Page 34 of Thanks for Coming Along

Something about Eden’s energy brought out a side of him he hadn’t tapped into in years. His heart thudded, caught between anxiety and excitement. Was he seriously about to do this?

Spontaneity wasn’t exactly his strong suit—he usually needed a solid 7 to 10 business days to overthink a decision. But here he was, considering throwing caution to the wind for her. He’d always wanted to get a tattoo but never quite worked up the nerve.

"Why not?" Ronan's response carried a casual shrug, though inwardly, his mind was screaming, "Are you crazy?"

"Yes, Ronan! You absolute badass!" Eden's exhilaration bubbled, and when she grabbed his hand, he felt a rush of warmth spread through his stomach. Maybe enduring the pain of a tattoo would be worth it if it meant she would hold his hand. Was that pathetic? Undoubtedly yes. Was it true? Painfully also yes.

She skated her way towards the entrance, her hand in his hand, and she pushed open the door. As they entered the tattoo parlor, the scent of ink and antiseptic greeted them. Eden's roller skates thumped rhythmically over the studio's flooring, drawing the attention of a man who sat behind a counter, his body covered with an impressive array of ink and piercings. His eyes shifted from Ronan to Eden, widening in recognition as he realized who she was.

"Aren't you Eden Percy?" he asked, a touch of awe in his voice.

"The one and only! How are you on this beautiful Wednesday?" Eden replied as she leaned her elbows on the counter.

"Uhh, good. I guess?" he stammered. "I'm a huge fan, by the way."

"Thank you! I'm a huge fan of your artwork in the window. You do amazing work," Eden complimented, her smile was wide.

"Holy crap, thank you. Is this really happening?" His excitement was palpable.

"It depends. Do you have time for two walk-ins?"

"Yes! Please follow me. My name is Gordon, by the way." He led them toward the tattooing area, then glanced at Ronan. "Wait, aren't you on the news or some shit? You look familiar, but you're also holding a longboard and wearing beat-up Vans, so my brain is confused."

"Yes, my name is Ronan. I used to board like ten years ago, and this nut wanted to see it in action," Ronan replied, jabbing a thumb in Eden's direction.

Gordon nodded and muttered under his breath, "Damn, Los Angeles is crazy." He led them to the tattooing area, still shaking his head in disbelief. Gordon's eyes fell on Eden's skates as they approached his workstation, and he whispered, "No one is going to believe me."

Eden gracefully settled into the plush, black leather reclining chair, one toned leg elegantly draped over the other, her roller skates still on her feet. She gazed up at Ronan from beneath her long lashes, sporting a sultry smirk that could rival the devil himself.

"Do you have any tattoos, Devil?" Ronan asked her as he settled into a chair next to her

"Yes, I do, just one."

"Where is it?" Ronan's curiosity was piqued; he hadn't seen any visible tattoos, and he had basically seen her in her underwear that first day at her house. A mischievous grin played on her lips,uh oh.

"I'd have to be topless for you to see. That can be arranged… if you're interested." she teased, her voice laced with seduction as her fingers nonchalantly tousled her hair. Eden was utterlylethal, a temptress sent to wreak havoc on his self-restraint. Gordon audibly gulped at her comment like a cartoon character.Same, Gordon, same.

Things had been spiraling since the night of the festival. He couldn’t stop thinking about her—especially after her performance. That dance with the mic stand was burned into his memory, looping endlessly in his mind. In the shower, he’d caught himself imagining her hands, the sway of her hips, the effortless sensuality she carried. He knew it was unethical. He’d tried to push her out of his head, but she always found a way back, her face front and center.

It wasn’t just the physical pull, either. He cared about her, wanted to protect her, and found himself wanting could spend every second of his day with her. That night at the Santa Monica Pier had only made it worse. Being with her, seeing her laugh, and catching those fleeting moments of vulnerability—it had all deepened the ache inside him. He wanted to kiss her so badly, and not just on the Sea Dragon or during the ring toss. The longing was constant, gnawing at him, refusing to let go.

There was one hunk-sized issue: Quentin Ramos. Technically, he was dating Eden—or at least Ronan thought he was. It wasn’t entirely clear. Eden never brought him up, and Ronan hadn’t seen him in person. The only real proof of Quentin’s existence was that one phone call she had with him in the trailer before the festival. Beyond that? Nothing. Then again, Quentin Ramos was a world-famous actor, so he was probably off filming or bench-pressing cars as part of his workout routine. Official or not, it didn’t stop Eden from flirting. Relentlessly.

It was confusing. Maybe it was just her personality, that effortless charm she seemed to radiate, but she didn’t hold back around him. And yet, Ronan couldn’t remember seeing her act that way with anyone else—not her bandmates, not strangers, not even the occasional cashier. It made him wonder if she enjoyed messing with him, knowing he was tied up in knots over her. He really hoped that wasn’t the case.

"What are you thinking, Miss Eden?" Gordon asked as he prepared his tools. Eden had decided on a small tattoo on her right ring finger: the number 721.

Gordon slipped on his gloves and set up the tattoo gun, the soft buzz filling the room. Eden rested her right hand on the padded armrest and extended her ring finger. The machine whirred to life, and as the needle touched her skin, she flinched just a little.

“Breathe,” Gordon said casually, focused on his work.

He wiped away the excess ink, revealing the freshly tattooed "721" that now on Eden's right ring finger.

"What does it mean?" Gordon asked as he dipped the needle in the small pot of black ink.

Gordon pulled on his gloves and set up the tattoo gun, the soft hum filling the air. Eden rested her hand on the padded armrest, extending her ring finger. The needle met her skin, and she winced slightly.

“Breathe,” Gordon said, not even glancing up as he focused on his work.

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