Copper hair spills across her shoulder, catching light the way a lit match does—sudden, demanding your full attention before you're ready for it.

The ink starts at her collarbone and winds somewhere you'd need to get much closer to follow. Each line deliberate, each curve earned. She knows exactly what she's doing letting you look this long.

You do like tattooed redheads. You didn't realize how much until this exact moment, your eyes tracing the contrast of dark ink against skin that flushes warm and pale all at once.