I Knew You Were Trouble - Cassie Mae Page 0,3

somewhat normal. She’s a bit breathy still. It’s kinda cute.

And hilarious.

“Is that combined?” the guy asks. “I handed you two cards.”

She blinks a few times then slowly turns to the forgotten card sitting by the scanner. “Oh, whoops!” she exclaims, and we all jump back from the sudden burst of volume. She hustles back to the scanner and is ten thousand times faster getting him the amount on it.

“Sorry… that second card has four hundred and fifty-five.”

“Dang it,” the kid says for the first time. “Three hundred short.”

“You can have mine,” the guy says, resting his arm on the counter and eyeing the gadgets. His younger brother—I’m assuming—must want the footballs that light up when you spike them. I got about seven of them at home. Hey, when on break—and when you know the ins and outs of every game—it’s easy to get tickets.

“So, Fort Wayne, huh?” the guy asks, going back to my ink. Candace’s shoulders slump, and I’m wondering if she really hates me and my proverbial finger to the rules. “By the zoo?”

“Around there.”

He nods and tugs at his collar, showing off more of his tattoos. I’m kinda used to these conversations by now. If it’s not a tattoo brother it’s a bike brother trying to tell me they are just as badass as I am. Like I’m badass. I make minimum wage, live with my sister, and rarely do anything but work and sleep.

“I passed through there once. Couldn’t find a place to do any ink, though.”

“Hmm,” I grunt, trying not to dismiss the dude, but hell, I could throw a rock in Fort Wayne and find a tattoo parlor.

“I’ve been to Fort Wayne, too,” Candace blurts. We both turn our attention to her and her beet red face and awkward as hell smile. She brushes her bangs from her face frantically, but her hat keeps them stuck to her forehead.

“That so?” I say with a smirk. She doesn’t give me a second glance, keeping her eyes locked on the target of her affection. “Did you get ink, too?”

She lets out a half laugh, half croak, then quickly shuts her mouth and clears her throat. There is a smile on my face I can’t get rid of and held back laughter that’s gonna crack one of my ribs.

“No,” she says. “I… don’t have any tattoos. I did a henna one once though. My cousin was experimenting with it and she gave me a pokeball. Like from Pokemon. I imagine I caught charmander because he’s the cutest one. It was during all that Pokemon Go hoopla which was super fun, right? I mean everyone played that. Well, not me because I didn’t have a phone yet. My parents were like, ‘don’t you get a phone before you’re sixteen. It’ll rot your brain.’ They were probably right because Amber got a phone when she was twelve and she’s dumb as a rock. Her words, not mine. I wouldn’t say that about anyone, especially my best friend. She did the henna thing with me, too, but she got some fun pattern thing that went down her neck, and I really like your neck tattoo; I’ve seen it in art class. Well, obviously, since you pose shirtless for us. So did you get it in Fort Wayne? Oh no wait, you said you couldn’t find a place. I know how to listen, I swear.”

“Do you know how to breathe?” I ask, my eyebrows sky high. Candace can talk, but I didn’t realize she could talk that much.

The guy chuckles at my joke, and I get a much deserved kick to the shin that he doesn’t see.

“That’s where I know you from.” His eyes drop to her chest briefly. “Candace…” he reads off her nametag. “Good to put a name to the face. How long you been painting?”

Candace opens her mouth, closes it, opens again, makes a croaking noise, then shakes her head hard. Oh this is painful to watch.

“Since you were about five, right?” I say, offering help. Not sure I can take much more of her attempts to flirt, as funny as they are.

“Umherm,” she mumbles, adding a nod. Good, ‘cause I guess whatever noise that was meant yes.

“Cool.” He drops his gaze to his brother crouched by the more expensive knick knacks in the front case. I move over to help the little guy out, give Candace her in without me being witness to it. Maybe that’s why she’s fumbling so hard; she probably knows that no matter