The girl could play. Quinn’s eyes were huge and dark, her nose narrow and petite. There was probably a touch of Asian ancestry there. If she smiled, I was sure it would transform her face for the better. Still, she was gorgeous. The blouse she wore under the jacket had a hand-painted image on it. Part of a word, “YA,” peeked through her open jacket, along with the scaled foot of some creature inked in a stylized red arc on a black background.
“Getting an eyeful there?” Quinn’s question jerked my attention up to her now scowling face.
“Uh, yeah, I mean no.” Damn it. I must really have been short on sleep to have walked into that trap. “Dragon?” My voice cracked as I pointed at her chest, realized what I was doing, and snapped down my hand.
Jim Stein writes Science Fiction and Fantasy suitable for adults and teens.
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