“Yeah, that’s probably a no bueno move, my dude. Sorry.” He scratched the back of his head before offering Tripp a card, that he took. “So yeah, here’s my card. Think about it, yeah? My uncle owns IgDyme and he definitely would be interested.”
That had Tripp’s attention. “Well. I suppose I owe you for taking her off my hands.”
“That’s the spirit. Six Seven!” Dave did some moves with his hands like he was burying a cough and pantomimed flossing his ass with a towel before shuffling out of the studio. Weird encounter, but IgDyme was a very influential marketing firm, and those always had a use for Tripp’s work.
Rick blinked. Kirk coughed, and Kay glanced around at everyone, including a rather bereft-looking Dray. The bear pouted. “Aww, I thought I was going to see a fight. Can you bite him for us, please?”
“Your fiancée left you for that?” Dray sneered. “He just got a tiny man pushing a lawn mower through his pubes tattooed on.”
“Well… I’ve seen his taste in women, not like his tattoo taste would be better.” Tripp stuck his tongue out.
“You have the same taste in women, apparently.” Kirk raised a brow.
“We were childhood friends, and we got pushed together. It was already going south. I think she was just waiting for something stable to come along to bail.” Tripp waved a hand dismissively.
“You got used,” Rick said with a sneer.
“Yeah, don’t we all at some point or another. I can’t muster the energy to participate in bullshit drama.” Tripp leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. “Also, what was with all that weird shit he did before leaving?”
“Influencer,” Kay said with a shrug before turning his phone around to show me a video of Dave shirtless and belly-sliding through an all-you-can-eat buffet while old people stared on in horror.
“I could use less influence. A lot less.” Tripp shook his head.
“Same. Oh, em, gee.” Rick crossed his legs on the stool and smirked as Dray’s anger melted from his face.
With a sharp step, he reached out to grab Tripp’s hand and tugged, drawing him back. The whole area smelled of one of those bleach wipes, and Tripp hopped up, tugging at his shirt hem. Dray didn’t touch his equipment for a moment.
“You didn’t have to do the thing with the stuff.” Dray’s churlish voice went small. “But it was really thoughtful. Thank you. I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”
“Either way this goes, I won’t regret buying you things. Tell me to fuck off, I will. Keep the stuff. Never a moment’s regret. The food was good company. You’re really pulling me out of my shell. If things don’t go the romantic route… I still want to spend time with you.” Tripp held his hands up and flinched when Dray wrested his shirt up and stared at the tattoo, fingers running over the inking. The way his keen eye studied fine details showed his skill, his love for his craft.
“Gimme ten minutes to touch up a few things. Then we can go on a date. Tonight.” Dray didn’t look him in the eye, focused on his work.
“Tonight?” Tripp perked up, heart skipping a beat.
“Yeah. Lemme do my thing, gimme fifteen, and we can go do something. I’m craving junk food.” Dray made quick work of touching up a few spots that Tripp had no idea needed a thing. He rounded out the end of a rose petal, shaded a little on a scale patch on the snake, and wiped things down before adding a bandage and cream.
“Have some place in mind, or would you like me to take you, or would you like me to pick someplace? What kind of junk food?” Tripp fumbled with his shirt and his phone, opening the map app to see what was around the area.
“Corn dogs. I have a place. Best corn dogs in town.” Dray flinched as Rick and Kay snickered up front.
“Kinda phallic food, bro.” Kay chuckled as a slap rang out—a high five.
Dray sighed. “Don’t read into it.”
But his cheeks were pinkening pleasantly.
“I won’t. I don’t think of sex twenty-four seven.” Tripp huffed and slipped out of his booth. “I think of programming and code. And webcomics.”
“Dray likes his webcomics, too,” Rick teased as Tripp went to the waiting area and flopped down.
“Maybe we should see what we’re reading.” Tripp rose his voice above the din of the background as Dray went to the back, running water drowning everything out.
“Soooo.” Rick leaned over the counter, a weird flashlight in one hand, a rubber sheet spread out over the table—a piece of fake skin. In his other hand, he held his tattoo gun, running it over a pattern sketched onto the sheet. “You wore him down.”
“I didn’t wear him down. I offered; he made a condition, and I waited for the condition to be met. Wearing someone down means they didn’t like you in the first place and probably still don’t.”
“Fair point.” Rick kept moving the gun, but no ink left behind. “Good move on your part.”
