I’d hated sneaking off last night without saying good-bye to Presley, but I’d had no choice. One, I’d realized that word had gotten out on the social media sites that I was out and about in downtown Austin because my cell phone had been blowing up with notifications, which would ultimately bring more people. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to mingle with the readers, but I really was a private person. I didn’t do well in those situations.
And two, I’d had the urge to write. So, when that impulse had taken over and I’d realized it was late, I had known then that I would be up most of the night. While Presley had been otherwise occupied with a customer, I had nodded to Gavin before leaving, then hurried back to my condo, making coffee and settling in my office shortly thereafter.
During the walk back, I had mentally prepared an outline for the new work I’d just come up with. Once I was in my office, I’d utilized the white board and mapped it out, spending time noting physical descriptions of characters, potential scenes, the hows and whys. Basically, the story arc.
Once I’d jotted all of that down, I’d jumped right into the words. Now, roughly five hours and one and a half pots of coffee after I’d left Presley back in that booth, a story board created, and a little more than a thousand words written—not even a fraction of my personal best—I knew I needed a break, but was scared to walk away from my desk.
What if my muse left before I was finished with her? Did I really want to leave Kora and Donovan hanging like that? There was still so much about them I didn’t know yet. And yes, I was referring to fictional characters, a couple of imaginary people I would get to know extremely well in the coming weeks. I hoped.
I shrugged my shoulders to ease some of the tension there.
Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes and thought of Presley. Wondered if I’d ever get the chance to see her again. Twice in a week by sheer chance seemed almost as though the universe had set that little plan in motion, but I wasn’t about to get too excited.
Seemed the procrastinating devil on my shoulder had turned into a pessimist as well.
The only reason I’d walked away without asking for her number was the simple fact that I knew I would see Gavin again. Shit, I could walk next door and probably see him now if I wanted. And since the two of them were friends, I figured my chances of finding Presley had improved exponentially.
“Meow.”
I peered over at Cat. “I know,” I told him. “It’s late. I should sleep.”
“Meow.”
I glanced down at the notebook, then over at my laptop.
Lifting the lid, I made the screen come to life, then entered my password and typed Presley Abrams into the Google search bar just for the hell of it. I hadn’t expected to get any hits back, but what I found had my eyes widening. I clicked on the first link, which took me to a website. Her website.
She was a tattoo artist. Interesting.
And hot.
Sitting there, I peered through the various pictures of her work. She wasn’t merely beautiful; the woman was incredibly talented. Damn. The sketches, as well as the tattoos, were phenomenal.
“Shit.” I sat back and looked at Cat, who had curled up beside the laptop. “I think my muse is a helluva lot more complex than I originally thought.”
“Meow.”
“Glad we agree.”
I looked at the screen, noticed an about section. I clicked on the link.
A photograph of Presley—professionally done, with her sporting what I assumed was her natural blonde hair color—appeared on the screen, along with a short bio.
Presley Abrams has been tattooing since she was eighteen years old, ever since her best friend taught her how to wield the gun. She’s been professionally inking people for seven years, currently working at Different by Design, a well-known shop in Austin, Texas.
Not only is Presley an award-winning tattoo artist who has inked hundreds of tattoos, she’s also a sought-after tattoo model, sporting ink by some of the industry’s greats.
Tattoo model?
“Fuck me, Cat. I think I’ve got some more work to do.”
I got to my feet, carried my empty coffee cup to the kitchen, and stuck it in the dishwasher, then returned to the windows in the living room overlooking downtown Austin. The streets below had