I mumble a low sound of acknowledgment. This is our normal: He talks to me while I engage with the least amount of energy possible. It’s been this way for two, going on three years, and yet he still hasn’t gotten the message. I don’t want friends or acquaintances, and I don’t even want to waste time on small talk.
A scoff escapes him, but I continue typing. A ploy he once used for me to engage in conversation that I willneverfall for again.
“I see that the stick up your butt is still very much intact,” he says sarcastically.
I slide my eyes to the mirror, glaring at him. He stares back at me, and I look down at my computer to email my boss about thenew work schedule he sent out. Chase mutters to himself as I dart my eyes to the clock on my desk. I have a class in the engineering building that’s about a ten-minute walk from here. I hate how time has gotten away from me this morning.
My finger subconsciously finds my favorite tattoo of Señora Bearington on my wrist, the sensation subduing me for a bit. A knock ensues, and I move to get up before Chase can, but he gets in front of me and I look at him in confusion. A giggle comes when he swings open the door, and I realize he won’t be alone for much longer.
Yeah, time to go.
“Mhm, my roommate’s about to leave—”
The door opens a bit more, and the redhead widens her eyes as she looks up at me. But her attention quickly returns to Chase, lust building in her gaze, and I resist the urge to gag.
Sliding past them, I make my way to class. When I got accepted into college, the original plan with my parents was to get an apartment. But because of my scholarship, I had to get a dorm room. So, I got paired with Chase—the school’s golden child. His dad is on the board of directors, and apparently filthy rich. Of course, there was friction for our freshman year, but then after the horror stories I heard other guys going through, Chase didn’t seem so bad, besides his persistence of wanting to be best friends.
He seems like a decent enough guy, and even offered a space I could use to study, as one of my classes is on the other side of campus. Honestly, I didn’t want to accept any favors, but I eventually did since it was a shorter walk, and thankfully, he didn’t make a big deal about it. It’s a room in a house of the fraternity he’s pledged to, and I am too by association, though I don’t use it as much as he does.
Throwing open the doors to the lecture hall, seeing my usual seat empty, I quickly slide into it, beating the professor to his lecture. I do a quick scan of the space and sigh when someone plops down beside me. He opens his mouth as if to start talking, and I thank the heavens above when the professor and the TA walk in. Placingan earbud in, I start my playlist as the presentation pops up on the board.
I make a note to myself to star the information he points to as I tap my electronic pencil a couple times. Professor Baron winks dramatically to the crowd as we dive into his slides, most likely proving it will be final material.
Copying the diagram on the board, I try to drone out my unwanted thoughts with Tchaikovsky. His soft symphonies make me hyperfocus on everything the professor is teaching.
After what I thought was just a couple minutes, there is the unmistakable sound of everyone zipping up their backpacks, signaling class is over. I grab my own and walk out the door.
Once out, I walk across the street to the tattoo parlor, taking the closest shortcut. As I practically run toward the shop, my body screams blissful relief from the scorching sun outside when I enter. At the front desk, Taryn is there with her newly dyed hair, dark choice of clothing, and piercings littering her face.
“Hey, Liam,” she says as she scrolls on her phone. I slightly raise my chin in acknowledgment while logging into the work computer to clock in. I see the little notification that tells me how long I’ve worked here, and my mouth turns up at how random it was for me to get this job.
I was an awkward freshman starting my career, but given I had some college courses under my belt, I was allowed to start on my electives. One of them being taught by my literal idol. I went to his office hours, and then, with one look at my tattoos, he offered me an internship for his tattoo parlor, and the rest is history. I thought I would be the youngest, but Tobias—the owner—has only hired college students thus far.
Taryn’s sketching something on a sticky note, and I roll my eyes when Bobby throws a little paper ball at her.
“Heads up. Malibu Barbie incoming,” she says, and I look at her, confused. The bell over the door jingles and I glance up, catching sight of a blonde woman with blue eyes.
Her gaze bounces around the tattoo examples on the walls. There’s not a trace of ink on her skin, and I press my tongue against the side of my cheek in annoyance. Glancing over at Bobby and Luke, they shake their heads.
Sighing, I walk over to her reluctantly. “Can I help you?”
She gives me a once-over while biting her lip, and I mentally groan. “Yeah, I wanna get a tattoo.”
“I figured as much. There are some designs out here and in my tattoo room, so tell me what you want and we’ll get started,” I say in my stern tone, starting to walk to my room as my coworkers watch me, covering their mouths as they try not to laugh.
Shaking my head, I disappear into my workspace, and after a bit, a knock ensues. She pops her head in and I wave her over.
“Um, I want this one,” she says, and I look at the image on her phone. Stereotypically enough, it’s a sunflower.
“Is this your first tattoo?” I ask as I walk to the edge of the room, and she nods shyly. “Alright. Well, here’s the chart of where a tattoo hurts the most and least, so let me know where you want it.” I look at the sketch. She picked Bobby’s, so I can’t copy it exactly, but I can put my spin on it.
“I want it on my forearm.”
“Gotcha.”
I hand her the paperwork. “So, this goes over all the basics.” My pen hovers over a couple bullet points. “You understand that a tattoo is permanent, you agree that you’re not under the influence of drugs or alcohol, you understand there’s a chance of allergic reaction or infection. And there are the recommended guidelines on aftercare. Initial beside each item and sign and date the bottom, please.” I gauge her reaction, trying to see any hesitance, but find none.
“Yeah, I’m well aware. I did my research before coming in.”
