Page 18 of Love at First Ink

“I take it you don’t want to be in the pit?” Cisco mused.

“The pit? What the hell is the pit?” Color drained from her face. He felt bad for how uncomfortable she was, but he hoped he could make tonight more enjoyable for them.

“I’ll show you later. Let’s get a drink, and I’ll take you to my favorite spot.” When she nodded, Cisco led her to the bar and ordered whatever local beer they had on tap. He offered one to Marisol, who immediately took the glass and drank down half its contents.

Damn. She was more nervous than he thought. Was it a crowd thing? Or something deeper?

Still, he kept faith that the spot they would be watching the concert from would ease some of those nerves. “This way.” He pulled her past the bar and back toward a closed-off area. The bouncers there let them pass without a second thought but stopped the two drunk men who tried to follow them in, claiming they were with “the dude with the brown jacket and his hot chick.”

He felt the urge to turn around and smash his fist against the drunk man’s stupid face for calling Marisol the “hot chick,” but he didn’t think that would make a good impression on a first date, no matter how good it would make him feel.

Ignoring the drunks behind them, Cisco gestured for Marisol to go up the stairs while he followed behind her. The second story balcony was small, overlooking the first floor and giving them the perfect view of the stage. There were a few high-top tables with chairs, but the best thing was that no one else was on the balcony. The only other person who could have been up here was his cousin, Santiago, who was the co-owner of Lucky Rabbit, but he and his partner were in Vegas for their five-year anniversary.

This VIP section was equipped with a fridge full of drinks and snacks, as well as their own private bathroom. Back in his teenage years, Cisco would have thought being on the balcony was the worst thing ever because he wasn’t in the middle of the pit, jumping and swinging his fists with the rest of them. But as a thirty-three-year-old man? That sounded like a fate worse than hell. There was no amount of pain meds that would make him feel good the next day.

Ah, the joys of aging.

The tension that had been coiled in Marisol’s shouldersseemed to ease once they escaped the overwhelming press of the crowd. Her grip on her purse loosened, almost as if she were letting her guard down. Cisco wanted her comfortable so she could enjoy the concert without always looking over her shoulder when someone got too close. She took a deep breath, letting the quiet of the empty space settle over them before scanning the area. Once she seemed to realize they were alone, she placed her purse down on a nearby table.

"Are we going to be alone up here?" she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and caution.

“Just the two of us. Figured it was better than being down there.” He gestured to the ever-growing crowd below. Everyone was pressed up against each other, with only a modicum of space toward the back of the venue.

"Thank God," Marisol muttered under her breath as she dragged a chair closer to the balcony ledge. With effortless grace, she hopped onto the seat, her movements causing her tits to bounce, which he deliberately avoided acknowledging. Settling in, she crossed her legs, the shift in position revealing a glimpse of her tattoo—a dark swirl of ink against her skin briefly catching the light.

“That’s healing good.” Without thinking, he reached out to feel the raised skin, pleased to feel it moisturized. “Has it been itchy?” Realizing his fingers lingered on her thigh, he pulled them back.

Thankfully, Marisol didn’t seem upset he touched her without permission. “Like a bitch. How come no one ever warned me?”

“It was in the care package I gave you at the end.” He smirked. “You telling me you didn’t read it?”

“Oh, I read it. It mentioned slight itchiness. That’s a lie. I’ve never wanted to dig my nails into my skin more. It’sfrustrating.” Marisol frowned, an adorable pout on her face. Cisco shouldn’t have found it so endearing, but he did.

“Ahh, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll make sure to write an appropriate description.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe a little.” Cisco smirked.

The corners of Marisol’s lips twitched up in a smile. Her gaze dipped down to his lips, lingering before moving back up. “I don’t like a tease.”

No, he imagined a girl like her wouldn’t. A spoiled daddy’s girl who got what she wanted.

Cisco didn’t get a chance for rebuttal. The lights in the venue dimmed, followed by excited screams from the crowd. Moments later, the sound of the bass drum thumped a rhythmic beat. He felt it in his chest as if it were his own heart beating loudly for all to hear. The electric guitar played a single note, and the stage lights flashed as a group of four took the stage.

Pasión Rebelde was a band Cisco recently started to listen to. When he heard they were opening up for The Sinner’s Web, he was excited by the prospect of seeing them perform. The drummer, guitarist, and lead singer were proud Mexican-American women, and their bassist was the lead singer’s husband. They opened with their single called “Mundo Nocturno.” It was a heavy metal song sung in both English and Spanish about living in someone else’s shadow.

Cisco turned to take in Marisol, hoping she was enjoying it. She bobbed her head, hair bouncing around her. To his surprise, she was silently singing along to the song. “You know them?” he asked, impressed. This woman was a well of musical knowledge.

It was dark, but he swore he saw her brown cheeks redden. “Yeah. Just a few of their songs. I really like this one. It’s on my shower playlist.”

And now Cisco was picturing Marisol in the shower. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together.

“You’re going to have to show me this playlist,” he said.

“If you want, I can play it on the way back to my house.” It was a shy offer, as if she expected him to turn her down. Maybe she wasn’t as spoiled as he initially thought—like she had heard no often in her life.

“Only if I can sing the ones I know. I’m a great singer.”

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