“Black,” Stone says, his deep voice purring. “Nice.”
We’re standing outside a convention center and surrounded by motorcycles and giant vans. There’s a mob of tattoo artists and aficionados streaming in, scowling and spitting and cursing as they go.
Anxiety knots behind my shoulders. I let out a slow breath to chase it away, then another.
I just have to get through this, and then I’ll be back safe in my art studio, preparing for tomorrow’s meeting with the art director in my happy place.
“You doing okay today?” Stone asks.
“Yeah, why?”
“You just seem a little tense.”
I step closer to his side. “I’m not really comfortable in crowds like this, at least not normally. But it’s okay. Ayla helped me figure out a plan.”
“A plan?” he asks as we start walking in.
I slip my arm around his, linking us at the elbow. “I’m going to fake it. That’s what this whole thing is, right? If I can fake being your boyfriend, I can fake being confident and un-freaked-out by all the growling men, too.”
Stone chuckles. He doesn’t pull his arm away, and I realize how much it puts me at ease, like if I everyone sees I’m with him, no one will mess with me.
“I guess that works,” he says. “Let me know if I can do anything to help you relax.”
“Thanks! Is this PDA okay?” I ask, tugging lightly on his arm.
“Um, yeah,” he mumbles to the side. “This is fine.”
Inside, booths are generously spread through the convention center, and some artists are busy at work. As we pass, the buzzing of tattoo machines mingles with thrumming, crashing music, pumped out of speakers in each booth.
“I got some news,” Stone says. “I’m going to work in the booth a little today.”
“Oh yeah?” I perk up. He’s like me, always wanting to do more than his job allows, so I know how much this must mean to him. “That’s great. I can’t wait to watch.” I wave my hand in the air, gesturing around. “And they’re playing your favorite, music that sounds like the singer is mad at you.”
He chuckles. “I’m serious. You make a joke like that at the booth, I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect you.”
I stroke the back of his hand. “My hero,” I tease. “You’ll protect me.”
Just like that, the last of the anxiety I’ve been carrying melts away. There’s a little bubble around me and Stone. He’s tattooing for one of the best shops in town, after all. No one is going to mess with us.
If only I’d had a guy like him to walk me down the hallway at school, the first eighteen years of my life might have been totally different.
Close to Stone’s side, my bouncy walk falls comfortably into stride along his casual stroll. Even passing through the busy crowd, I recognize his scent, like dirt after the rain has fallen.
It sure is easy to fake being into this guy.
It’s fascinating enough that he’s dragging a fake boyfriend to a place like this just to make a point. But the more I fall into rhythm with Stone, the more I want to stay there, earning his laugh and melting into his steady calm.
It’s addictive. He should probably be a controlled substance.
“Here’s the booth,” he says with a nod. “I can introduce you.”
Blade Tattoo actually has three booths, all connected together. In the center, an old man works steadily, his client laid out on her stomach while a small crowd watches quietly from the distance. On either side, artists are at work setting up smaller workspaces, and all around, framed pictures of tattoos are on display.
Stone walks us up to a small group, all chilling to the side. “Hey,” he says, then nods to me. “Matty.”
I recognize Jeremiah immediately. He’s taller than everyone else and the only one to turn away without acknowledging me. A couple other artists nod without saying much, but the woman with dark, curly hair comes over to greet us properly.
“Matty, glad you could make it.”
