Chapter 15 Lydia #2
Seb: TWO PARAGRAPHS! I didn’t get into this to write essays.
I rolled my eyes. What could possibly be so difficult writing about himself?
Me: It’s your life. Just things about yourself.
The three little dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared again.
Seb: I’m not writing a stupid bio. I don’t have anything to say.
I needed him to get on board with this. I couldn’t do a “meet the artist” post without any information about the artist.
Me: What if I came up with questions and interviewed you? Would you let me do that?
My phone was quiet for a minute. Sighing, I put it down and started crafting another version of the same content I had been posting.
Seb: I would let you do just about anything, little wild.
Why was my pulse racing just looking at his words, reading them in his voice?
I shook off the annoying fluttering in my belly and opened a new blank document. This was my chance to ask him anything I wanted, I didn’t want to waste it.
With my questions in hand, I packed up my bag and drove to the tattoo shop.
Seb had a client in his chair, but he looked up at the sound of the door.
He stared at me like he didn’t know what to make of me before turning his attention back to his client.
They finished up a series of spiderweb tattoos across his knuckles, and Seb chatted with the guy for a while.
I took the opportunity to pull out my camera so I could take a couple of pictures.
“Sorry to interrupt. Do you mind if I grab a couple of pictures?” I said when I caught the client’s eye.
“I don’t mind at all. Do you want to take some close-up shots?” He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and rubbed his hand along his jaw.
“Sure. Thanks.” I smiled. I didn’t really have any use for them.
They weren’t super original or on a large enough scale to really grab the public’s attention, but I didn’t want to be rude.
He positioned his hands for me to get a couple of good shots.
What I really wanted was to capture moments of Seb connecting with a client. His smile and good-natured demeanor.
The client left, and Seb got to work cleaning the station and equipment as I kept snapping pictures.
“What are you doing? There isn’t even anyone here,” he asked with an amused grin.
“I know. I want pictures of you,” I said. “Working,” I added quickly. “Pictures of you working.”
His eyes twinkled, and I could tell that he wasn’t going to let that go with any decency.
“Just a regular guy, doing regular cleaning stuff,” he said as he flexed his biceps and puffed out his chest. He grabbed the hem of his henley and lifted it up. “Don’t want to get dirty. Maybe I should take this off.”
“You’re an ass. Keep your clothes on.” I tried to sound aggravated, but it didn’t come out that way through my restrained laughter.
He dropped his shirt and washed his hands. “Seriously though, what is this about a bio?”
I hopped onto the newly sanitized tattoo chair and crossed my legs. “I want to feature you on your socials. There is plenty of content on your art but virtually none of you.”
“I’m not trying to sell me. I’m trying to sell my services.”
“Yes, but people like knowing who they’re doing business with. You’re clearly talented, but it takes more than that to get people’s attention. Sex sells, Seb. We have to get you on there too.”
His grin turned feral. “There is so much there to unpack. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Shut up.”
“You think I’m talented?” he smirked.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I do.”
“You think I’m sexy?”
I huffed out a ridiculously strong sigh and shot him a hard glare. “You know you are.”
“You want to sell me on the internet?”
“Ew, gross. No,” I laughed. “I want you to answer a couple of questions about yourself and let people see who they are trusting with their permanent skin decorations.”
He smiled and climbed onto the other side of the chair with me, trying to fold his legs like mine. “Jesus, how do you contort yourself to sit like this?” he asked, struggling to get his feet under his thighs.
We ran through the list of questions, starting with the easiest and making our way to the harder ones.
“What made you want to become a tattoo artist?” I asked.
“I loved drawing when I was younger. I would doodle on every piece of schoolwork or scrap of paper I had. But it wasn’t until I got my first tattoo, one that I had drawn up myself, that I thought of it as a career. After I got it in my head, I did what I needed to do to make it happen.”
“Did you face any challenges when you first started in this industry?”
He chuckled, his lips curved into a smile.
“Only from my mom. I dropped out of college with one year left, and she was constantly trying to get me to go back and finish my degree. When I got my first job at a tattoo shop, I think she knew that was it for me. There was no convincing me to change course at that time.”
“How is your mom?” That wasn’t one of the questions I had prepared in advance, and I didn’t know Gloria Devereux all that well, other than as Seb’s mom, but she was always super nice.
She came to our annual Christmas party every year and would bring the best chili.
“Does she still make a mean pot of chili?”
“She’s good. And yeah, that shit could win awards. I’ve told her to enter the Thanksgiving food festival competition, but she doesn’t believe me.”
Seb’s face lit up talking about his mom, and I laughed. “Tell her I agree with you. That was delicious.”
He smiled at me. “I will.”
I grabbed my paper so I could get back to the actual questions, ignoring the strange, pleasant feeling in my chest.
“What made you want to work with mastectomy clients, specifically?”
He looked at me with unexpected tenderness.
“A friend of mine lost his mother to breast cancer. Honestly, I didn’t go out looking to get involved in any way, but the first client that came to me looking for a mastectomy tattoo, she was so fearless, so brave, so full of life.
I couldn’t help but think that if this friend’s mom had survived, that she would be like that too.
I was proud to do what I could to help her in her journey.
I’ve felt that way about all the women, and one man, that I’ve been able to help. ”
My nose stung as a tear slipped down my eye. Seb leaned over, using his thumb to wipe it away. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I shook it off. I missed my mom. She’d had so much life left in her. It felt so unfair. I was truly so happy for these women that they were able to beat it. But it didn’t lessen the sting that that wasn’t the outcome for my mom.
“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Let’s keep going.”
I read through all of my questions on autopilot, my mind circling around the man that Sebastian had grown into.
In my head, he’d been the same twenty-year-old asshat who broke my heart all those years, but I had to admit that wasn’t the case.
The man before me was smart, sensitive, and kind.
There was more to Seb than a pretty face and a good time, and every time I saw more of the man he was, the more my heart reached for him.
Seb’s next client came in, so I switched into photographer slash videographer mode. He was naturally so personable, people gravitated toward him with his easy smile and extroverted nature. I was one of them, circling around him and feeding off his good energy.
The session took a couple of hours, and since Seb only had a consultation booked for later that evening, when it was done, I had to get going. I had a lot of work to do putting together a strategy that would highlight the artist without losing focus on the actual artwork.
The sun set without me noticing as I was buried in the collection of images of Seb and his clients. The clock showed it was past 10:00 p.m. I had been working on this campaign for over four hours.
I went to my bathroom to do my nightly skincare routine and brush my teeth.
Instead of getting into bed, I trotted across the hall like I was the Grinch…
just like I did every night when I got home before him.
I climbed into Seb’s bed, wrapping myself in the musky scent of him like a cloak.
I only had about an hour before he would be home, but I would enjoy it while it lasted.
He had almost caught me in his bed once already.
He was drunk that night, and that was the only reason he didn’t notice that I came out of his room instead of my own.
I wouldn’t be that lucky tonight, so I had to make sure to keep an eye on the time.
My mind wandered down a path of what-ifs as I lay there.
What if I hadn’t left all those years ago?
What if he wasn’t my brother’s best friend?
What if I didn’t have a cargo hold’s worth of emotional baggage dragging behind me?
What if none of that mattered anyway?