Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The nice thing about having money is that you can buy companionship.
Okay, okay, I don’t mean a sex worker. I mean a pet sitter. Although it’s very hard to find a pet sitter for skunks. No one will reply to my ad.
Maybe a sex worker would do it?
I scroll the pet sitter app. Dog…dog…cat…bird? I check my inbox again. Big fat nothing. Hello? No one is even willing to try to scam me? Not a single message?
I’m oddly offended.
“Microwaves go that high??”
“Please, don’t act like I should have known. The thing was frozen!”
The sounds of bickering come through the shop doors, and I glance up to see one of Logan’s perfect god-of-a-boyfriend walk into the shop, Ronan, accompanied by another god I’ve seen around the shop, Callum.
Although Callum is also taken by a cute redhead.
Hey, here’s that recurring theme–everyone is in love with their soulmates but me.
Which isn’t fully true, I love Princess.
And I love french fries. And I love tattooing. I have so much love to give.
“Logan, your boyfriend lit a pancake on fire in the microwave.” Callum crosses his arms.
“Correction, it was the paper plate!” Ronan throws his hands in the air. “There must be something in it!”
“Yeah, like flammable paper?” Callum arches an eyebrow.
Logan, whom I’ve been studiously ignoring, stops tattooing his client to give both men a deadpan look.
“I put it out, I’m not sure why this is such a big deal.” Ronan looks exasperated, then stalks to the back. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Callum and Logan share a look, then Callum flops down into a chair next to Logan, and Callum falls into easy conversation with him.
My chest twinges with something that I don’t have time to acknowledge because the shop door tinkles again, and my appointment, Chad, a college-aged white guy with an odd collection of tattoos by various people, walks in. Immediately, he gives me a smile.
Amazing! Someone to chat with. Suddenly, this corner feels a lot less lonely. I wonder if we have anything in common? Well, we do have a random assortment of tattoos in common. Check. And he’s around my age, just a bit younger, I’m sure we can hit it off.
“Hey, how are you?” I greet Chad with the waiver. He greets me with another smile that reaches his eyes, signing it without even reading. “It’s still hot as balls out there!”
I snort. You’d think summer in Ohio wouldn’t be that bad, but we have enough humidity to drown even a preacher in hell.
Chad and I fall into easy conversation as I get my things set up.
He shows me the spot on his upper arm where he wants the tattoo, and I size the stencil and get to work.
Chad is as chatty as I am and relaxes into me as I work, hitting my flow state, talking, tattooing, and laughing while rock music plays in the background.
I can’t help but notice he’s kinda cute, with good cheekbones and defined muscles, and he smells like mint gum.
It’s nice, not everyone smells good. I’m sure they have their reasons, but I do appreciate the mint.
While I’m shading Satan’s balloon knot, Chad leans into me and does a conspiratorial snort.
I look at him, then glance to where he’s looking. At some point, Ronan must have come back out because now he’s sitting beside Logan, watching him work with his hand on Logan’s thigh.
I glance back at Chad, who raises his eyebrows. “Fucking gay.”
I laugh. They are pretty gay. It’s cute.
“I had some dude hit on me once at the Gray Goose.” Chad keeps talking, and I’m only half listening to him, distracted now by the weird tightness in my chest. My ex, Josh, used to do the whole hand on my thigh thing. He did it up to and all the way through cheating on me.
“Fucking faggot.”
That startles me back into the present. What did Chad just say? I jerk my gaze up at him. He just looks at me.
“What?”
“Yeah, he tried to hit on me!” He snorts. “Can you believe it? Do I look like a fag to you?”
There’s an odd, fuzzy sound, like the music platform has lost its internet connection. It takes me a second of just staring at the butthole I’m tattooing before I catch up with what Chad said.
He was making fun of Logan and Ronan, and not in an affectionate way.
Because of course he was.
My cheeks feel hot, which quickly changes to my gut twisting. Then irritation rolls through me. This happens all the time, but why does it still bother me?
Then my phone buzzes in my pocket, and the radio kicks back on. Suddenly, I can hear everything in alarming detail. The buzzing of Logan’s machine, the incessant chatter from across the room, and even Chad’s wheezy nose.
I can pretend like this didn’t happen. I always do.
Except the one time I didn’t.
Briefly, I consider that option, and my muscles hum with a quick burst of energy. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone.
What good is hurting him going to do? It won’t change his mind.
My phone goes off again, and I put my machine down and pull it out.
It’s a message from the pet sitter app.
Maddox: I might be able to help.