Page 15 of Time for Change

A wolfish grin spreads across his mouth. “I know. I said I’d pay for lunch.”

I roll my eyes. “You were taking too long.”

Caden laughs as Stevie delivers the credit card slip and collects our empty glasses. “Thanks for stopping by today. Havea great afternoon,” she informs us, her eyes lingering just a few extra seconds on me.

“You too,” I find myself saying, watching as she walks away.

“You should have asked yourself,” Caden says, pulling a ten from his own wallet and throwing it on the table. “I’ve got the tip.”

I nod, pulling out the slip I need to sign and scribbling my name across the line. Just as I collect my copy of the receipt, a name and series of numbers is scrolled across the bottom.

Smiling, I slip the paper into my pocket.

My day just got a whole lot better.

Chapter Five

Stevie

This is it.

It’s time.

I grab my bag, making sure I have plenty of cash and my keys, and lock my front door. The tenant before me installed a deadbolt, so I always ensure both are engaged, whether I’m home or away. When my apartment is secured, I practically float down the steps to the parking lot and slip into my car, so much excitement racing through me, it’s practically a living, breathing entity.

If I’m being honest, I’ve felt this wave of anticipation for hours. Before I got home. Ever since I slipped my phone number to the gorgeous man who was having lunch with his friend. Jack. I’ve never—ever—done that before. I’ve never been bold enough to write my number down for a customer in hopes he’d call me, but before I could reconsider my actions, I was doing just that. The best part was when I went to clean off his table, I found the receipt gone, which means he took it with him.

Does that mean he’ll call me?

Time will tell.

I could tell he’s a few years older than me, which suits me just fine. The guys I’ve dated in the past were close to my age and had leaps to go in the maturity department. It’s why I haven’t dated much in the last year or so, mostly because my last boyfriend was more concerned about attending as many underage drinking parties as he could that left him puking drunk and streaking naked down the street.

Putting all thoughts of previous boyfriends from my head, I drive to Xpress Urself. It doesn’t take long, but really, nothing takes too long in this town. I went from a city of twenty thousand to one of about eight, and I’m happy with the change. Though I enjoyed having almost everything you could have needed all in one location, it’s not so bad in a smaller town either. They may not have all of the chain stores, but they are within a short driving distance.

I park in the lot for the tattoo studio and take a calming breath. Then, as my heartbeat slows, a gentle smile spreads across my lips. I’ve been wanting a tattoo for years, one that demonstrates my resilience and strength. Growing up with an absent, alcoholic mother, who changed men like underwear, wasn’t easy. I went to my father’s house every other weekend, but that wasn’t much better. He and his wife were always gone, chasing the next party or high.

I’m doing this for me.

When I turned eighteen and graduated from high school, I took control of my life, vowing to never let my past define me. I’ve been doing my own thing ever since, paying my own bills and putting myself through school. I work my ass off and am proud of my accomplishments, even if the two people who should be cheering for me the loudest have other priorities.

Climbing from my car, a sense of satisfaction races through my veins. It’s still present as I pull open the door for Xpress Urself. The front area is decently lit, with music pumping through the speakers and tattoo designs covering the walls. My eyes scan the work, spotting everything from small flowers and butterflies to large pieces of dragons and fire.

“Hi, are you Stevie?”

I follow the voice and spot the woman sitting behind the tall counter. “I am.”

“I’m Amanda, welcome. Do you have your design ready?”

I nod, pulling up the image I have saved on my phone. She reaches over and snaps a picture of it with a tablet and smiles. “That’s going to look so amazing,” she informs me, tapping on the large screen. “I sent it to BJ. She’s just finishing up the client before you, and as soon as she’s done, she’ll come out and get you.”

“Sounds good,” I tell her. Instead of having a seat, I find myself wandering around the waiting area, taking in the pictures of their work. Even though many pieces aren’t my taste, I can’t deny how intricate, detailed, and beautiful they are.

“Stevie?”

I spin around and find a stunning woman standing beside the counter, smiling at me. “Y-yes,” I stutter, sudden waves of nervousness hitting me square in the gut. BJ, the woman I chose for my first tattoo, is gorgeous. She has light brown eyes, dirty blond hair with streaks of pink running through it, and tattoos covering her arms. She’s positively stunning, and all I can do is stare at her.

“Give me five minutes to clean my workstation, and I’ll come get you.”

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