Not that I’m about to tell the stranger in front of me any of that. He’s going to do something personal and intimate and scary with me, something that will change me forever, but as far as he’s concerned, I’m just another random client.
Better that this ridiculously hot tattoo artists stays focused, anyway, so I don’t end up with some freak needle injury. I’ll just be a nerdy blip in his busy schedule, a flower tattoo that he’ll forget as soon as he finishes it.
“Blazing star,” he says, his voice cool and even. “Let me take a look at my schedule, see when I can fit you in.”
“Blazing star,” I agree and force myself to leave it at that.
* * *
Joey
Milo kind of bounces from side to side in his chair while I flip through my calendar. The guy’s cute, with these round, brown cheeks that shine with a pink blush, black hair almost as short as mine, and a baby blue sweater that hugs him just right. He’s probably a couple of inches shorter than me and lean, but I couldn’t help but notice the healthy curve of his ass when he took a seat.
He’s even cuter, getting so damn excited about this tattoo. So I do what I always do when I’m in a spot like this, warming up to someone I shouldn’t warm to. I grit my teeth, and I practice laying bricks.
One by one, I set bricks between us. I close myself off and ignore the eager look in his eyes, and soon enough, I’m building a solid wall to keep Milo away.
It fucking sucks, putting up barriers like this, but it’s the way things have to be. I can wish all I want that I wasn’t part of the Baros family and that I hadn’t done what I’d done back on the docks. But even a couple of hundred miles from home, I know I’ll never really be free of my past. I know it’s always waiting to bite me in the ass again and remind me of who I am.
Better to just keep it simple, impersonal. Especially now that I have a real chance to pursue my art and to work at a tattoo shop I’ve admired for years.
I turn my eyes back to Milo, who is still perked up like he’s about to jump for joy. “Next Friday,” I tell him. “That work for the first session?”
Pure business, I tell myself. That’s the only way I can keep my head on straight.
Milo crumples slightly. “First session?” he asks with a waver in his voice.
“Depends on how big you want this and how you take to the needle. With this level of detail, we’ll probably have to sit two or three times to finish it off.”
Milo nods slowly. “How I take to the needle, okay,” he repeats, like he’s psyching himself up a little bit.
I almost chuckle, he’s that fucking sweet and nice to look at, but I manage to turn it into a grunt instead. “So, Friday?”
He nods. “Friday is actually great, since I don’t have any classes that day. Oh! And Matty told me I had to give you a deposit.” He twists in his seat as he digs through the pockets of his jacket, and I catch another glimpse of his tempting ass. “I was thinking a smaller size,” he continues, “to answer your question about the tattoo. Right on my arm. My bicep.” He pulls his wallet out, then touches his arm. “Here and small,” he says, like he’s concluding a speech, then smiles.
I offer him my card. “Send that picture to the email address here. We’ll shoot back some forms.”
He takes the card, and his fingers trace delicately across mine. A spark lights inside me, and I’m drawn to grab his hand and hold him there and make him stare me in the eye. I haven’t wanted to treat a guy like that since those first days with Adrian, my ex. Luckily, remembering him gives me all the motivation I need to bury that desire back down where I’ll never feel it again.
A fuck of a lot of good those urges did me with Adrian. So I let go of the card, then slink back into my seat.
“Anything else?” I ask, keeping my voice even and steady.
Milo blinks at me, then jumps up to his feet. “Nope! Nothing. That’s great. Thank you.” For a second, I think he’s about to offer me his hand, but then he turns and heads straight to the door as he pulls his jacket on. “Friday!” he calls over his shoulder.
The door swings shut behind him, and a gust of cold air fills the shop. For a second, I just sit there, kind of taking the whole encounter in. Then I do what I always do: lean back in my chair and lay a few more bricks on the wall between me and the world.
CHAPTERTWO
MILO
“Milo, you know this,”Professor Thomas prompts me. “The Laurules order node? The polytomy?”
I blink. I’m sitting in my small phylogenetics lab with about ten other graduate students, all finishing the classes for our Masters degree before we dive fully into the research portion of the PhD. The overhead lights are bright white, and the markerboard behind my professor is filled with intricate notes, but I haven’t taken a single thing in.
I’ve been sitting there on the stool, staring into space and trying to remember the way the tattoo studio smelled.
The way Joey smelled. Like incense and campfire and man.
