Page 8 of Unfriend Me
We chatted the whole way to Moss Landing where my tattoo artist waited for me. Our conversation felt like old times again. I couldn’t believe I’d gone a whole year without this easy banter between two friends who knew each other inside and out.
As we pulled into the parking lot next to the tattoo shop, I said quietly, “You don’t have to check on me, you know. I’m going to be okay.”
Titus put the truck in park and shut off the engine before answering. “I know that, but I’ve always checked on you, Lia. Kind of hard to stop the habit now.”
A warm glow that had nothing to do with the hot coffee hit my chest. “Like when I fell off my skateboard trying to do a hospital flip?”
Titus smirked. “Little did you know it would necessitate a real hospital trip to set your finger and get the gravel out of your knee.”
I smiled at the memory, even though at the time, it was fucking painful. “You brought me my homework for three days straight so I wouldn’t get behind.”
Titus shrugged. “It’s what friends do.”
I nodded, finding his slightly pink cheeks fascinating. And the way he wouldn’t look at me, just staring out the windshield at an empty parking lot. “Or when Jack dumped me junior year the day before prom and you ditched your girlfriend to take me instead?”
He rolled his lips in and suddenly I was fascinated by them.
“Couldn’t let my best friend go through that alone. Besides, Danielle was driving me crazy. We would’ve broken up eventually.”
I cringed. “I’m starting to see a pattern.”
Titus’s head whipped over, his eyes bright. “You do?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I always pick the wrong guys. The assholes. Why do I do that?”
He let out a huff of a breath and then climbed out of the truck, coming around the hood to open my door and help me down. “Wish I knew why so I could smack some sense into you,” he grumbled.
“Try that shit and I’ll hit back ten times harder,” I countered, reaching back in the truck for the rest of my coffee. Titus didn’t blink an eye. He was used to my threats.
We walked into the tattoo shop my artist had opened early just for me. After ten tattoos with the same artist, you got certain privileges. The poor guy was starting to have a hard time finding blank skin to use for the designs I had in my head. As of yet, my parents hadn’t caught wind of my ink obsession. All my current tattoos were located where normal clothes would keep them covered up. Today’s phoenix would be starting between my shoulder blades and extending toward my shoulders. I’d have to take care not to wear racerback tanks around my parents or they’d discover my secret.
Yes, I was twenty-eight and still hiding my tattoos from my parents. My sass only extended so far.
“Okay, shirt rolled up and have a seat,” Jimmy said gruffly. What he lacked in personality, he made up for in his design work. The man was incredible with a needle and ink.
“Turn around,” I told Titus.
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because I don’t have a bra on and today’s not the day you’re gonna see the goods, okay?” I gave him my best irritated look.
His cheeks did that blushing thing and he spun around on the rolling stool. I pulled my shirt right below my breasts and then rolled the back up and tucked it under the neck line. As I lay down, my whole body got sweaty. From nerves or Titus’s response, I wasn’t sure.
“So, you’re saying eventually I’m gonna see the goods?”
Titus twirled around and bent down so his face was near my head, turned in his direction. I scoffed, the only comeback I could muster. The artist pressed the sketch of the bird we’d decided on onto my back to transfer the design. He immediately got to work and I pressed my lips together against the pain.
Titus grabbed my hand where it gripped the edge of the table and held it tight. I didn’t mind the pain of the tattoo. After a while, it almost became soothing. Maybe that made me messed up in the head, but it was the truth. I didn’t bother explaining it to Titus as I quite liked him holding my hand to get me through it.
“Your next tattoo should be my name,” he said with a wink.
The boy knew what he was doing. He was riling me up, getting me distracted. He’d been doing that since middle school, and while I knew that’s what he was doing, it still worked every time.
I rolled my eyes. “Please. Says the guy with virgin skin.”
“Oh, a tenderfoot, huh?” Jimmy grunted, amusement in his voice.
“My virgin skin is a throwback, much like my hair. Everybody’s off getting tattoos and piercings and soccer man haircuts. I’m all original parts over here.”
