The shirt dropped to the floor of the motel.
Theresa had asked Rick Stiger to remove the shirt, playfully, flirtatiously, and now she was staring at a tattoo of an achingly gorgeous woman on Rick’s arm.
It wasn’t flash. It was a portrait,the expression too personal to be a model or even a movie star.
“Ex-lover?” she asked, immediately not wanting to know anything about the woman.
Rick hesitated, and Theresa jumped it. “Nevermind, none of my business.”
He fell onto the ugly bedspread in the cheap motel–Theresa had to remind herself she had chosen the motel, not Rick– and patted the space next to him, wanting Theresa to sit.
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