“Trust yourself,” Ayla assures me. “You don’t have to decide anything beforehand. Just go ahead with the tattoo, and when the time is right, you’ll know what you want to do.”
“You’ll probably know about a million things you want to do, actually,” Matty laughs.
I remember what it felt like when Joey complimented me, and I see again the greedy flare in his eyes. Being wanted did make me want to do a million things with him; Matty’s not wrong about that. I’m still not sure why exactly Joey thinks I’m hot, but I don’t doubt that he’s into me.
It gives me confidence. I know that confidence should just come from myself, but the truth is, this boost from Joey is going a long way.
I feel my cheeks heating as I look back down to the floral sweatshirt. “Can I really have this?”
“Sure,” Ayla says. “You going to wear it to your consultation?”
I laugh. “I’m not sure, but I kind of feel like wearing it to the lab today.”
* * *
It’s dark when I get out of the lab, and the wind has a chill to it, but I don’t really notice because I actually have company for once. One of the lab instructors, Janelle, walks with me to the bus stop, chatting with me about her research projects. The whole conversation starts up in the first place with a compliment on the sweatshirt Ayla gave me.
I knew it. You wear one too many colorful sweatshirts, and you become the sweatshirt guy.
Not that it’s the worst thing. Having a sincere connection with someone at the lab is rare for me, and I’m already looking forward to hearing more about her work later. She even casually mentions her girlfriend, surprising me with the fact that there are other gay people around my program, not just me and stuck-up Ray.
Later, when the bus passes through Joey’s neighborhood, I follow a whim and jump out. He told me to stop by or call when I was ready for my next consultation. Granted, theliatris pycnostachyais still fresh, and I’m as blissed out on the beautiful work as I was the day after I got it. So I don’t need my second tattoo right now, not at all.
But I have a perfectly good excuse to see Joey, and so before I know it, I’m walking up to Blade and practicing my opening.
“Hey, Joey,” I say under my breath, then drop my voice. “Joey. Joey, hi.”
When I walk in, he’s standing there with Billie, another artist from the shop. I know her through Matty and Stone, and I smile widely when I catch her eye.
“Milo, man,” she says with a nod. “What’s up?”
Joey stands. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans that hang a little loosely off his hips and a black hoodie that’s zipped up. He looks surprised to see me, but I catch a smile, too.
It’s subtle, and a couple of weeks ago, I might not have even noticed it. But I can tell Joey’s glad that I stopped by, and I love that.
“Hi,” I say to Billie, then wave at Joey. “Hi! I was just coming in to schedule my consultation.”
Joey turns to Billie. “He got those flowers I told you about.”
“Right. A couple weeks ago? They must have turned out good.” She rubs the top of Joey’s head playfully. “Jojo is pretty damn talented, huh?”
“Very,” I agree.
Billie nods appreciatively, then grabs her jacket from behind the desk. “Anyway, good to see you, Milo,” she tells me. “I’m out of here.”
Joey grunts his goodbye, and then we’re alone in the shop again. Usually, there’s music on the stereo and machines buzzing in the background, but it’s eerily quiet as we look at each other.
Instantly, the heat sparks. My nerves all beg for Joey’s touch, and his gaze burns into me in return. Looking at him, looking at me, I feel exposed. He can see that I came here to be with him, that I couldn’t wait to see him again. It’s all over my face, but the weirdest thing is that I might actually like that he knows and that he can see me burning for him.
“Back already,” Joey finally says, then nods to my arm. “Can I check that out? See how it’s healing?”
As I cross over to him, stepping beneath the dim overhead light, I remove my jacket. Joey takes it from me and folds it in his hands, setting it aside. “Nice shirt,” he says.
I look down to remember what I’m wearing. Right, it’s the Ayla sweatshirt. And with Joey’s compliment in the air, it’s so much easier to just admit that I like it, too. “Yeah,” I agree with a laugh, then stick my hip to the side as I model. “Isn’t it? Ayla gave it to me today.”
Joey grunts, apparently pleased to hear that, and I bite down on my lip as I pull the sweatshirt off. I have a plain white T-shirt underneath, and I turn, showing Joey his work on my bicep.
He lets out a slow whistle. “Beautiful healing,” he says. “You must have taken good care.”
