Page 17 of Sweet
He glanced away. “I was kind of… busy.”
“Right.”
He looked at the bundle in her arms. “Yarn?”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t such a great day so… yarn.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I like yarn. What are you doing here?” She glanced at his basket. “Oh, art supplies. That makes sense.”
“Bill asked me to put some flash on the walls by my station,” he muttered. “Just some stuff I’d be willing to do for the college-girl crowd, you know? I mostly do custom stuff, but I’m working more hours now.”
“College-girl crowd?” Daisy felt her temper prick. “Like me?”
He smiled a little. “Not like you. I mean… yeah, you’re in college, but I’m talking about—”
“You’re talking about silly girls who wander into the shop when they’re drunk or partying with their friends or having a birthday, right?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I guess so. Though, to be clear, I do not tattoo drunk people. I have ethics and shit.”
She ignored him. She could feel her face heating up with the indignities of the day. “So these college girls will come in, and you’ll tell them to pick out the prettiest butterfly or bird and you’ll put it on their wrist or their back or their shoulder.” Her fingers gripped the yarn. “And you’ll do a good job, but then as soon as they leave with their friends, you’ll make fun of those silly girls, right?”
Spider carefully set his basket of pencils and paper down before he crossed his arms. “You’re making a lot of assumptions, princesa.”
“But am I wrong? You and the entire shop—the entire rest of the world—will make fun of their pretty butterflies or birds or that special quote from their favorite poet. Because it’s not big and tough and cool like…” She roughly gestured to his arms. “That. It’s not edgy like skulls or bloody crosses. Because butterflies and birds are justgirlthings, and we don’t take girl things seriously, do we?”
Spider kept his gaze level. “Who made fun of you, Daisy?”
“Everyone, okay?” She threw her arms out and tossed her yarn in a nearby basket. “Everyone makes fun of the things I like. Whether it’s knitting or gardening or… or baking. Who cares about that stuff, right? That’s like… housewife stuff. It’s notimportantlike psychology or finance or medicine. I mean, why would I want to run a bakery when I could go be a psychologist? Didn’t you say it? That would bedumb.”
He furrowed his eyebrows together. “I didn’t—”
“That’s what you said. That’s what you think. I get it.” She put her fist on her hips. “I get that it’s not what everyone thinks I should be doing, but you know what? I’ve been telling people for years what I actually want and they all treat me just like you treat those silly college girls who come into the tattoo shop. Like they’re immature children who don’t really know what they want and aren’t ready for real life.”
She stepped closer to Spider and looked up. “I do know what I want. And I don’t think it’s silly or dumb to like beautiful things. Ilikebutterflies and birds and rainbows. Ilikepoetry and soft things and—”
Daisy was cut off by a flash of heat, hands, and motion as Spider put one hand on her cheek as his other arm slipped around her waist, pulling her up and into his chest. His mouth landed on hers, and his fingers slid back into her hair, tilting her lips until they aligned with his.
He didn’t kiss her; hetookher.
Spider took her breath, her anger, and every thought from her head. She reached her arms up and gripped his neck, drawing him closer as his hand fell from her cheek and slid around her waist, his fingers spreading wide at the small of her back to press her belly into his.
She could feel the rock-hard muscle he hid under his shirt, the solid plane of his abdomen, his chest pressing against her breasts.
Daisy felt her entire body soften as Spider backed her into one of the yarn displays. She barely registered the pinch of metal against her back as he continued to ravish her mouth.
She could feel the ache between her thighs, the solid erection hidden behind his jeans. His hand slipped down and cupped the curve of her ass, and she let out an incoherent sound that was somewhere in the neighborhood of a cat.
Spider lifted his head and his hand froze. “I’m sorry, I should have asked—”
“Yes.” She pulled his mouth back to hers.Yes yes yes yes—
“EXCUSE ME!”
Daisy’s eyes went wide. Spider froze with Daisy halfway sitting in a basket of chenille, one hand on her butt and the other hooked under her thigh.
“This. Is not. The place. Forthat.” A beige-colored woman with lifeless grey hair and a blue apron glared at them. “Please leave.”
