Page 65 of Busted Dreams

“What do you mean?”

“When I first met you, you were awkward and very bad with words. It was kind of painful to talk to you at first.” I laughed when she frowned. “You’re not the same anymore. You’ve gotten more confident and sure of yourself. It’s almost like you’re a completely different person.”

The frown smoothed out and a more pleasant expression took its place. “I’m still the same person, much to my chagrin. The spilled drink was our first meeting all over again, just at the back of the library instead of the entrance, and liquid instead of papers. I was sorry about that, you know.”

“I know.” I grinned.

“I do feel different, but the same. Since moving out, it’s like I’ve been able to find out who I want to be. That was never going to happen with Mother Dearest around. There are still parts of the old Astrid here though. I still get so nervous I’m practically crippled under the attention of large groups and crowds. I still struggle to find the right words most of the time. I’ve just been a loner for so long, there wasn’t a ton of social situations to practice those skills in. Not when I avoided the elders and church classes like the Catholics avoid birth control. Which was actively and aggressively.”

I didn’t want to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. For someone who hated the church so much, almost all of her references and metaphors were church or Bible related. That probably made sense when it was all she’d known her whole life.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ve found your words. You had no problem expressing yourself today.” I had the sudden urge to take her hand, but I was afraid to draw attention to my still shaking hands.

“Damnit, Jonah!” She slapped the steering wheel, laughing. I jumped, not expecting it. “Now I’m jinxed. You wouldn’t believe the amount of mental space I spend on saying the right things. Now I’m going to second guess myself.”

“Not my intention. Here we are.” I directed her into the parking lot behind the tattoo parlor. She didn’t ask any questions as we got out, content to let me take control of the situation. I hoped she’d remain this collected when she saw what we were doing.

As we neared the glass door, I took a chance, threading my fingers through hers and ready to cling to her if she tried to bolt. Her skin was warm and smooth, so soft against mine. Beck’s words came back to me from this morning.

Did I want to date her? Surprisingly, I did.

But on the flip side of that, I didn’t want to burden her with everything going wrong in my life. Not to mention, she’d one day choose one boyfriend and toss the rest back. I might as well save myself the heartache now.

The bell rang over the door, and Mollie looked up from behind the front desk. She was flipping through a tattoo magazine with her feet kicked up on the tabletop.

“Ain’t this a lovely surprise.” She snapped her gum and sat up straight. “I didn’t expect you back for a few weeks at least. What’s your poison today?”

“I know we can’t work on the piece we started.” I cast Astrid a look out of the corner of my eyes. If Mollie was as observant as I thought she was, she wouldn’t mention it. “But I’d like to get something else tattooed. Maybe some script on the side of my ribcage?”

Mollie took her time studying us, so I used the chance to look around, trying to see it through Astrid’s eyes.

The shop was clean, but still gave off the grunge vibe. Pictures of artwork dotted the walls, and the two employees here—including Mollie—were a little rough around the edges. The only difference was that they exuded none of the danger the Devils Hands did. Could Astrid see that? Feel the difference?

When I looked at Astrid, she smiled encouragingly, but all the while, I could see the calculation working behind her eyes. She was putting it together without much explaining from me.

“You know what you want?”

“Do I ever?” I grinned, but it wasn’t heartfelt.

“Nope. That’s what makes you so fun, kid. Come on back.” She walked us to her station and wiped it out with a sanitizing wipe. “You know the drill. Take the shirt off.”

“There’s a spot on the side of my ribs that’s clean. I can hold my shirt up.” Jonah was so uncomfortable with me being here. He was trying to hide it, but he was doing a poor job of it.

“Sorry, you know the rules. I don’t want to take a chance the shirt can fall on top of the gun before I can finish and wrap it.”

I’d forced my company on him, but I never thought he’d be embarrassed over me joining him. I was shocked, sure. But in the back of my mind, I’d always wondered about the tattoos. He must have forgotten I’d seen them that one night at the party. The night I’d forgotten to turn the flash off. If he didn’t remember, I wasn’t going to remind him.

“Do you want me to wait in the car?” I asked. The goal of me coming was to help him, not hold him back.

He wiped his hand down his stomach then pulled it away with a grimace. I tried not to mimic his expression. It was my fault his shirt was wet and sticky.

“No, you can stay.” He sounded as excited for me to see him shirtless as he would at streaking through a pep rally.

Curling his fingers around the hem of his shirt, he pulled both over his head. Somehow, very little of the fruit punch had made it through his undershirt so his skin was clean, but not clear.

Oh, snap, crackle, pop.

He wasn’t the proud owner of just one or two tattoos, but many. So many there was barely any clean skin left. He pointed to one of the very few spots on the left side of his rib cage where the tattoo on his ended. There were a few inches, then another tattoo picked up on his back.

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