Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Cam
“ A re we doing this?”
Shaking my head, I focused on the blond man sitting in front of me. “Sorry,” I muttered.
Here was reason number seventy-one why Alonzo pissed me off: he’d distracted me from doing a job that I took pride in even when I didn’t want to do it.
Unacceptable.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, channeling the tone I’d practiced for my waitressing stint.
A familiar prickle crept across my chest, telling me his eyes had strayed where they shouldn’t have.
“What’s on the menu?” he asked in a voice he probably thought was sexy but that only grated on my temper.
Narrowing my eyes, I shot back, “I only do tatts, so if you’re looking for something else, you better go.”
He laughed, and my left hand balled into a fist on my thigh. “I’m just playing with you,” he said. “How about something simple? Maybe a heart with an arrow pierced through it?”
The urge to stand up and walk away hit me hard. I could not believe I’d have to ink such a thing—and on this pervert too.
This served as another reminder that I wasn’t cut out to be a do-gooder. One day when I was rich enough, I’d do my part by donating money to causes I cared about. Never again would I offer up my art like it was a stupid tourist attraction.
But for now, I’d suck up my pride and get the job done. I’d given my word to my friend, and my word mattered.
“Sure. I only do hand-poked tatts in black ink. If you want it in red or done by machine, you should transfer to Hector.” I cocked my chin toward the other tattoo artist in the stall next to mine.
“Black’s fine. I wanna see what you can do.”
I pushed down a retort, reminding myself that I was doing this for Eric. For the sea. Between city boy hijacking my routine and this guy leering at me like he’d never seen big boobs before, my self-control was strained near its breaking point.
Only three hours to go till my shift ended. I could hold on for that long.
Inhaling deeply, I set to the task of sketching his design and adjusting it to his liking.
I was preparing my needle and ink when he said, “I love your tatts. You do them yourself?”
My grip tightened on the needle. “Some of them.”
“Guess the parts you could reach, huh? How many do you have?”
“Stopped counting.” Now you should stop talking.
“Any chance you can show me the ones you did? You know, so I know what to expect.”
“No.”
“Damn.” He laughed. “Who put that stick up your ass?”
I slowly lifted my head to stare straight into his eyes. “Guys who can’t stop asking stupid questions.”
“Geez. You can’t take a joke or what?”
“Obviously not. Now you can either close your mouth and keep your eyes to yourself while I poke holes into your skin, or you can move on to the other artist. What’s your choice?”
“Look, I didn’t mean?—”
“Five, four?—”
He held up his hands. “Fine, fine.”
To my dismay, he stretched his arm back out on my plastic-wrapped tattoo table and waved his free hand toward it, as though saying, “Have at it.”
It was official—worst day of the year.
Alonzo
I spent the rest of the morning getting my arm bandaged and conking out for a solid hour on the bench outside the clinic.
After buying a change of clothes and swimming trunks? I wandered down the beach, where music streamed alongside the swoosh of the waves.
Several tents stood in a U formation, and in the middle were tables and chairs alongside oversized cushions set on handwoven mats.
Colorful banderitas cut out of plastic wrappers hung between bamboo structures as people milled about carrying food wrapped in banana leaves, and coconuts with the tops cut out.
On the other side of the U, a man and woman duo performed on a small stage, singing while he played the keyboard and she the ukulele.
It seemed like I couldn’t have chosen a better day to escape to Juana.
I should have gone straight to the food booths since I hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. But I had no appetite.
Spotting a sign for tattoos, I remembered that conversation with Dani and my friends during our last trip. How she’d dissuaded me from getting one because her parents wouldn’t approve. I should have told her then that it didn’t matter if I got inked—they’d always disapprove of me anyway.
Not that it mattered now.
I followed the sign, only to stop short at the sight of a girl inking some white guy’s bicep. Her head was bent over as she focused on the tattoo, but I’d recognize the colorful birds on her shoulder anywhere.
So she didn’t just enjoy getting inked. She did it too.
Like she sensed my gaze on her, she looked up and turned her head in my direction. Her eyes widened a second before narrowing, and I made out the words her mouth formed as clearly as though she’d written them across her forehead: w hat the hell?
I walked toward her, ignoring the death stare she leveled at me. Everything about her screamed that I should turn around and go away, but I wanted to say sorry for what happened. And there was a part of me was curious about her work too.
When I reached her booth, I said, “Long time no see.”
“Not long enough,” she muttered. And yet, her gaze flicked to my arm, as though checking if I’d gotten it treated.
“No internal bleeding,” I told her. “This is your job? Cool.”
Head snapping up, she scowled at me. “You were supposed to avoid me, remember?”
I glanced at the guy she was tattooing and caught him ogling her chest. “Dude, eyes up,” I scolded him.
She switched her glare to him as he faced forward.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Do you want me to stay?” I asked her.
“No. He’s going to behave. Right?” She directed the question to the guy and punctuated it with a tap of her needle on his forearm.
“Yes,” he quickly answered.
“I’ll look around and come back,” I said, shooting a silent warning to him.
Th still-nameless girl’s exaggerated eye roll had me chuckling as I wandered off to the other stalls. I easily found the one selling kakanin and snacks served on banana leaves, and recognized the name of the café printed across the top of the tent.
“You’re Cuppa Jo?” I asked the woman behind the counter.
She grinned. “My café is. I’m Nikki. You’ve been to my place?”
“Last summer. I loved your food.”
