CRAVE ME
CHAPTERONE
MILO
I pushopen the door to Blade Tattoo, then squint as my eyes adjust to the dim light. It’s gray and snowing outside, but warm in the little brick shop, with incense burning and metal music on the stereo. It all feels weirdly welcoming after the cold, not at all how I thought I’d feel walking in to ask about my first tattoo.
Hesitating at the door as I take off my jacket, I consider whether I really want to go through with this. I’ve never thought of myself as a tattoo guy. Needles and blood and pain hold absolutely no appeal to me. Like, what? But my best friend Matty suggested a tattoo could be a good way to get over the hang-ups that have been slowing me down lately and the insecurity that I’ve been carrying around since my recent breakup.
“Hello?” a man calls out from behind the counter, pulling me from my thoughts. His voice is rough, but full, and the light casts a shadow over his face, obscuring his features. As I step closer, he comes into view. He must be about thirty, only a few years older than me, but he looks weathered. My eyes trail across his thick neck, boxy jaw, and tightly buzzed black hair until they land on the startling dark glint of his eyes.
This man is gorgeous. He looks like a character from a dystopian action flick, like he could chew me up and spit me out, but that doesn’t hide the fact that he’s strangely, distractingly beautiful, too.
“You got an appointment?”
I swallow. Shit, I’m awkward around hot men. There’s a scar through his eyebrow and a steady, rock-hard expression on his face. With an especially thorny rose tattoo running down the side of his neck, he should be intimidating, but instead, the guy just makes my legs feel loose and my stomach funny.
“Yeah,” I manage to answer. “I have a consultation. Are you, uh, Joey?”
It’s so slight, I can’t be sure, but it seems like the corner of his mouth ticks up just slightly toward a smile. “That’s me. You’re Stone’s friend?”
Stone is another artist at the shop and also my friend Matty’s boyfriend. “Yeah, that’s right,” I answer quickly, then step up the rest of the way to desk while the words keep tumbling out. “I thought about getting a tattoo from Stone, or from Billie, since she specializes in the kind of colors I like. And flowers in general. But I’m a little shy about getting the work done, actually, and I decided someone I don’t know personally would probably be easier to work with. Like I’d be less exposed, if that makes sense, not that I don’t care about you.”
I suck my lips between my teeth. I’m babbling, which I sometimes do when I’m nervous, and when Joey leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, and I see the dark hair that grows on the backs of his forearms, my heartbeat skips around like crazy.
Joey is very babble-worthy.
He drags his gaze across my body, which tugs another tremble from my core. “First tattoo?”
I nod quickly. “Yeah.”
He uncrosses his arms and gestures to the chair across from the desk. “Take a seat. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I plop down, and my eyes darts across the framed pictures of tattoos that dot the brick walls, some of them looking decades old. “What I’m thinking? Well, I guess I’m a little nervous about the pain, like I said, but mainly excited. I know Blade is a great shop, and I have some money saved up. I’m in grad school, studying botany, so I don’t have a ton of cash, but I figured if I was going to get a tattoo, I should invest in getting a good one.”
I stop talking abruptly. From the way he’s looking at me, it’s clear Joey isn’t asking for an inventory of my private thoughts, which seems obvious now that I’m running my mouth and staring at the rich bronze of his skin and wondering what it would feel like to run my fingers over his stubble or that worn, soft T-shirt.
“Sorry,” I say quietly. “What were you asking?”
One more time, I think he almost smiles, but it must be wishful thinking because his expression doesn’t actually crack. “What tattoo do you want?”
“Oh, right.” I pull out my phone, then find the pictures I’d saved earlier. “I’m trying to decide between these flowers. There are seven of them, but I think I’ll only get one, like a scientific illustration on my bicep. I’m a botanist—” I cut myself off, realizing I said that already, and slide my phone across the desk. “You can flip through. I wasn’t sure which illustration would make a good tattoo, but maybe you know?”
Joey takes the phone without saying anything and starts to flip through. While I watch, his eyes glide over the images. He narrows his brow as he assesses them, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from blurting out more rambling nonsense and telling him why thelupinus perennisis such an important pollinator. Joey is awfully hard to read, but I’m fascinated while I study his expression, desperate for some sort of affirmation or approval, some hint of what he’s thinking.
“Any of these could work,” he finally replies, “but if you want my opinion, this purple one.”
“Blazing star,” I say quickly, perking up in my seat. “Yeah, that’s one of my favorites, too.”
Another few seconds of silence passes while he studies the picture. I don’t know if tattoo artists ever turn down work because they don’t like it, or maybe because the client is a blabbering, nervous weirdo, but I pray internally that Joey won’t say no.
I don’t know why, but something deep inside demands that he should be the one to give me this tattoo. There’s no logic to it. He’s barely said a word, and a minute ago I was second-guessing this whole thing, but for some insane reason, my gut still insists he’s the guy who should mark my body forever.
My mind flashes back to the conversation I had with Matty. I’ve been insecure about my body for years. I know I’m cute or whatever, but I feel like my softness is unattractive, the same way a part of me believes that I’m too gentle and that I need to toughen up. People have been telling me to “man up” my whole life, and god knows, gay culture can be just as bad, the way everyone’s obsessed with macho, muscular types.
But like Matty said, I know that I need to change the story I’m telling myself. Soft and cheery is who I am, and honestly, I like that about myself. I just need to start liking that about my body, too.
Getting a tattoo of one of my favorite flowers is big and symbolic enough to help me do just that. If I put something as beautiful asliatris pycnostachyaright there on my skin forever, maybe it will help me think of myself as beautiful, too.
