Page 18 of Grace

She peeks down and laughs. “Yeah. I gotta show off the tats to make sure my clients know I’ve been on the other end of the needle. Today was a more conservative day. If I show a little more cleavage, I get more tips from the guys.”

I laugh lightly. “Is it that easy?”

“Plus, I like seeing them try not to look, knowing they can’t touch. It’s hot.”

“I’m starting to think you like seeing other people in pain or… or staying in control,” I note.

She winks. “You can’t be a tattoo artist if you’re not a bit of a sadist.”

My lips curve up and then I laugh. Ashley pauses and laughs too, kicking off her boots and leaving them wherever they fall. She drops onto the couch and shakes out her hand. “You have no idea how nice this is.”

“What?” I ask.

“Actually having a roommate who’s willing to talk. My last roommate just glared at me if we crossed paths. She wasn’t a fan of tattoos, thought they were delinquent.” Ashley rolls her eyes. “And piercings were mutilation.”

“I don’t know. You kind of look like a piece of art,” I murmur.

“Oh, I am.” Ashley taps my nose and grins. Her stomach growls. “Have you eaten?”

“Nope.”

After my moment with Daniel, all hunger left me as my thoughts were focused on the way his hand felt on my body.

Ashley’s voice lures me back as she orders us food over the phone. “What do you want? I don’t know what you eat when it comes to Chinese food.”

“Um, just lo mien and, um, orange chicken are fine,” I say.

While we wait for it, I grab something to drink for the both of us and sit beside her on the couch.

Ashley beams. “I’m telling you, there’s something so satisfying about drawing with a tablet. The way the lines come together, then seeing the client light up when the stencil is on is perfect. Even if they have me move it, I know right away whether they’re in love with the piece or not. Then I get to stab them over and over, turning it into art.”

I laugh. “That sounds great. Not sure about the stabbing part.”

Ashley keeps telling me happily about every win, every drawing, every client until the door is knocked on.

“Your day!” she demands. “I need to hear all about it.”

“Not much. Just meetings and some, um, some sickness,” I say simply as she heads to the door to get our food.

As she unpacks it, she glances my way. “Honestly, I’ve been thinking about you.”

I blink. “Me?”

“Do you see another ‘you’ around?” she asks pointedly and pops open her mushu pork container. “You’re so hesitant to say anything, it’s like you didn’t have the right friends in high school or college or something. I can’t put my finger on it.”

I wring my hands together and shrug.

She sits back and takes her time chewing for a moment, then takes a breath. “You know my parents won’t talk to me? They kicked me out after I got my first tattoo at seventeen.”

I gape. “What?”

“Yeah. They had plenty of opinions to slap me with, but I realized how little their opinions mattered. I could either fight to stay there and be unwanted, yelled at constantly, and judged when they weren’t yelling, or I could be myself and find people who appreciated me for who I am,” Ashley says.

“So you left?”

“Yup,” she says simply. “I moved in with my best friend and her family. They loved me, encouraged me, told me to chase my passion.”

I blink at her.

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