“Logan!” I shout, spinning around and pointing a gloved finger in his direction. “Stop being an asshole.”
He isn’t generally the first one to start a conversation, but one thing he keeps his pulse on is the state of my relationship. It’s part of his whole protective-older-brother thing. Knowing Dad, he probably made Logan promise to keep tabs on me, and now Logan’s taking the job way too seriously.
“He’s not?—”
I cut him off. “Look, I’ve spent years casually dating and enjoying different people, but how long can I really get away with that? Those were temporary flings. I want a love like my parents had. Not every romance needs to be cinematic, burstingwith grand gestures and fireworks. The best relationships are the ones thatlast. Every sparkler fizzles out eventually. Jason and I have an adult relationship—we don’t need performative razzle-dazzle bullshit, we’ve got something better.
“Jason is nice. He’s ambitious. He’s responsible. He texts back. He asks about my day?—”
“He asks about your day? Wow, give that man a medal!” His words bite.
On paper, Jason is a catch, so why the fuck does Logan have to keep scrutinizing our relationship? He’s never this hostile with me. I’ve briefly dated assholes in the past and Logan never blinked. Now, all of a sudden I have something halfway decent and he wants to bust my chops?
“Just because you don’t want love doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t,” I snap.
He sets his jaw, glowering at me. I hope he sees the same blazing fury in my eyes as I see in his.Shit, are we fighting?I don’t have time for this. I return to the tattoo, unwilling to let any irritation interfere with my work.
“How are you feeling about the con?” He asks it like a truce. I take a deep breath and count to ten before answering.
“Nervous.”
I’ve been to conventions before, but this will be the first time I submit a piece for the show’s judges.
“Why?”
He knows why. “Because I’m expected to be as good as my dad was, which is impossible.” My bloodline has garnered me a large following on social media, where I post my work. However, the comment sections are often filled with strangers comparing my art to my dad’s.
Logan doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “The industry has me under a microscope. I’m accused of riding his coattails, which is true in some respects, but I want to be judged on myown merit. Sure, he’s Clyde Everhart to the masses, but to me, he’s always been Dad. Just because I’m his daughter doesn’t mean I can compete with a legend—and I don’t want to.” I huff. “I’m stuck straddling the line between wanting to stand out on my own and keeping his spirit alive by following in his footsteps to make him proud. But damn, his shoes are big.”
“What did Clyde tell you?”
“Let the art lead. Ignore the critics and create for yourself.”
“Do that. You can’t control what others say or do, just do your own thing. If it’s received well, great. If not, fuck ’em.”
“Doesn’t make me any less nervous.” He laughs.
“Anyway—new topic. Hey, I’ve got a good idea,” I announce, wanting to change the subject. “You should let me give you a tarot reading.”
I’m genuinely curious what the cards might say about Logan.
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“Well, for one, it can give you some clarity.”
“And two?”
I shrug. “Might improve your love life.”
He groans. “Can we go back to you being pissed?”
“I’m just saying, maybe there’s somebody right in front of you, but you can’t see the opportunity because you don’t know what to look for. You could be missing out.”
When he doesn’t reply, I glance up to find him staring at me. I can’t tell if he’s even listening to what I’m saying or dreaming up some new tattoo design.
Classic creative behavior. I return to my work and leave him to his thoughts. However, he interrupts by asking, “Who says I’m not dating already?”
Laughter bursts out of me and I quickly whip the end of my line to make sure my shaking shoulders don’t fuck up theink. “Everybody?” I answer. “You never leave the shop. You’re turning into a hermit, dude.”