“Thanks.” Cocking her head, she said, “Now that you mention it, you look familiar.”
My smile spread. “You don’t have to say that. I’m sure you get plenty of customers.”
“Some are more memorable than others.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m Lonzo, by the way.” I reached out my hand to her, and she shook it with a laugh.
“Great to meet you, Lonzo. Is your arm okay?”
“It’s fine, thanks,” I told her even though it was a lie. The physical pain distracted me from Dani, and I welcomed it.
“What can I get you?”
Nikki’s spread looked delicious, and it was enough to revive my appetite. I took my time deliberating before going for an empanada and biko with latik.
As she prepared my order, she asked, “How long are you here for?”
“Just till tomorrow.”
“Good thing you caught the festival. Are you with friends or family?”
“No.” My answer came sharper than it should have, so I softened the rest of it. “Solo trip.”
“Ah.” She opened her mouth and closed it again, as if rethinking what she was about to say. “You picked a great time.”
“I know. I didn’t expect all this, but hey, I’m not complaining.”
“We have a film screening later and some poetry reading. Oh, and if you’re into tattoos, my friend’s got a booth. She does the hand-poking thing instead of a gun. It’s really cool.”
My brows rose at the revelation that they were friends. Nikki’s bright personality seemed like the complete opposite of surfer girl’s. Then again, this was a small town. “I actually came from there, but she’s busy with a client.”
“Cam doesn’t usually ink strangers?—”
I grinned. Finally, I had her name. Cam .
“—but it’s a fundraiser and our friend organized it,” Nikki continued. “So if you’re interested, go get a tatt while you can.”
Hell yes, I was interested. “I’ll line up right after eating.”
“Tell her I sent you. And don’t be offended or anything if she doesn’t talk much.”
I almost laughed and told her that her friend— Cam —didn’t have a problem talking to me. To the contrary, she seemed to have no hesitation saying what she thought whenever she was around me. “I don’t mind.”
That wasn’t exactly true, but I could deal with it. I still needed to apologize anyway. Now that I had her name and an endorsement from her friend, I hoped she’d be more receptive to my return.
“Shop’s closed,” Cam said as soon as she saw me approaching.
My eyes flicked to the sign in front of her table. “It says you’re open until five,” I pointed out as I took the empty seat.
She didn’t bat an eyelash. “Does it? Must be a typo.” Leaning over, she grabbed said sign. Her tank top gaped lower as she moved, and I caught a flash of cleavage before averting my gaze. “Anyway, Hector’s over there. You can get a tatt with him.”
“I want one from you. Your friend Nikki said to tell you she sent me…” I paused for dramatic effect. “Cam. Nice name, by the way.”
Her jaw clenched. It was wrong, but I felt a perverse sort of pleasure in getting a reaction from her.
“I’ve already dealt with you crashing into my board and an asshole pissing me off,” she hissed, her eyes sparking like a wire short-circuiting. “I’m done.”
My humor fizzled out. “Did the guy do something?” Turning, I looked around, trying to find the blond man she’d been inking.
“I handled it. But I’ve reached my quota for the day,” she said as she cleaned her tools.
“You sure you don’t want me to look for him?”
“And do what? Beat him up?”
I reared my head back. “I was thinking more like talking to him about his manners.”
“Been there, done that.” Her tone was flat, and her eyes stayed fixed on her task.
“I actually wanted to say sorry to you too. You helped me this morning, and I acted like an ass.”
This time, she looked at me. “Are you saying that so I’ll give you a tattoo?”
I blinked. “Your faith in humanity is really something.”
“I’m not inking you, Manila.”
My heart sank. “That’s cool,” I said, trying to play it off. “I shouldn’t make a decision like that right now, anyway.” I still wanted that tatt, but later, when I was certain I had my head on straight.
“Guess I’m doing you a favor then. You’re welcome.” With that dismissal, she packed up her things. Her fingers navigated the motions as efficiently as a surgeon might handle his tools. Her nails were cut to the quick, unpolished.
I wondered if she always kept them trimmed like that or if she ever grew them out and painted them. A nice shade of black, maybe, to match her variety of tattoos.
There was a buko with a straw on the inside corner of her right wrist, while a row of numbers were inked across her left one.
The words me, myself, and I in all caps just below the crook of her elbow and a bunch of delicate flowers on her bicep.
A thick black line through a word I couldn’t make out on the side of her other arm.
She stopped moving. “Why are you still here?”
I shrugged. “Just trying to figure out what I did to endear myself to you so much.”
“Endear?” Her laughter was mocking. “You city boys and your fancy words.”
“It means to get you to like me .”
She gave me a withering glare. “Thank you for the vocabulary lesson. This uneducated girl needed it.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“Don’t backtrack now. I already know you’re an elitist jerk.”
Well, that was a first. If she only knew that was far from the truth.
Closing her folio case with a click, Cam stood. With me sitting, her position put her chest within my line of sight and I hurriedly shifted my eyes again.
“Have a good life, Manila,” she said. “Bye.”
As she strode off, I kept my stare fixed on her chair, only turning when I figured it was safe enough that I wouldn’t be accused of checking her out.
She’d stopped a few feet from me, talking to a guy with a man bun and a half sleeve of tatts.
They seemed to be arguing, and given how he gestured toward the booth, I figured he was asking why she’d closed up early.
I read her lips, making out the word “Sorry.”
And for the second time today—third, if I counted our first meeting—I watched her walk away.