Page 22 of Yours Truly

“HODWY?” she mimes, spelling in the air, “H, O, D, W, Y. What is hodwy, Trace?”

Deuce levels his gaze on Ivy, providing a barrier between her amusement and my shame. “A great learning opportunity,” Deuce says. “You want to take your first stab at a correction?”

Her amusement at my mistake immediately falls away. “Seriously?”

Deuce nods. “Seriously. He’ll walk you through it. I’ll go talk to Angus while you get ready.” Deuce looks my way. “Let me worry about Ang, you devise a plan and help her.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

Ivy disappears, going to put her hair up and wash her hands, leaving just me and Deuce in the hall. “How’d it happen?”

My gaze follows Ivy down the hall, watching her plump ass test the fabric of her leather leggings. “I don’t know.”

Only I do know. I was so busy thinking about how I feel about Ivy, I fucked up.

Deuce squeezes my shoulder. “Draw something up, get with Ivy, and meet me in a few. Don’t worry about Ang. Trust me.”

She fucking did it. She turned my epic disaster into a beautiful scroll, error-free. Where cowboy lettering once read HODWY, now amazing cursive spells HOWDY over an old parchment scroll, detailed with tear and wear.

It looks better than the original design, if I’m being honest, and I’m sort of peeved I hadn’t thought of the alteration myself.

Right before we sat down, I heard her questioning me leading her through the fix. She’d said to Deuce, “Shouldn’t you walk me through the fix?” Deuce told her that everyone makes mistakes, and that my mistake changes nothing. I’m still an incredible artist and she’s still here to learn.

She didn’t give me a single word of grief while she did the fix. We sat thigh to thigh, the harsh light of the lamp creating a glow for us to live in for an hour. Silent but side by side, she worked and I watched, every single second comfortable and easy. When she was done, I asked her to take off her gloves and I shook her hand.

“You did good work,” I said.

She just nodded.

Now, Deuce is walking Angus out as I sink into the reception desk, reaching for a cold can of Coke instead of the flask in my boot. Ivy appears, pulling the clip from her hair, dark waves falling all around her face and shoulders.

“Thanks for letting me work on a person today,” she says quietly, her jaw tight. I think she’s using every ounce of willpower not to taunt me, and right now, with how shitty I feel, I appreciate it. I don’t deserve it, but I appreciate it.

“Thanks,” I say, sipping the overly carbonated drink.

The door closes and Deuce treads back toward us, sighing. “Well, the first few are usually rocky.”

I snort. “No, it’s not. You don’t gotta say shit to make me feel good. I fucked up, and it’s on the house.”

Deuce grips the edge of the desk. “What?”

This is the part I’m not used to—not making the rules as I go. Deuce has rules. And now? I have to follow them. “Sorry—I’m not used to house rules. I told him the piece was free, because of the mistake.”

“We fixed the mistake,” Deuce says, “and I never told him it was going to be free.”

“The final piece was better than what he brought in,” Ivy inserts, giving me a reason to finally look her way. God she looks beautiful, traces of ink smeared up her forearms, accomplishment and pride lifting her shoulders. Her dark hair is messy from being down then up then down, and her black lipstick is faded in the center from where she sipped her drink.

The drink that matches Deuce’s. Meaning, Ivy, Deuce and Connor all caught lunch together while they were out.

“That was a 1700-dollar piece and your entire morning,” she chides, her hands going to her hips. Feeling defensive and angry and not at all jealous that they all went and enjoyed lunch without me, I snap back.

“If you were so worried about the fucking money, where were you? Hmm? Off playing footsies with Connor was more important to you this morning, so don’t stand here all mighty and righteous now.” I pull my wallet from my back pocket and grab out a few hundred-dollar bills. I slam them down on the reception desk. “There. That’s what you care about.”

I turn on my heel and stomp back to my station, where I begin sanitizing the area. We spend the rest of the day in complete silence but for the times Ivy needs to ask me questions about where the ink caps are at and how many I need for tomorrow’s setup.

She gives me the personal silent treatment and I think Deuce does, too.

It’s fine. I don’t need to talk to them.

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