows.

“I just thought of a scene fromAlice in Wonderland.”

She rolls her eyes. “You mean the ‘drink me’ potion where she grows too big? I may have heard that before.”

I chuckle. “That’s it. Perhaps we can find you a magic mushroom to munch on to reverse the effects.”

“I wish we could,” she says, glumly.

Hmm. Have I hit a sore spot? “Do you mind being so tall?”

“Do you?”

I shrug. “It’s different for a man. I’d rather be tall than short, but I suspect it’s not the same for a girl.”

“You’re taller than most, though.”

My shoulders rise and fall for a second time. “I used to get asked if I was a basketball player, but that stopped when I started wearing a cut.”

“And what’s the weather like up there?” She chuckles.

We share a moment. Yeah, tall people can be the butt of many jokes. It’s almost a way to cut us down to size.

“I like you being tall,” I tell her, my mouth running without my brain being in control. “Nice not to get a crick in my neck or need to bend myself in two to fuck you.” I change the subject quickly before she can read too much into it. “So, sports. You do any?”

“I run.”

Yeah, she looks fairly athletic. I imagine her running around the block a couple of times when the weather is warm enough. “Often?” I ask, while trying to get the thought of her in tiny running shorts out of my head.

“Every day. Either outside or in the gym if the weather is against me. I like entering half-marathons.”

I eye her with a new respect. All the sweet butts ever do is sit around on their asses, the most energy they use outside of bed is doing their hair, donning their makeup or painting their nails. “Anything other than running?”

“That basketball joke?” I nod as it seems to be expected. “Well, yes, I was on a team at school for a while.”

My brow creases as it looks like a painful memory. “What happened?”

“I sprouted early, so I was taller than the girls on most other teams.”

An ideal player in my opinion. “You get hurt?”

Her chin rises and falls. “But not in the way you’re thinking. I got more baskets than anyone else, and it was hard for anyone to take the ball from me. So, there was jealousy on my own team. Our opponents? They’d accuse us of cheating. Oh, not on the field, but in the locker rooms. I left the team.”

“You were bullied?”

“I was the odd one out. So, yeah. That’s when I learned it was better to try to hide, than be seen.”

Seems anyone who doesn’t fit the norm is fair game. Fuck, I know that as I wear my cut, but as an adult I can handle it. Not so much so for a kid. Boys tend to settle their fights with fists, girls use spiteful words. I wouldn’t be surprised if the latter caused more hurt. I reach over the table and squeeze her fingers, before drawing back my hand. While she’s with me, no one is going to be picking on her. If they do, they’ll have to answer to me. My sudden desire to be there to protect her is surprising.

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