Chapter 3 #2
“Alright.” His brows lift slightly. “Let’s make it interesting.”
“I’m listening.”
“If your team wins,” he says, voice dropping, “you get to pick my next tattoo.”
My breath catches before I can stop it. “You’re serious.”
“Dead.” His gaze flicks back to my sleeve, then returns to my eyes. “Permanent. Inked by someone you choose.”
“And if you win?” I ask, already knowing I’m in trouble.
His fingers curl gently around my wrist, not trapping, just claiming space. “Then I pick yours.”
A thrill races straight down my spine. “You don’t even know what I don’t have yet.”
His smile goes slow. Intent. “I’ve got a pretty good imagination.”
From the booth, Lena whistles loudly. “Savannah!”
“Trivia’s back!” Noah yells.
I step away before I forget how breathing works, but I don’t pull my wrist free until the last possible second.
“You in?” Lucky asks.
I smile, pulse skidding, and nod. “You’re awfully confident for a man about to lose.”
His eyes track me as I back toward my table. “Don’t worry. Either way, I’m walking away with something I want.”
I turn, heart hammering, adrenaline buzzing hot and sharp, and make it back to my booth just in time for the next question.
The last two rounds blur together in a haze of shouted answers, frantic scribbling, and me pacing behind the booth like a caged animal.
Every time the scores flash, we’re still tied.
Neck and neck. No give on either side. I try to focus, but my brain keeps wandering.
To ink. To skin. To Lucky sitting for hours under a needle because I beat him fair and square.
To what he might pick for me if the universe decides to humble me tonight. The thought only sharpens my edge.
I’m hyperaware now, locked in, competitive in that feral way where losing isn’t an option. Trivia stops being a game and turns into a challenge. I plant my hands on the table, lean forward, and grin like I’ve already decided how this ends.
The trivia host taps the mic again, grinning like he knows exactly how feral he’s about to make the room.
“Alright, folks,” he says, letting the pause stretch just long enough to hurt.
“For the second week in a row, we’ve got ourselves a tie.
” The bar erupts in groans and cheers, a mix of disbelief and anticipation.
He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Which means we’re heading into sudden death.
Again. One question. No talking. Write it down and hope you know your stuff. ”
The bar quiets in that unnatural way, like everyone’s leaning forward at the same time. Sudden death.
My heart is pounding so hard I swear it’s visible. I’m on my feet without realizing it, one hand braced on the back of the booth. Across the room, the Reapers are standing too. Lucky’s shoulders are squared, pen in hand, focus locked in like this actually matters.
He looks at me. Just once. His gaze is sharp, challenging, almost daring me to blink first. I don’t.
The question flashes onto the screen. ‘What is the only planet in our solar system that rotates clockwise?’
“Oh,” I breathe. My pen moves immediately. No hesitation. Venus. I write it clean, confident, and slide the paper to the middle of the table like I’m sealing my fate on purpose.
Across the bar, I watch Lucky hesitate. It’s subtle. Barely there. His jaw tightens. He chews on the end of his pen like he’s wrestling the answer out of memory. Then he writes something down.
“Pens down,” the host calls.
The room buzzes. Someone whistles. Someone groans. The host collects both answer sheets and makes a show of it, holding them just long enough to be cruel. He looks at the crowd. “Alright. Let’s see.”
My eyes lock on Lucky’s across the room. Neither of us moves. The noise fades to a dull roar. This moment stretches, taut and electric.
“Quiztopher Nolan answered…” A beat. “…Venus.”
I suck in a breath, sharp and shaky.
The host turns toward the back tables. “The Reaper-cussions answered…” Lucky’s mouth curves like he’s bracing for it. “…Mercury.”
The bar holds its breath, every eye on the host as he looks between the two tables, dragging the moment out like he’s getting paid by the second.
“And your winner tonight,” he says finally, lifting a hand toward the front of the bar, “for the second week in a row… is Quiztopher Nolan!”
For half a heartbeat, everything freezes. Then it explodes. Cheers. Groans. Laughter. My team loses their damn minds. Lena grabs me. Noah yells something incoherent. I’m already moving, adrenaline buzzing hot and wild through my veins.
Lucky straightens slowly, disbelief flickering across his face before he laughs under his breath and shakes his head. He looks at me like he can’t even be mad about it and starts toward me.
We meet in the open space between the tables without saying a word.
I stop in front of him, arms crossed, chin tipped up, riding the high. “Told you.”
He looks down at me, eyes dark and impressed. “You did.”
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” I say, unable to keep the smugness out of my voice. “I know exactly what you’re getting tattooed.”
His brows jump, then he lifts a hand immediately. “Nope. Don’t tell me.”
I roll my eyes. “Backing out already, biker boy?”
He steps closer, crowd noise fading around the edges. “Not a chance, firecracker.”
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and holds it out to me. “Put your number in,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”
My breath catches. This is the moment where I should pause. Where I should be careful. I hesitate just long enough to feel the weight of it.Then I take his phone. I punch in my number, add my name, and hand it back without ceremony. “There.”
His mouth curves slowly and satisfied as he locks the screen and slips it back into his pocket. “Good.” He leans in just enough that I feel it more than hear it, his voice low and sure. “You realize this means you’re marking me for life, right, firecracker?”
Heat snaps through me, fast and bright, settling deep. I smile up at him, unapologetic and buzzing with the win. “Relax. I’ve got excellent taste.”
His laugh is deep, real, like he likes that answer more than he should. For a second, the noise of the bar fades, like the rest of the world has the decency to give us some space. “I’ll be in touch,” he says, eyes holding mine.
I turn back toward my team, heart racing, grin still firmly in place. “Don’t keep me waiting.”