Page 45 of Unspoken Rules

“It’s nothing like I was expecting,” I say.

“So? It’s a job.”

I nod, taking another sip. “That place Chris said opened up on Main? It was a tattoo shop.” Cole’s brows hit his hairline, and I chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not tattooing anyone. The guy needs someone to paint the walls. You ever been in a tattoo shop?” I ask.

“Can’t say I have.”

“You’d imagine there’s art everywhere. Hanging up, directly on the walls. Well, this place has none of that, so he hired me to paint it.”

“Bryson, that’s great. I’m guessing it won’t be just plain colors, but actual art?” I nod. “Everyone who goes in there will see your art. That’s a great way to get your name out there.”

“How so?” I ask, reaching for my beer.

“Make up business cards and ask him if you can leave them there. Tattoos take hours. I’m sure plenty of people will ask about the work on the walls.”

“Hadn’t thought of that. How much are business cards?”

He waves me off. “I’ll get them for you.”

“No, Cole. You can’t.”

“I can, and I will. Consider it a celebratory gift.”

“Dinner is the celebratory gift.”

He rolls his eyes. “You just have to come up with your own logo.”

I smirk. “I did that already.”

“Of course you did. Let me see it.” He holds his hand out, asking for my phone.

I dig through the album on my phone for the logo I made for myself and hand it over.

Cole chuckles when he sees it. “You’re really good at playing off words and turning it into art.”

The logo is a bison sitting at a computer. It’s minimally drawn, just black and white. Basic but professional. In middle school, everyone called me bison instead of Bryson, and I always found it funny.

Cole admires the photo for a while, until a frown crosses his face. “Who’s Daniel?” he questions, looking up but not handing my phone back.

Fuck.

I sigh. “Ex who won’t get the hint. He calling?”

Cole shakes his head. “Sending a text that’d have me punching him square in the jaw.”

“That’s domestic abuse.” I try making a joke out of the situation, but Cole doesn’t seem amused.

He points to my phone. “Any man who can talk to someone like that deserves to be taken down a notch.”

He’s probably right, and I haven’t even looked at the string of texts. Last I knew, he was nearing fifty. When I get my phone, I click it off and put it in my pocket. Cole is staring at me expectantly.

“He’s been texting me since I left. It’s better I ignore him.”

“Maybe if you told him to stop, he would.”

“I have. It only makes it worse.”

“So block his number.”

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