I can’t let that one go. After I put visions of me next to Keanu Reeves in her head, I’m soaring at the compliment. “Hot guy?” I grin and push ahead before she can answer and break my heart. I don’t think I want to hear it if she really wasn’t flirting with me. “So, what about you? Ever try the online thing?”
I’m more than curious about her life. I want to ask everything. I want to know it all.
“I tried the online thing when I was younger,” she says.
“Younger. How old are you?” I ask.
“Thirty-one,” she says. “I tried a couple apps in my twenties, but every single guy either wanted a free tattoo or thought someone who looked like me just wanted to hook up.”
“Damn,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. She sounds pissed, and I can’t say I blame her. “Well, since I am not even sure I want a tattoo and I have no hope of bringing you into my bed unless you mind sharing it with a pile of plush toys, I think you’re safe with me.”
The words come out so fast, but I regret them even faster.
“So, if you don’t want a tattoo, why did you come in the shop?”
“It’s funny,” I admit. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but I just never knew exactly what I wanted. Which is completely the opposite of who I am. I’m a coach by training, a teacher. I’m a rules guy. I like to know the rules of the game and then play by them. I color in the lines. I don’t usually second-guess myself.”
Except when it comes to beautiful women who feel totally out of my league.
“Wait. Did it drive you crazy today when I drew all over the menu? I color inside the lines when it matters, but if I’m playing? The whole world is my canvas.”
My heart catches in my chest when she says that. That’s something I already feel about her. Her freedom. Her passion. Her immediate honesty and sincerity that can feel almost brash. She’s a big personality whom I could get swept up in and love every second of the ride.
“Your creativity is amazing,” I tell her. “But I don’t mean that in a ‘hook me up with a free tattoo’ kind of way. I loved that you showed Cora she didn’t just have to color in the lines. That kind of freedom is inspiring. It’s not something that comes naturally to me.”
She’s quiet, and I can’t tell if what I’ve said is a good thing or a bad thing.
“So, if you weren’t sure you wanted a tattoo, why again did you come into The Body Shop?” she asks.
I sigh. “New town, fresh start… I don’t know. I’ve never actually been in a tattoo shop. I thought I’d go inside, check it out, and get the whole idea out of my system for good. I sort of did want one, I just…I don’t know.”
She laughs. “Oh, Ryder. That’s rarely how it works. Tattoos are like snacks. You can never eat just one. Once you have a taste, it’s an addiction.”
“Addiction?” I echo. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Fuck no,” she says. “We only have so much skin, and most people only have so much money and time to devote. If you find a good artist, they won’t let you get shit ink. Once you see something that is so beautiful and meaningful that it inspires you every time you look at it… I don’t know. Plain skin just feels incomplete.”
I can’t imagine a woman like her ever feeling incomplete. I lean back against the couch and flick a look at the baby monitor to see Cora still sound asleep. I tug a blanket over my legs and settle in. “So, tell me about it. What do you like about what you do?”
“Well, I can’t speak for all artists. There are a lot of trace jockeys out there who will put a French fry and burgers on the chest of a drunk kid for the right price. But most of us are artists. The body is just the canvas, you know? Each person is so unique, and each piece tells some kind of story. When I ink someone, I want to know the vision my client has. Not just for the one piece I’m doing, but any future pieces they think they might get. I ask about their plans, because if someone has a lot of real estate to cover and they put a giant turtle with googly eyes on their calf, that’s going to be hard to fit into a bigger piece or even cover up later. I like to know the story behind why my clients want their design, so that if the piece won’t work exactly the way they think it will, I can suggest options that maybe tell the story even better.”
I’m intrigued by that and really curious. “So, your arm, for example. Did you have the whole design planned when you started it?”
She barks a harsh laugh. “Oh hell, no. I learned by screwing stuff up. I had a bunch of janky shit I let my friends do when we were learning. The tree is a cover-up that I designed once I got established.”
“It’s beautiful,” I tell her. “It suits you.”
She’s really quiet when I say that, and I hope I haven’t misstepped.
“I think you’re beautiful. And I promise that’s not just my way of getting free tattoo advice.”
She giggles, and it’s that sultry, sexy voice with a note of sweetness in it that reaches through the phone and grips my heart in a fist.
“Are you flirting with me, Ryder? You really don’t have to try too hard. My mother’s friends are probably firing up the matchmaking bat signal right now. You don’t know the power of a small-town mom when she thinks she’s found someone for her kid.”
“Your mom didn’t find me,” I clarify. “We found each other.”
That seems to take the conversation in a more serious direction than I intended, but I don’t care. I’m interested in this woman. She texted me first. And I know all too well that life is unpredictable and short. It’ll tear your fucking heart out and leave you with nothing left. It’s up to us to fill up the spaces in our soul, so that when the tough times happen, we aren’t alone.
