Page 3 of Not My Fault

Gus

Istep back into the tattoo shop, and River gives me a weird look. “I thought you were going out for lunch?”

“My plans got cancelled.” I try not to show how annoyed I am about that. Cari had cancelled them as I was walking out the door, which is a huge pet peeve of mine.

“Oh damn, I’m sorry.” River frowns. It isn’t like she knew I was going to have an afternoon hookup with her best friend. At least I don’t think she knew.

“It’s all good, I’m gonna grab a power bar, and then I can take some walk-ins.” I shrug and head toward the back of the shop.

Isla and Rae are in their respective offices tattooing clients, while River is manning the front. We really should hire someone to cover the desk, but it’s been on our to do list for longer than I care to admit. We don’t mind doing everything ourselves—in fact, I think we sort of prefer it that way. I grab a peanut butter chocolate protein bar from the cabinet in the kitchen/break room and head back to my office. I pull out my phone and lounge in my client chair to relax for a few. My back is killing me today, and I want to rest it a bit before I have another client.

Cari and I are doing this thing where we hookup and hang out, but she isn’t ready to commit yet. She’s been burned badly in the past and is hesitant to get into anything serious. I get that; it isn’t my favorite thing but I like her and am willing to wait. I just don’t love that while we aren’t serious, she’s seeing other people. Or really, just one person in particular. And I’d probably like Max if this wasn’t the way we met. River got married a few months ago after rekindling with her ex, Aspen. Aspen and River introduced Cari and Max first and I’m not so sure what happened, but they’ve been hot and cold for a while. On one of the ‘cold’ times, Cari and I hooked up. I’m not so into one-night stands, and I always thought she was gorgeous. What threw me for a loop was the fact that it’s been over six months and she’s still not ready to commit to one of us.

I leave Cari’s text on read and grumble to myself. If she wasn’t so freaking perfect, I’d be more upset with her. I love hanging out with her, even when we aren’t hooking up. So call me a simp, but I’m hoping one day she’ll end things with Max for good and stick with me.

Crumbling up the granola bar wrapper, I toss it in the garbage and then wash my hands. I poke my head down the hall and see a few more people waiting on the couches. River’s talking to someone at the desk and the rest seem to be waiting, so I decide to see if I can help any of them.

“Hey, anyone here for a walk-in?” I ask.

Two guys and two girls stand together, and the girls push the guys to go first. They all walk over to me behind the desk on the opposite side of River. I notice they’re all dressed in black from head to toe—the girls wearing black dresses and the guys wearing black button downs and nice pants. Did they just come from a funeral or something?

“I’m Gus, how can I help you?”

“We’d all love to get a tattoo, but we don’t know how much it will be or, like, how long this takes?” The man in front speaks; he’s got a deeper voice than I anticipate. His shaggy, dark brown hair is in a mess around his face.

“Do you have an idea on the size or what the tattoo is?” I ask, opening the laptop we use to make sales.

“Yeah, we each want a slice of pizza that if near each other makes a full pie,” the girl says, showing me a Pinterest photo of their idea. It’s not uncommon; we get a lot of people coming in with ideas from Pinterest.

“So, I would have to draw this myself as that’s another artist’s design, but I can definitely do it. Are we looking for one inch? Maybe two?” I hold up my fingers to show the difference between one and two.

The group looks at each other and then nod, the first guy talking again, “Two please.”

“Okay, it would probably be about twenty minutes for each of you, and we have a shop minimum of $85 per tattoo.”

“That’s perfect,” the blonde girl says.

“Do we have enough time?” the redheaded girl asks.

“We’re fine on time. Don’t worry,” the guy reassures her and rubs her shoulder gently.

“Okay, I need you each to fill out this form, back and front, and I need your IDs to verify age. Does anyone have any allergies?” I ask.

“Does gluten count?” the blonde asks shyly.

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to mention.”

She nods, and they each take turns filling out the forms and hand me their IDs. The two men share the same last name but the girls don’t. I can’t figure out their group dynamic. Are they couples or siblings? I guess it doesn’t really matter, but I’m curious by nature. I finish signing them in and draw a quick sketch on the iPad nearby. The girls and I were always swappingiPads with whoever is nearby. We each have our own, of course, but sometimes it is easier to grab what is closest. I make sure the sketches look good to everyone and print it out on the tattoo transfer paper.

“I can take you all back if you’re okay hanging out in the hall. Only two people fit with me tattooing,” I explain.

“That works,” the guy says.

They follow me to the room, and I begin setting up for the first tattoo. I double check if they need color, but they all want it in black ink. One of the guys takes a seat first after they do rock, paper, scissors to see who goes first. I don’t see any visible tattoos on any of them, so I think it’s safe to assume this is their first tattoo.

“Remind me your name?” I ask.

“I’m Taylor.” The guy smiles.

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