“Lupa.”
The rest of her response fades when I shut the door to my office. That’s enough ofthat. I plop down in my office chair and lean back, staring at the ceiling.
My jaw clenches. I grab the phone from the cradle and hit the button to connect to the front desk.
Frankie answers. “What’s up?”
“Hey, I need you to cancel my appointments after four o’clock, I’ve got an errand to run.”
Jason doesn’t know it yet, but his time’s already up.
I wish this client were more of a chatterbox. I’ve never wished for it so much in my life. Some people love to talk while I work, others meditate, some just want to focus on the meaning of their tattoo, and others throw their earbuds in and listen to music. Whatever their choice, I’ll always respect it. But right now the last thing I want to do is sit with my thoughts.
I blot away the excess ink from the skin and take more into the needle. Focusing on the tattoo proves much more difficult when my mind won’t stop thinking about my last conversation with Logan; not even the steady hum of the machine can quiet my thoughts. There was more to his words than he was saying, but I should have pushed him more—instead, I changed the subject and sent him home like a coward.What was I afraid of anyway?
I’ve replayed our conversation on an endless loop. Each time, my mind seems to manipulate the memory into believing thathis words meant more than they probably do. Like a lie you repeat over and over until it becomes the truth. I’ve even written it down on paper. All he said was that he doesn’t like to think about me with other men—which could mean he’s jealous, or the more likely scenario is that it’s because he sees me as family.He’s protective.
So why does the prospect of Logan’s interest excite me? Probably because I spent years focusing on my attraction toward him and now the remnants from that teenage crush are being resurrected—I need to bury them deeper this time.Which isn’t easy when he understands me better than anyone.I would love if Jason could show the same patience with my grief that he does.
I never should have given Logan that stupid tarot reading the other night. Since then, all of Jason’s shortcomings and our incompatibilities have been put under a magnifying glass. My relationship was fine last week! Until Logan started poking holes in it and saying words I find myself wanting to twist.
Nobody is perfect, I remind myself. Jason can’t be everything. I blot away the excess ink from the tattoo. “Okay, I’m ready to start shading. Would you like to take a break first? Stretch? Use the restroom?”
The client shakes his head.
“Sounds good.”
I swap out the shader. If this were a custom piece, I’d likely be paying more attention to the tattoo itself. However, I’ve already done six of these sexy maritime mermen in the last four days. I posted a flash sale promotion on Instagram. I’m not taking any commissions so I can spend my free time practicing for the upcoming convention in Montana.
Today, the Bozeman Tattoo Festival made a post on social media announcing that Black Rabbit would be in attendance. Casper said one of the judges commented that they were lookingforward to seeing my growth as an artist.No pressure or anything.
My thoughts wander as I fill in color on the merman’s tail, but eventually they circle back to Logan. I can’t escape it.
HowdoI feel about Logan?
I don’t have an answer. I don’t know.
Sure, he’s physically attractive, it’s an objective fact, but I’ve always been able to separate his good looks from our friendship. Now I can hardly make eye contact with him before the butterflies stir in my stomach—which are quickly replaced by a heavy stone of shame.
When Jason takes me out for my birthday dinner tonight, I plan to count all the ways he’s better suited for me. I need to stop entertaining ideas of being more to Logan. Especially when I’m not even sure what he meant in the first place by that stupid comment regarding me with other men. I’m lucky to have Jason. Other women would be thrilled to have a partner like him. Besides, it’s a moot point, Logan doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t seem to do anything.
Jason is optimistic and animated. He’s a golden retriever—essentially the polar opposite of Logan.
Logan’s more like a wolf. Many accuse him of being grumpy, but that’s not entirely accurate, he’s just . . . stoic. Spends a lot of his time in his thoughts, a place I’d love to vacation. I’m forever fascinated by the way his brain works. How he can sit in silence before creating an utter masterpiece.
There’s nothing wrong with Jason—and there’s nothing going on with Logan.
We’re friends—justfriends.
“Are you comfortable in this position?” I ask, before starting again.
They nod.
“Good, if that changes, just let me know. You’re doing a great job!”
Yes, this birthday dinner is exactly what I need. Once we’re sitting down at the restaurant, I’ll be reminded of how great Jason is, and why I should be investing into our relationship—instead of searching for deeper meaning in Logan’s words. A possibility isn’t worth tearing up weeks of groundwork. Possibilities aren’t a strong foundation.
Regardless, the best part of my birthday is yet to come: today I get a letter from Dad.
