Promise Me This (3 page)

“Maybe,” I said to my mother, only to ease her mind.

Jessie

I had several moments of quiet at Raw Ink this afternoon, which rarely happened, so I was able to sneak in some schoolwork. I pulled out my independent study notes and laid them out on the counter.

Between the phone ringing, customers streaming in, the artists needing supplies restocked, and the place requiring constant sanitation, I barely had a moment to breathe. But today even Cory was quiet, because he was sporting a mean hangover. Bennett wasn’t due in until later, the two female artists weren’t scheduled at all today and Dex was in one of the back rooms with a customer placing the final touches on the huge eagle he was tattooing on his lower back.

Raw Ink was a popular shop in this town, especially on the weekends, and thankfully Oliver was a decent boss who didn’t micromanage. He allowed me the freedom to organize the schedule along with a few other shop responsibilities, like handling our website, so he was able to oversee the business and maintain the books.

He was an artist himself, but his clientele was selective. He’d handpicked every employee for an apprenticeship, except for Cory and Dex, who had come from other shops, and was known as one of the best in the business.

As I jotted down a couple more notes for my photography assignment, Emmy arrived early for her shift. Her vibrant red hair was pulled high in a ponytail as she bounced inside the door. She was sweet and bubbly and smart as a whip. Continuously on the move, she always had a story to tell, and she’d easily become one of my closest confidantes.

“You’re here early.”

“Cooper was adopted out today,” she said, her eyes shiny with emotion. “I just . . . needed to get my mind off of it.”

Emmy also volunteered with animals in a no-kill shelter and had created her own dog-walking business. She was hardworking and extremely compassionate and I could see this bit of news had gutted her. Problem was, she always became too attached to the animals.

I’d never seen her with a boyfriend, even though she checked plenty of guys out. She lived with her grandmother, and like me, she couldn’t always afford to take a full load of classes toward her veterinary degree.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder.

“It’ll be a good home for him,” she mumbled and then got busy by pulling out the Windex and moving over to the large front window. I could’ve told her that I’d already cleaned the glass but I think she was just looking for something to keep her hands occupied.

Besides me and Emmy, there was also another receptionist named Holly who had worked at Raw Ink from the beginning. But she just had a baby and only took one or two shifts a week now. The shop used to be a tanning salon before Oliver bought it, so it contained several private rooms and a couple of open cubicles up front for smaller jobs. The thing was, most costumers chose privacy when the option was afforded them, so the rooms in back allowed for that and were always booked solid.

While I took a phone call, Emmy reached for the disinfectant and began wiping down the seats and armrests up front. Even though this task was done daily, it was something that bore repeating so I just watched her go, like she was our own little Energizer Bunny. Much of the equipment in the shop was single use for sanitation purposes, such as the needles, but other more static items required hospital grade cleaning. We even placed certain equipment through our spore-test machine on a monthly basis.

Yeah, this shop was clean, no doubt about it. So clean that my skin took the brunt of it. I was forever putting lotion on my hands to keep them soft.

I focused on the customer’s question on the phone about how to decide on the best kind of tattoo. By this time, I’d heard it all. I directed the woman to our website, because if there was one thing I encouraged patrons to do, it was to have a good idea of what you wanted when you stepped inside the shop. If you still couldn’t decide, setting up a consult with an artist was best because they were on a tight schedule.

“Newbie?” Emmy said, when I hung up.

“Yeah,” I said. “Wanted to memorialize someone. I figure she could see Cory or Bennett.”

“Good choices,” Emmy said.

Bennett was hands down the most compassionate artist in this shop. After doing this for so long, these guys didn’t really care why you were getting your ink. Some customers felt they needed to explain and sure, these guys were decent and would lend their ear. We were all pretty good listeners. After bartenders, tattoo artists were probably second in line for hearing people’s sob stories.

