Page 40 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
7
HOLLY
Ipress my back up against the door, my heart racing, breathing hard. Do I really have a hot tattoo artist on my front step, asking me out for a drink? Unless I imagined the last couple of minutes, it certainly seems that way.
But what about the woman who’d been working at the studio? Hadn’t I suspected they’re dating? Maybe I got it wrong. It’s definitely something I’ll need to ask him. I’m never going to be the other woman. Especially not after what happened with Mike.
Kane has caught me unexpectedly. I already changed when I arrived home, but now I fly up to the bathroom, to rake my fingers through my hair so it doesn’t look like such a tangled mess, and throw on some extra makeup. I wish he’d given me more time, but this feels like it isn’t really happening, and if I ask to rearrange, I know I’ll either never find the time to meet him or he’ll change his mind. I don’t normally do this kind of thing, but maybe the new tattoo has made me a little braver, a little more dangerous.
I slip my feet into some sandals and pull down a cardigan from the back of my bedroom door. We’re nearing the end ofsummer, but it’s still warm outside. Only once the sun goes down can you tell autumn is edging its way in.
Snatching up my bag and trying to quell the flutter of nerves in my stomach, I go to the door. I should have invited him in to wait instead of leaving him on my doorstep, but it had felt too personal. I don’t want him seeing all my photographs and asking questions. Not yet, anyway. Not when we haven’t even shared a proper conversation.
I open the front door to find him sitting on the step, his arms slung around his knees, leaning forward slightly. I take the moment to admire his easy stance, the way his t-shirt pulls over the muscles of his back, the bulk of his biceps. He looks like someone who’s just naturally built that way—as though he hasn’t seen the inside of a gym, ever. Mike is someone who needs to work out, and even with a regimented three gym sessions a week, he’s still barely holding back the middle-aged spread. That’s the benefit of youth, you don’t even have to try.
He must notice me coming out, as he twists to look over his shoulder squinting in the sunlight, his hair falling in his face. He jumps to his feet when he sees me, a grin lighting his face. I still have no idea what this young guy sees in me, but he made the effort to track me down at my home, so there must be something.
“Hey,” he says with a grin. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Where are we going?”
He falters. “I hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.”
I’m about to suggest a nice pub around the corner which has a lovely beer garden, but then I remember it’s the same place Mike and I always used to go. It isn’t as though it would feel weird to be there with someone else, but I don’t want people seeing me out. It’s stupid really. Mike and I are long separated, but the idea of people gossiping about me makes me uneasy. Is it because of how Kane looks? If he was suited and booted, with abarbershop haircut, would I be feeling so awkward about people seeing me with him? I don’t want to be that kind of woman—the one who cares what other people think about me—but the truth is I have more than just myself to think about.
“You know what,” I say, “how about we go in to Covent Garden for a drink? I haven’t been there for ages.”
The busy tourist district also means anonymity. There won’t be anyone there I’d be likely to bump into. Visiting places like Covent Garden always seems like something people who live in London would do all the time, but often I find I barely make it out of my own suburb, and even then it’s only ever to do with something for work.
“Sounds good to me.” Kane shrugs. “Whatever you want.”
We walk towards the nearest Tube station, both flashing cards at the machines to allow us through the turnstiles and onto the trains. Covent Garden is only a fifteen-minute ride away, and before we know it, we’re spilling out onto the busy street, joining the thousands of tourists who are also visiting the place.
We find a spot outside one of the café bars, the chairs and tables spreading out across the cobbled square. A live band is playing, and people dance, a mother holding a child on her hip and bopping up and down with her, while the little girl squeals and throws her head back. I can’t help but smile at the sight.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks.
I reach for my purse. “Oh, let me give you some money.”
He frowns at me and shakes his head. “No chance. I asked you out, I’m buying.”
I smile. “A glass of Sauvignon Blanc, thanks.”
He vanishes inside, and I watch the crowds until he reappears, a glass of chilled white wine in one hand and a bottle of beer for himself in the other.
“So, how’s the tattoo feeling?” he asks as I pick up my wine and take a first sip. It’s ice cold and crisp, just how I like it.
“A little sore,” I admit. “But I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s fully healed.”
“It’ll look amazing,” he says. “You had some great suggestions about what you wanted. There’s nothing more annoying than someone coming in and asking for a tattoo, but having no idea what they want. Why would you want something permanently on your body when you don’t even know what you like or don’t like?”
“I’ve wanted this tattoo for years now. Ever since I was in my early twenties.” I realise I’m almost giving my age away. Not that it’s a secret, but I know he’s younger than me and don’t want him to see me as some old maid.
“Why didn’t you get it back then?”
“Oh…” I shrug. “I had an ex who didn’t like them, and I was young and stupid and allowed his opinion to influence me too much.”
“He’s an ex for a reason, then,” Kane says.
