I accept my handshake and red ribbon from one of the event staff, who compliments my excellent composition and clean technique.
Before heading back to our tables, I take a moment to stare at my piece. I can’t wait to show the rest of the guys. The ribbon is cool, but it’s nothing in comparison to feeling seen. To benoticedby some of the most respected and experienced tattoo artists in the country.
They liked it enough to mention—and that’s everything.
I’m washing at the bathroom sink when a woman sidles up beside me; she’s wearing a tank top and is fully inked out, like most of the attendees here. There’s a stunning black cat tattooed on her shoulder. Two sections of her bleach-blond hair are streaked with vibrant purple. The diamond Marilyn stud near her cheek pulls up slightly when she smiles at me.
“I like your ink,” she says, holding my gaze.
“Oh, thanks. Yeah, I’ve had this one for a long time . . .”
“Sorry, I have to say something, it’s probably nothing, but when I was out there earlier, I noticed a guy watching you from across the room. He gave me a weird vibe. Do you know him or should I flag a security agent or something?”
I furrow my brows and glance at the bathroom exit. Logan already left as far as I know, and he’s the only one who would be watching me that closely.
“Are you sure it was me?”
“Yeah. He’s about this tall.” She holds her hand above me but it’s still too short for Logan. “Brown hair, average build. Kinda clean-cut . . .”Definitely not Logan.“Anything like that sound like someone you know?”
I shake my head, my thoughts circling back to everyone I tattooed today, but that description doesn’t match any of them. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you have friends around?” she asks. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone out there with that guy. He’s giving me the ick.”
Why is this happening?“Um—yeah. Well—no, actually.” I take a deep breath and try again, this time pretending like I’m less flustered. “Yes, I have friends, but they had to leave for a few minutes. I was just going to head to the bar for a drink.”
“By yourself?”
I nod, no longer keen on the idea. I can’t help but wonder if it has anything to do with those weird messages I’ve been getting on Instagram.Is it another artist?
“Hm . . . well, we’re about to become friends.” She holds out her palm. “Hi, I’m Rosa!”
I grin, shaking her hand. “I’m Kelly.”
“Okay, Kelly. Here’s the deal, I just came from the bar, and that place is way too crowded anyway. Wanna head across the street and get a drink instead?”
I nod. “Yeah, let me just text somebody quick.” I dig out my phone.
“Sure! I’m gonna go outside and make sure that guy isn’t around.”
“Oh, hey. If he is, would you mind getting a photo of him?”
“You better fucking believe I will,” she says, nodding before exiting the bathroom.
I open my text thread with Logan and begin typing.
Hey, I was just in the bathroom and some girl said
Fuck, he’s gonna freak if he thinks there’s some guy stalking me. It’s probably just some creep trying to get my number. I delete the message and start over.
The bar here is too crowded, I met a girl in the bathroom and we’re going to go across the street.
Rosa reenters just as I’m sliding my phone into my back pocket.
“I can’t find him.” She shakes her head. “Let’s hurry before he shows up again. Ready?”
“Yup.” We fall in stride and make our way out the door, beelining for the lobby and exiting the main doors toward the other bar.
“A scrunchie? And he still tried to deny it?”