But what most of the virgin inkers didn’t understand was that some people got a tattoo simply because they liked the look of it, not because it was symbolic. Sure, some were meaningful, like the replica I had of my father’s camera. But I’d also gotten other things inked, like my feminine
Día de Muertos
mask, purely because it looked cool.

The door swung open and in stepped two tall university kids with kappa something or another emblazoned across their shirts. Emmy gave me a look without rolling her eyes that said exactly what I thinking. She strode to the counter to replace the spray bottle that was in her hand.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

The tall guy with the blond surfer hair eyed Emmy up and down and then said, “You an artist here or just the person who answers the phone?”

Emmy raised her eyebrow and I worked to keep the scowl off my face. If there was one thing you didn’t want to do, it was insult the front desk staff. We were the gatekeepers, the eyes and ears of the shop, and so much more.

Instead of answering him directly, I said, “What do you need?”

“Some tattoos,” the other dude said, stepping up. “Do you take walk-ins?”

“Depends,” I said. “What do you want done?”

As soon as I asked, a group of girls yanked open the door and rushed inside, squealing and surrounding these two clowns like they were celebrities. Great, they had brought their own entourage. Hell no. There was nothing so nerve-wracking as when customers brought friends or family members who were there for the sole purpose of shooting pictures, taking videos, and running their mouths throughout the whole process.

They got in the way, created a disturbance, and didn’t appreciate that the artist had a job to do. These guys were highly skilled, had high-pressure tasks, and were in the business of modifying a person’s appearance for the rest of their life. I got that customers required moral support, but they needed to respect the workspace.

After greeting the girls, the tall guy said, “We want our Greek letters tattooed.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“Got it,” I said. “Well, our letter specialist has back-to-backs today, but I could set you up for another appointment this week. Unless you want to come back later today with another artist.”

“That’s cool,” the blond dude said, almost looking relieved. “We’ll come back another day.”

The girls immediately began pouting. They apparently were raring to go, given the tipsy state of one of them.

“First tattoos?”

“Yeah,” they both said at practically the same time.

I nodded and then gave them their new time and date.

“I recommend you come in sober and ready for a little bit of pain. But you guys are tough enough to handle it,” I said with a smile, trying to ease their minds a bit. “You can look on our website for some other Greek inspired tattoos. Or come in early and search through some portfolios.”

They both nodded but still looked slightly unsure, so I kept going.

“If you want to bring a guest, limit it to one, so your artist can truly concentrate on giving you some great ink.”

“Got it,” the tall guy said.

“So it really does hurt?” one of the girls asked in a high-pitched voice that grated on my nerves.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Emmy said, shrugging. Like me, she thought it was best to be honest about the pain. “Pinches and stings, but you get used to it after a while. And you’ll love it when all is said and done.”

When they walked out, Emmy said, “Let’s hope they don’t tip for shit.”

That was Emmy’s huge pet peeve. Tattoos were pricey and people could get stingy on tips, but these guys deserved them, especially if they worked on you long and hard.

When Emmy came back around the desk, I showed her the appointment schedule for the rest of the day and started packing up my things.

“I’m thinking about asking Nate to help me with my bridge project.”

“Help you how?” Emmy said, swiping some of the red locks that had come loose from her elastic tie off her cheek. I’d kill for that hair color, but even a bottle made for a meager reproduction of it, and believe me, I’ve tried.

“I’ve decided to take a drive up to the town of Bridgeway. I was hoping since Nate knows so much about it, he’d tag along with me for the day.”

Emmy narrowed her eyes at me. “Why do you seem nervous? You’ve spent time on the road with him before, right? So no big deal.”

I wanted to tell her the big deal was that little blip on my radar from the other night. How I let my imagination run wild about him after I saw him with that girl in the bathroom.

But I was being silly, none of that changed anything between us. We were still friends. He would go on to screw other girls and drive his daddy’s expensive cars and I would spend time with him when all of these goofballs got together.

