Page 18 of Scrimmage

“Oh my God.” I rub my hands over my eyes. “Five?”

“Fifteen,” she argues.

“Geez.” I raise my hands defensively. “I’m living off of student loans.”

She looks up at me over the paper. “You could be a full time tattoo artist if you'd accept the shop's offer. You could be sticking needles into people other than yourself. You’d be rich and world renowned in no time. I gotta beef up my bank account before you forget me to go tattoo in Japan and start dating some South Korean rapper.”

“I’m not tattooing in Japan.” I slump in my chair. “And date is such a harsh word.”

When I was younger, I taught myself to tattoo. It was cathartic to feel the pain and be in control of it. I did my first one when I was eleven. I glance at the small swirling black and white circle tucked between a sea of tattoos on my wrist. I still had a lot of visible skin when we came to college, but over the last three years, between me and tattoo artists at the only shop near campus, I've become a canvas. I don't tattoo others unless I'm really drunk and manic. Or I like them a lot. Penny is still convinced that I’m going to pick it back up and do celebrity worthy tattoos. My work is Holiday Inn on its best day.

“You’re so hard headed,” she sighs. “So, you had your first ancient culture class today, right? I assume you made it?”

I pull out the portable charger and my phone, plugging it in. “Barely. I ran for my life to get there.” I blow out air.

“How did it go? I know you were looking forward to it.”

I bite my tongue, remembering Alexi Daemon. “There’s a rule when you sit in lectures, right? If there’s space you sit atleastone person away?”

“Let me guess.” She puts the sketch down and sets her elbows onto the table. “This has to do with the asshole you referenced earlier?”

“Yes.” I pick at the vinyl surface where it’s peeling away. “He sat right fucking next to me and refused to move. Who does that?”

“Is he cute?” I bite my cheek, staying silent. “So he’s cute,” she grins. “He probably thinks you’re hot.”

“He followed me all the way here.”

“Stalkers are hot,” she points out.

“It’s not stalking if you don’t shut the fuck up. The guy has never been rejected in his life.”

“Maybe he just wants to be your friend.” She always tries to be positive.

“I have friends. Their names are Penny and Cole. Roster? Filled.”

She giggles. “Then how are you going to keep him away?”

“I have a plan. I’m going to put spikes in his fucking seat.”

She shakes her head. “Sounds like you want to fuck him.”

“Pass. He looks too much like one of those rich Vineyard Vines boys. He’s definitely a narcissist.”

“Rich? I bet you could call him daddy, and he’d rain down the cash,” she suggests.

I balk at the thought. “You do it. Trickle down theory.”

“He’s not sitting next to me in class.”

“That can be arranged.”

Cole slides into the booth next to me. He must be on break. “Who’s sitting next to you in class?”

“Some guy who is super into Ashland. He walked her here earlier,” Penny explains, tapping her pencil on her cheek.

“That was not what I said. He followed me,” I argue.

Cole’s brown eyes dart to me. “Want me to walk you from class next week? I’ll switch shifts.”

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