Page 10 of Not My Fault

“No! I’m sorry. I’m stressed thinking about work.” I force a smile.

“You can talk about it if you like. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” They smile.

“Tattoo artists are the new bartenders? I should spill all my secrets?”

“Only if you want to.” Gus goes back to tattooing and I take a moment to take them in.

They’re attractive, obviously has a good job. River mentioned Gus was one of the owners, and this place is always busy when I want to swing by. Gus had cropped black hair and tattoos everywhere. I spot several on their arms, forming full sleeves, an array on their neck but not in a scary way—it sort of works for them—and they are wearing a thin silver chain around their neck. I usually go for more feminine people, but Gus is hot. I know I shouldn’t be lusting over my tattoo artist, but it’s like everyone I meet lately has turned into a potential subject.

“My boss is killing me. They’re trying to set me up, and I feel like it’s the 1800s and I’m being forced to marry a stranger for some cattle,” I explain.

“Pretty sure it would take a lot more than one cow to marry you,” Gus says. “I’m sorry, I was trying to make a joke, but I think that came out wrong.”

I laugh. “It’s okay. I’m working on changing my image, but it’s hard when I’m not sure that I want to change. I just know I want to sing, but I can’t sing without all the politics behind being in the limelight.”

“You’re a very talented singer.”

“You’ve heard me sing?” I ask, surprised.

“Of course. You played Aspen’s birthday last year, but I’ve been a fan since the beginning. Malibu Summer is one of my favorites,” they say.

“No one ever says that. It’s one of mine too.” I smile.

Malibu Summer is one of my earlier songs, one of the ones I wrote and played before landing an agent and a steady gig. Not too many people even know it because it’s not something I ever play live. Gus isn’t just blowing smoke up my ass; they really were a fan.

“Your lyrics, they always speak to me. The pop ones are cool too, but the ones where you’re almost crying singing them? They get me every time,” Gus admits.

I’m in awe. Who is this person? No one ever talks to me about music like this. Even real fans all want to know who My Summer Fling is about—one of my exes. They never want to discuss the deeper lyrics.

“The first three times I tried to record it, I was crying. I had to keep redoing it, but eventually I just left it in because I was out of studio time and I thought it felt more real with them in,” I tell them.

“So powerful.” Gus nods.

We continue talking about lyrics that have made a difference to us. All the singers we love and the venues around here. Gus is easy to talk to once they open up. They’re quiet at first, but I think it’s because they give space to everyone else to talk first. By the time my tattoo is finished, I’m bummed. I take out my phone and snap a few photos so I can see it better. Then I toss my phone aside and start taking off the wrappings. Gus covers my tattoo in that sticky tape-like stuff called second skin, and I throw the boob tape and wrapping into the garbage. They look away while I adjust my breasts and put my romper sleeves back on. I grab my hat and sunglasses, even though it’s night, and put them back on.

“It’s eleven hundred,” Gus says as they ring me up out front. I hand them my credit card and reach in my wallet for cash. After handing Gus a one-hundred-dollar bill, they look at me, surprised.

“How much change do you need?”

“Oh no, that’s your tip.” I wave them off.

“Wow, thank you.” They smile.

“I don’t want to hurt River’s feelings but if you’re around next time, I wouldn’t mind you doing my next tattoo as well.” I smile.

“Of course, happy to help.” They smile.

I head down the stairs, and just as I reach outside, Gus calls after me. They don’t use my name, which I’m grateful for.

“Hey! You forgot this.” Gus catches up to me and holds out my phone.

My eyes go wide. “You just saved my life! You have no idea. Thank you so much.”

Without thinking about it, I pull Gus in for a tight hug. It stings a little when our chests bump together because of my tattoo, but it feels right. Gus blushes and I head down the block to find my driver.

SIX

Gus

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