But that was just it. Nobody else would be coming along on this trip. It would just be him and me. For an entire day. At least at the concert last summer, there had been a large group of us in the car.

Except the large group had consisted of all couples, so Nate and I were forced to hang out together more times than not. We’d managed to have a great time.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said quietly.

Then I just went for it. “But the other night, I caught Nate in Zach’s bathroom with a girl.”

“I heard you egging him on, but I didn’t know what it was about,” she said. “You know that’s not any real news flash, right? Were they doing it or something?”

“No,” I said. Damn, wonder what that would have been like to walk in on. “I’d just never seen him in action before. He hides it pretty well.”

“So it could have been way more awkward.”

“Yeah, but instead it was kind of . . . I don’t know. Erotic,” I said, then cringed. Did I really just admit to that? “I’m always ragging on him for being so square, but the way he was . . . oh, just forget it.”

Emmy’s eyes were wide. “No, tell me.”

I shrugged because I wasn’t sure if I could even put my finger on it. “Something about those lips and his strong hands.”

“Yeah?” she said looking past me, as if trying to picture it. “I think Nate’s always had a thing for you.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Sure, you guys are friends and you joke around a lot,” she said and I thought about whether that joking was more like flirting, but I had never really thought so. “I think some guys might be intimidated by you because you’re fierce and superhot.”

“Okay, whatever,” I said. “I think you’re the superhot one.”

Emmy had creamy white skin against that gorgeous red hair and a simple tattoo on her ankle, which had helped her seal the deal for this job.

“Besides, I’m not even Nate’s type,” I said. “And he’s not mine. No tattoos or piercings . . . all of those hard muscles.”

Emmy raised her eyebrows. “Not that you’ve noticed, huh?”

I bit my lip to keep a smile from forming. “He never takes girls seriously, anyway.”

“He takes
you
seriously, Jessie. But okay, whatever you say,” she said, with a tiny smirk hanging from her lips. “So you should have no trouble asking him to ride with you since you guys are just friends. Get on it already.”

“I will.”

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to Nate’s number.

Want to go on a road trip with me?

I waited what felt like forever for his response. Emmy went to set up Cory’s station for his next appointment.

Him:
What do you mean?

Me:
Remember the covered bridges?

Him:
Yeah . . .

Me:
I’ve decided that’s what my photography project’s gonna be. So would you want to drive up there with me and kind of . . . show me around?

Him:
When?

Me:
Whenever we can make it happen. I’m off this Saturday but you might be busy.

Another long pause while I chipped some of the gunmetal nail polish off my fingers. Crap, maybe this was too uncomfortable for him.

Him:
I can go this Saturday.

Me:
Coolness! Thanks so much. If we leave early in the morning, we can make it back by nightfall.

That way he wouldn’t feel like I was trying to stay somewhere with him overnight. I didn’t want any more awkwardness between us, though I was pretty sure by now it was only on my end.

Him:
Sounds like a plan, Blue.

Me:
Give me your address and I’ll pick you up.

Him:
You sure? I can drive.

Me:
My idea. I’ll drive.

Him:
If you insist. I’ll make you a coffee for the road then—what kind do you like?

Me:
You have one of those fancy-ass Keurig machines, don’t you?

Him:
Maybe.

Me:
Figures. I just like regular straight-up coffee, one cream, one sugar—will that work?

Him:
Absolutely. I’ll make sure not to fancy up your drink.

I smiled at him despite myself. He always had a way of making me feel lighter inside.

Me:
You gonna bring a bungee cord so you can jump off one of those bridges?

Him:
Don’t tempt me.

Me: : )

Him:
Is that something you’d ever consider doing?

Me:
Never say never.

Him:
Note to self—bring bungee cord.

Me:
I might just have to change your name to DD.

Him:
DD?

Me:
Daredevil

Him:
I approve. You can start using it immediately.

Me:
Give it time, Square. See you this weekend!