55. Maya
Maya
May
I sit in the empty tattoo shop, watching yet another news channel report on Ross Booker’s death, the drugs he was in possession of, and the missing girl that was found in his house.
In the last two weeks, it got out that Ross was involved in some sort of sex trafficking scheme. Since then, Paul was on national television addressing the rumors, that somehow got leaked, about the case he’s been working and Ross’s involvement.
Dani said Paul’s been pissed that someone leaked that they found a girl in Ross Booker’s home, saying that now the perpetrator will know they’re onto him and will either go into hiding, or at the very least, be more careful with who he deals with, making him harder to track down.
The suspect made a mistake dealing with Ross. Ross Booker wasn’t the “low key” type of customer, and if whoever is involved in the disappearances of these girls wants to stay hidden, they won’t slip up big like that again.
Also since the news about Ross and the girl came out, Jamie’s social media pages have been overrun with comments speculating that he was in on it or that he should’ve been put in jail for aiding and abetting.
No matter what the news says, the internet crazies will always speak their mind, and there’s a good number of them out there who don’t think Jamie’s a victim. Jamie hasn’t made a public statement, and he’s been talking with the Flyers PR team about how best to handle the situation.
Other than that, things have been quiet while the school gears up for graduation and everyone prepares for Summer.
Gally and Simmons are moving out, and I think Colt and Beau are going to move in with Drew and Jamie.
Claire decided to stick around and help Jamie get to and from his various appointments, since we all have class and work, her being here and unattached at the moment has made everything run a bit smoother.
She’s currently living in her travel van in the boys’ driveway, hooked up to their electricity and water.
Since Jamie legally can’t drive until his doctor releases him to do so, she drives his Camaro whenever she needs a vehicle, and he loves to complain about it.
The bell above the door chimes, pulling me from my thoughts, and a smile breaks out across my face as Jamie walks toward my booth. I mute the TV—which is no longer discussing Ross Booker.
“Hi,” I greet as he bends down to kiss me. “I was just thinking about you. What are you doing here?”
He motions out to the street, where Claire is speeding away in his car. He frowns as he watches her go, and I can’t help but laugh as he pouts. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back to driving that thing around in no time.”
“It can’t come soon enough,” he huffs. “Anyway, she’s going to get her hair done—something about getting her highlights touched up and that it would take a couple hours, so I told her to bring me here instead.
I figured I could spend some time with you, maybe even get a new tattoo, if you weren’t busy. ”
I smile, patting the seat of my chair for him to sit. “Never too busy for my favorite client,” I say.
“There’s a ‘good tip’ joke in there somewhere, but I’ll refrain,” he says, making me laugh out loud.
“Please do,” I reply. “You’ve been hanging out with Drew too much if that’s what your sense of humor has come to.”
Jamie chuckles and leans back in the chair. “He’s relentless.”
“So, what do you want and where do you want it?” I ask, taking in the dozens of other tattoos I’ve studied a million times, all visible in his shorts and t-shirt.
His style is a combination of black and gray realism with geometric style shapes and lines, creating a futuristic, unique effect I have come to associate with him.
His left arm is covered in lines and shapes and musical instruments—a hand on a guitar neck fading into a ring of piano keys around his elbow. And, of course, the iconic lightning bolt and storm clouds rolling up over his left bicep and shoulder, down his chest.
Even though his right arm is covered by the sling, I could still tell you what’s on it from memory.
There are more geometric lines and overlapping circles intertwined with a realistic hockey stick and helmet and a cluster of flowers on his right forearm.
I’d asked once, not long ago, and he said they were the flowers that were on his mother’s grave.
I’m not sure how he remembered them in enough detail to describe them to his artist a decade later, but they look like a perfect replica from what I recall of that day so long ago.
“I want you,” Jamie says, bringing me back to the present and pulling up the left leg of his shorts, exposing his untattoed thigh to me.
“I want a sketchbook and pencils and paintbrushes. I want a constellation of stars in the same pattern as your freckles against a night sky. I want the way your curls fall across my chest when you sleep. You’re the artist, baby.
I want the essence of you right here in my skin. ”
I’m unable to form a coherent thought as I process the absolute romantic bombshell he casually dropped in front of me.
“I—are you sure? That’s—”
“I’m sure. I love you. I’m not going anywhere. I want you, baby. Always.”
He leans forward and kisses me again, and I can’t help but smile against his mouth.
