Page 12 of Under My Skin
Slowly dragging her eyes back to me, she says, “I want an outline of Pudge.”
“What’s a Pudge?”
She focuses back on the exit, and this time I look with her. People are busy on the street outside, but that’s nothing new for a Friday night in Copper Ridge. The winery across the street always draws a crowd on weekends.
Flicking a glance back in her direction, I slowly ask, “What are we?—”
I’m cut off by the sound of a soft meow from the front of the shop. I’m not the only one who hears it either. Troy is too busy talking some guy’s ear off while the guy writhes in pain from the linework being done on his calf, but Toni and Alex both dart their attention to the front of the shop.
Alex whips his head back in my direction. “Was that a?—”
Another meow.
That’s when I see it. She wasn’t looking at the exit at all. She was looking at the fucking cat carrier she left tucked under her seat.
Chapter Seven
LUCY
Everett wipes a handover his face as he says, “Lucy, did you bring a fucking cat in here?”
Getting to my feet, I try to keep my voice down as I hurry to the front of the shop. “I didn’t really have anywhere else for him to go.” I scoop up the cat carrier and try my best to discreetly make my way back to Everett’s station in the back.
He’s standing where I left him with his eyes trained on the ceiling. The girl tattooing a woman’s back laughs at the sight but says nothing about Pudge being here. Iknowyou’re not supposed to bring a cat to get a tattoo with you, but what was I supposed to do? Trust Ellen to babysit him in her Rav4 while I get ink injected into my skin?
I can’t believe Everett Meyers owns this place. I’ve seen him in passing over the years, but this is definitely the most we’ve interacted since I was a kid. He was always just at our house, eating our food and hanging out with Simon.
In a lot of ways, he looks the same as he did back then. Tall with dark hair that’s always a little out of order and plenty of tattoos. The biggest difference now being that there area lotmore of them. Both arms are all but completely covered, and even though I can’t see much from here, traces of dark lines poke out from the back of his black T-shirt and up the back of his neck, like whispers alluding to what’s hidden underneath.
My eyes wander from his shoulders to the muscles of his chest, where the black fabric of his shirt stretches, then loosens again over his abdomen. My gaze lands on his hips by the time he stops staring at the ceiling, and I’m forced to snap my eyes back up to meet his.
Holy shit. Everett is . . . hot? I mean, he’s always had a way about him I guess, but this? I swallow. This is a lot for me to take in right now.
“Look, I know you’re new to this.” He takes the cat carrier from my arms. “But usually, people just bring a picture.”
He gently sets the carrier on the bottom step of a narrow staircase nearby, and I kneel in front of the cage, so I can press my hand against the mesh front. “I was worried you wouldn’t get his eyes right.” Wiggling my finger, I scratch the top of Pudge’s head before looking over my shoulder to find Everett with his back leaning against a nearby cabinet as he watches me with the faintest crease between his brows. “Don’t worry, he’s practically hypoallergenic,” I offer, assuming that’s his main concern.
Everett nods, eyeing Pudge’s fluffy cream coat through the front of the cage. “Yeah, he looks it.”
“I’m serious.” I get to my feet and take a seat on his tattoo chair again. “I give him special food. It’s a whole thing.”
“A whole thing,” Everett echoes to himself, still eyeing Pudge like he isn’t sure if he should kick us both out.
“I need this tattoo,” I blurt.
His dark eyes finally break away from the cat long enough to meet mine. “Right.” He grabs a pen. “You want an outline of uh . . .” Pointing the pen in the direction of the cat carrier, he adds, “Pudge, I take it?”
I nod. “Pudge. Yes.”
He holds my stare for another beat. “Right.”
“I do have a picture,” I offer as I reach for my phone. “I wanted an outline of him curled up and sleeping.” I hold out the phone for him to see.
Everett takes a step toward me before taking the phone from my hand. He tilts his head a little as he studies the image, but all too quickly, he hands it back. “Should be easy enough.”
Without another word, he takes a seat on the stool next to me. “Where do you want it?”
This is all happening faster than I thought it would. “Um, I think I want it on my ankle.”
