Page 75 of Crimson Desires

I also asked her about the nuances of tattoo art. Did thick or thin lines heal better? Was it possible to tattoo over acne? How did blending colors work?

Eventually, Electra cut me off with a laugh. “Are you thinking about a career in tattooing, or are you just curious?”

I blushed. “No, I’m just curious. Tattoos are amazing, but I could never be a tattoo artist.”

“Yes, she could,” Jack cut in. “Aster’s an amazing artist. Here, look at this.”

Jack fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled out a photo of the drawing that I’d done at the North Carolina Museum of Art.

“You took a picture of that?” I asked.

Jack shrugged, looking somewhat sheepish. “I snuck it. Sorry.”

Electra looked at my drawing, nodding eagerly at it. “Damn! You’ve got some talent. Fuck waitressing. You need to do something with that.”

I squirmed a bit in my seat. “I went to art school for a semester. But I had to drop out for personal reasons.”

“Sorry to hear that. Well, tattooing is a great career. Is that something you’d want to do, though?”

I was at a loss for words. How was I supposed to tell this stranger that I’d never once in the past five years thought about what I wanted to do because I’d been so preoccupied with what I’d had to do?

“I don’t know,” I said, finally. “Maybe.”

“Well, you’re from California, right? You should stop by Ultraviolet Ink sometime—we’ve been looking for a new apprentice.”

I was so flattered by Electra’s offer, that I didn’t tell her the truth: that I lived in Boston, and as much as I wanted to, I’d never be able to work for her. Instead, I let myself fantasize about what my life could be like. I imagined living in LA with Jack, working at Ultraviolet Ink, and moving my dad out of Boston.

It took about thirty more minutes for Electra to finish carving the tattoo into my arm. Once she was done, she wiped it clean and moved away so that I could get a good look at it.

I smiled at the words that stared back at me. They were the words that my dad had told me before I’d embarked on this life-changing tour: do the unexpected.

Jack pulled up his mask just enough for me to see his beautiful, crooked grin.

“Aster,” he said. “That looks amazing.”

Chapter Eighteen

Aster

Wicked Crimson’s tour bus pulled into the venue ten minutes after Jack and I returned from the tattoo convention.

As soon as the guys arrived, Jack was rushed to the stage so that they could set up their mic checks. I was halfway to the merch table when Ava intercepted me.

“Here,” Ava said, handing me a lanyard. The plastic card hooked to the end of the lanyard read STAFF in bold, white letters. “Jack talked to me about the situation with your sister. You’re off merch duty tonight.”

“Really?” I asked. The anxiety that had settled in my chest like a deadweight suddenly lifted. “Oh, my God. Ava, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Your job tonight is to stand in front of the guard rail with the venue’s security team and watch the concert.”

“But if I’m there, who’s going to man the merch table?” I asked.

Ava didn’t answer me. She gave a pointed look and raised an eyebrow.

“You?” My eyes widened. “Ava, that’s really nice, but I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Too late,” Ava said. Her expression softened. “Aster, believe me. I understand where you’re coming from with the anxiety you feel about seeing your sister. Families can be tough. So, even though you might not have the best relationship with your biological family, I want you to know that you can rely on your tour family to have your back.”

For the second time that day, I had no clue how to respond. No words in the English lexicon seemed capable of appropriately communicating how fucking grateful I was for Ava.

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