“I love you,” I whisper back, kissing him one more time.
“You realize you’re giving me free reign, right?
As an artist, I appreciate the creative freedom.
As your girlfriend, I think I want to put my name right next to your dick and claim my territory. ”
Jamie laughs, leaning back again, entirely unbothered and folds his left arm behind his head.
“Do it. Design whatever you want and then sign your work, baby. I’ll wear it proudly.”
Disbelievingly, I shake my head, smiling as I grab my tablet and get to work on a sketch, the two of us falling into a comfortable silence while he watches me draw, like we always have.
A few nights later, and all our exams are finally over, we meet our friends and Jamie’s teammates at Ale Mary’s for one last night out before graduation.
It’s also our first night out together, and I’m excited to finally go out in public and have fun together like a normal college couple.
Obviously, Gally and Simmons now know Jamie and I are together, since I’ve been at the house basically every night the last few weeks. The secret is no longer a secret, and the rest of the team more than likely knows as well.
Walking in, the music plays loud and the dance floor is crowded with people from school, celebrating the end of another semester.
We’re waved over to the usual corner of tables occupied by the hockey boys. Stella comes up first and gives me a huge hug, and then Jamie.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you guys are here!” she says, then softer, for only Jamie and I to hear. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you,” he says, smiling softly at her sincerity.
“This has been the most insane year ever!” she says, finally pulling back and leading the way through the crowd toward the rest of our crew.
The whole team is here, along with the girls, and everyone catches up, sharing how their exams went and their summer plans.
Stella and Jamie get on the topic of his shoulder rehab, and I hear Jamie promise to talk to his physical therapist about seeing if she can come do some of her observation hours with the team.
Dani weaves her way through the crowd of people up to me, Chloe close on her heals, looking peeved.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, waving her off when she offers me a sip of her drink.
“Ryan motherfucking Thompson is what’s wrong,” Chloe huffs, looking out at the dance floor where the lanky basketball player is dancing with some other girl.
I wrinkle my nose, turning back to her. “Ew. We didn’t like him anyway,” I say, trying to be supportive, and Dani laughs.
“I’ve been telling her for the last twenty minutes to find someone else and make him jealous,” she says.
“You haven’t talked to Ryan since Halloween,” I add. “Go over there and talk to Simmons instead. You two hit it off at the beach.”
Chloe considers my suggestion before nodding in agreement and making her way to the shy-and-nerdy forward.
Simmons smiles down at her from his perch on a bar stool, rubbing a nervous hand over his dark hair.
He got drafted to play for Chicago, which just so happens to be only two hours from Chloe’s hometown.
Maybe there’s a future for the two of them somewhere, if that’s what they want.
Turning back to Dani, I see her eyes are locked a couple of tables away, on Beau, where he sits talking to Colt and a couple of other players.
Nudging her shoulder with mine, I pull her attention back to me. “All good?” I ask, wondering if something happened between the two of them since the last time we talked.
“What? Oh, yeah. I’m good,” she says, reluctantly turning to face away from the table of men.
“At least he’s not with a girl this time,” I say, trying to make her feel better.
“Yeah, but he’s not over here with me, either,” she grumbles, the few drinks she had before I got here seeming to have loosened her tongue.
“Is that what we want now?” I ask, teasingly. “We want him over here with you? No more ‘Mean Asshole’ Beau Warren?”
She rolls her eyes, taking another sip. “He’s still mean and an asshole, but I want him to be my mean asshole, and that’s pathetic.”
“Aw, babe,” I croon, pulling her to my side with an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not pathetic at all. And you know he’s not actually an asshole, deep down; that’s why you want him.”
Dani grunts a noncommittal sound and finishes off her drink. Just as she does, Jamie walks over.
“Want to dance?” he asks, a sultry smirk on his lips.
“Can you even dance?” I ask him with a tilt of my head.
“I’m down to one left hand, not two left feet, you brat. Yes, I can dance. Besides, grabbing your ass to the beat of the music doesn’t require a lot of skill,” he remarks, pulling a laugh from me and a snort from Dani.
“Yeah, okay, smartass. You’ve definitely been hanging out with Drew too much.
” I hold out my hand and let him pull me toward the crowded dance floor.
We stay on the edge of the sea of people, to avoid having his shoulder get bumped into, but we sway to the music for hours, finally enjoying our freedom.