Page 12 of Blue

“Looks like Carl left a happy man,” Stella commented as she flipped through the appointment book.

“ThatisBlue’s specialty,” Dash said with a sly grin.

Scoffing, she shoved at him.

“Ass,” Blue said as she rolled her eyes. “He liked his octopus,” she answered her new mentor about her recent client.

Stella nodded. “I popped over a few times to make sure you were okay. You did solid work.”

Looking over her shoulder at the door where the man had just been, Blue let the feedback sink in. “He said he’d let me ink him again.”

“Ooh,” Stella cooed. “That’s pretty high praise. He doesn’t usually agree to apprentices to go back for more.”

“How can he?” Blue shot back as she turned. “He has no skin left.”

Stella shrugged. “Not much, but then again, I haven’t seeneverywhere.” She laughed and waggled her brows. “Besides, cover-ups are always an option too.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“I gotta get my drawings together. I have a client in fifteen.” Stella glanced between Dash and Blue.

“Yeah, I need to clean my station,” Blue said with a sigh.

Reaching for her, Dash’s fingers curled around her arm. “That can wait a minute. We need to talk.”

Perplexed, she cocked her head to the side. She peered first at his hand on her arm and then at his features. “I’m sorry. Did you want to rephrase that as a question?”

They may have been friends, former fuck buddies, or whatever, but she didn’t take orders from him. He could use manners with her. Besides, they weren’t in the clubhouse—when would she ever be again?

All her friendships had revolved around Mooky: Sarah, and Dash. Her closest friends would go away if she decided never to return.

The pain of the likelihood of losing them stabbed her straight through her already crumbling heart.

This just got worse.

His gray eyes narrowed on her in warning. She’d rarely seen the expression before. It’d been reserved for asshats at the clubhouse or the Broken Spoke—the MC owned hole-in-the-wall bar.

That look told her there’d be no discussion. Her station would wait. It wasn’t a request, suggestion, or question. This was a demand.

“Okay, fine,” she grumbled and wriggled her arm. “You don’t have to grab me though.”

To that, he released his hold. “Let’s head outside for a coffee or something.”

Pursing her lips, she gave him her own pissed off look. “Let’s just go. No need to bring beverages into it.”

She knew his propensity to be bossy, but she wasn’t one to be told what to do—perhaps why they’d never worked out. Well, that and her crush on Mooky’s art and Mooky.

He waved a hand and bowed as though suddenly he was the most chivalrous man on the planet. “After you.”

Head high, shoulders back, she did her best to saunter out of the shop while rolling her eyes in his direction. She put an extra pop in her hips for good measure. She might not always give him a verbal attitude, but she could be damn sure to give him sass with her body language.

Once outside, she folded her arms over her chest, turned toward him, and arched a brow. Time for him to talk. She didn’t have to go any further.

The bald biker ran his tongue along his bottom lip as he glanced around the parking lot. His thick paw of a hand slid along his smooth scalp before his gray gaze landed on her once more.

“Where you been?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” she countered, buying time to come up with an answer.

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