Page 13 of Under My Skin
He cocks an eyebrow. “You think? You can’t exactly change it. You know that, right?”
I give him a heavy-lidded stare. “Yes, I know that.” Sitting up a little straighter, I say, “I want it on my ankle.”
“Great.” Turning on the stool, he grabs the alcohol. “Roll up your pants.”
I do as I’m told, but my fingers feel like they’re fumbling in slow motion. This suddenly doesn’t feel real. Am I actually sitting here, about to get a tattoo from Everett of all people? “Don’t you need to draw a few options first?”
“For a sleeping cat?” He shakes his head. “I’ll just freehand it. It’s easy enough.”
My pulse quickens. “Not just any sleeping cat.”
He waves away my concern. “I know, I know. Pudge.” He looks over at the carrier again and gestures toward him with the cleaning solution in his hand. “I’ve got a great visual right there.”
“But you didn’t even tell me how much it will cost.”
Everett wraps a hand around my exposed calf, his long fingers making my leg look small. The warmth radiating from his fingertips somehow travels up my leg even though his hand doesn’t. Eyeing my brown boot, he asks, “May I?”
I nod and try to gulp down whatever physical response is threatening to come over me. This is ridiculous. This isEverett Meyers.I know I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell, but I should not be this affected by a guy who used to make fart noises with my brother when I walked into a room.
“Shop minimum is eighty,” he says, snapping me from my thoughts.
I try to muster all my conviction, so my voice doesn’t shake. “Sounds good.”
The guy who greeted me when I first entered the shop walks up. His hair is buzzed short, and he might have more tattoos than Everett, but he seems nice enough. He eyes Everett with a lift of his brows. “You’re tattooing her?”
Everett gives an upbeat nod. “Yup.”
“Damn.” Troy looks at me. “I would have loved to set up an appointment with you.” He waves it off. “You’re in good hands, though.” Then flashing a crooked smile, he adds, “We’ll have to get together under different circumstances.”
“Okay,” I offer with a smile even though I know I won’t take him up on his offer. I’m only here for the weekend, anyway.
He gives me a thumbs up and walks to the back cabinet where he gets something for his client. As soon as the guy passes us again and gets back to work, Everett glances his way before wiping a small patch of skin outside my right ankle. “You know,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I can’t say I’d recommend Troy as a distraction.”
I blink. “As a distraction?”
Everett waves a hand back and forth over my exposed ankle to help the skin dry faster. “Yeah. I know you’re going through some stuff, but Troy is . . .” He shakes his head with a laugh. “He’s Troy. Find someone else to keep your mind off things. Anyone else.”
Is that what I need? Twenty minutes ago, I would have told him he was crazy, but maybe that’s why he’s caught my eye tonight. It’s not because ofhimspecifically. It’s just a wayfor me to distract myself from the chaotic mess that is my family. Relief floods through me. Yes, a distraction. That’s all Everett has been tonight. A tiny distraction from the impending doom of coming home.
A light laugh leaves me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Everett looks up from my ankle long enough to smile my way, and I easily dismiss the butterflies stirring in my stomach as a meaningless distraction.
It’s easy to study him when he isn’t looking at me. His focus as he works is enough to put me in a trance-like state. So much about him feels familiar, and yet, there’s so much I don’t know. His dark hair naturally sticks out at different angles, but in a way that works for him. His hair has always been like that. Sure, there were times when it was longer or shorter, but it always had this untamed edge to it. Trailing my gaze from his hair, I take in the sharp lines of his face. Between his dark eyebrows squared in determination, the straight edge to his nose, and the angle of his jaw, everything about him feels harsher than I remember. Even when he and my brother would annoy me, he always had this subtle softness about him. That softness is gone now, and part of me can’t help wondering what happened to it.
“All right. Done.”
I blink. Done? I didn’t even feel any pain.
Sitting up straight, Everett caps a Sharpie and turns to put it back where it belongs.
Tilting my foot, I examine my ankle. There’s an outline of a sleeping Pudge, but it’s not a tattoo. “What the hell, Everett,” I mutter as I take a closer look. “You drew on me withmarker?”
After securing the black marker in one of his drawers, he turns back to me. “Think of it as a temporary tattoo.”
My eyes narrow. “But I don’t want a temporary tattoo. I want a tattoo. The kind that doesn’t wash off.”
He shrugs, seeming perfectly at ease with my disappointment. “Then come back tomorrow.”
