It seemed to come out of nowhere. One day seemed like a happy relationship, and then a week of tense conversations erupted into a breakup. The only sign I’d had was that he had seemed less interested in sex over time, so when the hammer finally fell, it felt like confirmation of all the insecurities I’d been secretly nurturing.
Like if I only I had been hotter or better in bed, maybe he would have stayed. I hate thinking that way, but we don’t always get to choose what thoughts our brains torture us with.
“A fresh start tattoo,” I agree.
Matty waggles his eyebrows at me. “And a reclaim your body tattoo,” he says.
“Ooh la la,” Ayla laughs. “You didn’t tell me about that part.”
I tighten my jaw. “That part is all Matty,” I explain. “Now that he’s excessively sexually satisfied, he thinks that I’m missing out.”
“Hey,” Ayla laughs. “I’m excessively sexually satisfied, too, don’t forget.”
“And I’m damn proud of you for it,” Matty nods. “But you agree Milo needs empowering,” he prompts her.
I roll my eyes and shove the rest of my donut in my mouth. Matty and I dated in college, almost eight years ago now, and for years after, we both still harbored feelings for each other. Because of that, it used to be that he didn’t get involved in my romantic life, or I in his.
But after he got together with Stone, the dam broke, and now he and I and Ayla talk about everything with each other. It’s actually really nice, although my own contributions have been minimal lately. “Don’t say I need empowering,” I object, then cross my arms over my chest. “That makes it sound like I’m some sad, pathetic person, but I’m really not. Hell, I wore my pink jeans to the lab the other day. That’s pretty empowered.”
My faded pink vintage jeans are my favorite clothing item. They’re tight enough that they really hug my butt and show off the curve of it, which I like a lot, but that feature also makes me too shy to wear them most places.
Ayla plops down at the table. She has a mug with some failed pie in it, and she twirls her spoon through the fruity chunks while she talks. “I’ve always thought tattoos sound empowering. If I ever figure out something I actually want tattooed on me, I hope I get a boost like that. Like it’s my body and I can do whatever I want with it, you know?”
“But it’s not like I’mnotdoing something with my body that I wish I were,” I point out, the glance between my best friends. “Is it?”
Ayla nudges my foot with hers. “Before Hilton, you spent years pining after people who were unavailable, and since your breakup, you haven’t expressed even fleeting interest in another guy.”
“And Hilton was the one who asked you out,” Matty points out. “We tried to encourage you to ask for his number first, but you were convinced he wasn’t interested.”
I sigh. I know they’re right. A big part of me really wants to be in a relationship. I want to flirt and date and have sex. It’s not like I haven’t done those things before. I’ve had a couple of relationships, and a couple more sexual partners, and I know I want romance in my life.
“Okay, I don’t know how to put myself out there,” I admit, then take the pie from Ayla. “But you know how it is. Most guys don’t want to date someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” Matty objects. “Like, someone sexy and kind and adorable? Yeah, I can’t imagine.”
“No,” I laugh, smiling despite myself. “Geeks with soft voices and babbling habits.”
Ayla makes an unpleasant face. “With an exciting career, killer fashion, and the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen? Absolutely not.”
“What are those eyes, bright silver and subtle green, swirled together?” Matty asks, then sticks his tongue out. “Disgusting.”
I laugh and toss a tiny donut at him. “Okay, fine,” I relent. “I’ll let the tattoo empower me.”
“Yay!” Ayla cheers, then takes the mug of pie back. “I love that for you, Milo.”
“Yeah,” I agree as I rub the back of my head. I’m a little embarrassed by the attention, but mainly, it just feels good that my friends care about me this much.
They’re both amazing, interesting people, the best I’ve ever met. If they see something worthwhile in me, well, that has to count for something.
CHAPTERTHREE
JOEY
“You always stayfor just one beer,” Billie says, “then hit the road like you’re late for a parole hearing. Are we really that awful of company?”
I freeze, standing at the bar with my hand on my jacket. I’m out with Stone and Billie, both tattoo artists with me at Blade. I like them, quite a bit, actually, but what Billie just said is true.
I’ve been thinking about leaving since I got here.
