A smirk pops the dimple in his right cheek. “It’s just that it took you long enough. Did you really think I didn’t already know? Lovesick puppy was written all over your ugly mug when I walked in. I had to make up a bullshit insult just to get you to crack.” Damn it, I need new friends .
“Okay, wise one. Doesn’t change that she probably believes I’m a bumbling fool.”
“Oh, yes it does. You deserve to be happy. Stop being a dense, self-deprecating asshole, and go after what you want. The chase might be rough, but the reward will be worth it.” With that, he stands, grabs his phone, and walks out. He doesn’t pay, best friend discount and all, but still. Just walk away when I need support.
My second appointment went off without a hitch. An easy flash piece that took a quick forty-five from start to finish. My hands are grateful for the break they’re getting today. Ten years of tattooing, the last six on a daily basis, has earned me a very frustrating case of carpal tunnel.
“You going to spread that tablecloth, or are we going to stand around all day?” Patrick O’Reilly doesn’t allow anyone to slack on the job.
“Yeah, Dad. Is this the last one?” I ask, mumbling the words softly so my mom doesn’t overhear. No one wants to piss off Momma Mabel.
“Yep. That should do it. Have you met anyone new recently?” he asks, a sheepish grin blooming on his face.
“I’m going to kill Max. That fucker spreads more gossip than old Mrs. Beasley.” I guess it could have been Bridget, but Dad usually gets his gossip from my brother.
Dad chuckles and shrugs. “He just wants to see you happy. Between you and your sister, someone has to keep me informed.”
“Bridget is going to figure it out. Just give her time. And I’m not looking to date,” I reassure him, unconvincingly.
“Sure. I don’t believe a word you just said, and I don’t appreciate being lied to. Bridget did the same when I talked to her this morning.” His face shifts into the all-too-well-known look of dad disapproval.
“How do you know Olive would even be interested, Dad? That’s right, you don’t. You’re just listening to Max’s bullshit.” My voice is thick with frustration at his meddling and judgment.
“What bullshit?” Bridget asks. Her words come out sounding curious, not accusatory, letting me know she didn’t hear the whole conversation. She wouldn’t appreciate Dad and me talking about her love life, or lack thereof.
“Oh, we were just talking about what Xav and Cami are going to have. Who waits to find out the kid’s gender these days?” The lie comes out too easily, turning my stomach at the effortlessness of it. If there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s lie. I loathe it. Honesty is a virtue I live by and pursue relentlessly, but here I am again, with my third lie of the week. My dad has taken note of just how smoothly it trickled out, raising his eyebrow in marked disappointment.
Bridget shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s so weird, right? I don’t know what to buy for the baby shower.”
“You don’t need to get them anything. I already gave them a gift from all of us,” I mutter, under my breath.
I haven’t told my parents that I used the extra money I made this year to start a college fund for the little one. At my age, I don’t need permission for how I spend my earnings, but since I bought property a few years ago, they would worry about my finances too much if they knew. And there are some things that just don’t need to be public knowledge.
Shaking off the uneasy feeling in my gut, I ask, “Want to walk around”? The line is forming quickly, and if we stick around here, Momma Mabel will make us dawn hairnets and start serving.
“Yeah, let’s go look at the games. Maybe you can win me a stuffed pumpkin pillow this year.” Bridget tugs on my arm, pulling me away from my parents’ booth and toward the carnival area.
I can’t help but feel Olive’s presence, even before I see her. My eyes search, damning me to notice her perfect figure, her long, flowy strawberry blonde hair, and that smile I can’t get enough of. Her laughter bellows out like a smooth jazz tune, calming me and pissing me off in equal measure. I wish I was here with her, experiencing it all from her point-of-view.
Her silky voice is chattering along with the Marino sisters when I hear her say something about refusing to kiss anyone. I can’t stop a mumbled quip from slipping out against my will as we pass. “That tracks.”
She puts off the vibe that she would be too good to participate in a kissing booth—yet another reason why we probably aren’t compatible. I used to work that booth, and something tells me she would despise it. I hate the way my perception of her dictates what I think she will and won’t like. I’d much rather get to know her.
“What tracks?” Bridget looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but after a quick shake of my head, she continues babbling about something Nora, our younger sister, told her. I’m not paying attention. Thoughts of Olive kissing someone other than me, ping-pong around my brain. She said she wasn’t going to, if I heard her correctly. Did I hear her right?
We played a few games, and as Bridg hoped, I easily won her the pumpkin pillow she coveted so much. I’m considering it a feel-better gift after everything that went down with Jessa. Just as I’m thinking of the devil, I spot Jessa approaching with Crystal, another girl we went to high school with and one who happens to be quite skilled at breaking up relationships these days.
“Hey, let’s step over here for a sec. We need to talk.” Nudging my sister toward the side of the street, I wedge us strategically between two booths so she won’t see her.
“What’s wrong, Sam? I know that look,” Bridget demands.
“I just thought we would get out of the way for a minute. How are things?”I am not selling this at all.
“Is it the new girl?” Her voice drops to a whisper as she asks the question.
“What?”
“Is that why we are hiding? Did you see her or something?” Bridget peers out like she’s working an episode ofNCISand might spot the killer.
