Page 31 of Under My Skin
We say our goodbyes, and as I head down the driveway. I can still feel their eyes on me from the front window, so I turn and walk up the street, pulling out my phone as soon as I’m out of their view. There’s a text from a number I don’t have saved.
Unknown Number:
Let me know if you need a ride.
It’s Everett. It has to be. But as much as I do need a ride, I don’t text him back.
Chapter Eighteen
EVERETT
Weekendsin the shop always buzz with energy. Customers usually bring friends or family with them while they get tattooed, each station sounds like it’s catering to a different music request, and even though we ask that our clients are sober, friends and family don’t always abide by that rule.
For the last hour and a half, my current client, who brought two of her girlfriends, has only wanted to listen to Maroon 5 while her friends switch between heckling and flirting with me. I don’t mind. Being good with people is part of the game, and it’s a part I’ve mastered well. Maybe that’s what helped me calm down Lucy this morning. At least three times a week, I have to calm down an exceptionally anxious client.
She never got back to me. I wish she would have at least let me know she was okay. I even texted Simon and asked him to double check the number, which he also said was weird.
But I don’t think it is. I saw what she looked like before she went into that house, and she was barely holding it together. If he saw how tightly wound she was, he’d be worried, too.
My client flinches as I trace one of the longer petals onher ribcage, and I wince with her. “Damn, I was holding my breath through that one,” I say with a laugh. “Almost done.”
“How’s it look?” she asks her friends with a smile.
“So good.” Her friend with blonde hair nods.
“Amazing,” adds her friend with short black hair and dark lipstick.
“Good,” my client answers, the word coming out as she breathes through the pain. Her brown hair is up in a bun as she lies on her side in front of me with her shirt pulled up.
“Everett, are yousureyou don’t want to come out with us tonight?”
Without looking up, I know it’s the blonde friend asking. She’s been the one doing most of the flirting tonight. I chuckle as I dip the needle in water. “Trust me, you don’t want me crashing the party. I’m dead inside.” I smile as I say it, so they know I’m joking, but sometimes it doesn’t feel too far off from the truth.
“Something tells me she would happily try to resuscitate you,” the girl wearing lipstick says with a laugh.
Her blonde friend nods, practically bouncing on her toes. “I am CPR certified.”
I huff a laugh and get back to work.
My client grows serious. “Okay, you can stop now. I really need him to draw straight lines.”
“Don’t worry. We . . .” I lean in close as I follow through with the final line. “Are done.” Sitting up straight on my stool, I set everything down on the nearby tray and roll my neck and shoulders. The two friends gush over the artwork, and I offer a hand to my client to help her to her feet. “There’s a mirror over there. Take a look and let me know what you think.”
She practically skips to the tall standing mirror with her friends in tow. You’d have no idea she recently had her teeth clenched in pain by the way she’s beaming at her reflection.
By the time they’re done, I’ve started cleaning mystation. I can usually tell when someone is about to come back and ask for me to add something, but she seems happy with it.
“Thank you so much,” she says with a grin. “Here.” She hands me her folded cash.
“Thank you,” I say as I point to where she can set the money with a gloved hand. “You guys have been great. I hope you like it.”
“I love it!” Now she’s the one bouncing on her toes, but her reasoning is better.
I nod to the table. “Take a seat, and I’ll get it wrapped up for you.”
She does, and every few seconds, she can’t help looking down at her tattoo with a smile. Seeing people this happy with my work is part of what I love most about this job.
Once her tattoo is fully wrapped, they say goodbye. It sounds like they’re headed somewhere to get late night nachos, and I envy them a little.
