Besides, that's not how this works. She stays in my cell, on my computer, in my bedroom.
Work now. Words later.
I meet my client at the counter, finalize the mockup, move him to my suite.
One line at a time, I fall into the familiar routine. The smell of sweat and A&D ointment, the feel of skin against my gloved hands, the hum of the tattoo gun, the mumbling pop-punk emanating from the speakers.
For some reason, our manager loves the genre. I don't mind the riffs, but the lyrics? Why are these suburban guys so angry at women for screwing someone else?
Move the hell on.
Not that I'm a bastion of letting go. Sure, I'm not screwed up over an ex—I don't have any exes of note—but I'm still obsessed with the woman I lost.
And I do love the arc of this album (our manager has an old school devotion to albums). The lyricist starts out cheeky, pushing people away with his wit. Song by song, he drops his defenses, admits hurt, pulls people closer.
In the end, he's still a mess, but he's not afraid to face it.
I always think of Hearts and Thorns, though I'm sure she'd hate the comparison. She loves women who pour their hearts out. Sometimes, I listen to her favorite artists, to get a feel for what she went through, to find a deeper level of understanding.
But there's no way I'm going there right now.
I shake off my thoughts and slip back into my work. The sleeve is epic. A massive octopus sinking a ship in stormy seas. I draw the last line of black ink. That's it.
My client rouses as I turn off the gun.
"That's it?" he asks.
My eyes flit to the clock. "Two hours."
"I can take more." He's in the zone, buzzing from adrenaline and dopamine, ready to face a mountain of pain.
"I know you can." He'll come down soon, but I might as well stroke his ego. "I'm wiped." I wrap his arm in plastic. "Take it off when you shower. Then breathable clothing."
"We can't finish today?"
"We'll be done soon. I promise."
I walk him to the counter and shake his hand.
Luna flirts all through checkout. Sweet smile, hair twirl, giggle, the works.
She's not really the sweet smile type. More the I know what I want and I ask for it type. The same as Imogen.
They're friends, actually—Luna recommended me. And they're both sexy in a take-no-shit way.
Not that I want Luna. She's a knock-out, no question, but I've never felt an interest.
Now, she's my friend, and fellow Inked Love tattoo artist, Oliver's girlfriend. And that's simply out of the question.
Luna switches the music to one of the mumbling teen girls she adores. Would Imogen like the artist? She was wearing a band shirt, but, for some reason, I keep picturing her in nothing but the combat boots she wore to her appointment.
The ring of the bell distracts me from my dirty thoughts.
Luna waits until the client leaves, and the door swings shut, then she clears her throat. "Earth to Patrick."
"You're Earth?" I ask.
"Mars to Patrick?" she offers.
"Venus."
"You think I'm the goddess of beauty? That's sweet."
"But you prefer the god of war?" I ask.
"Why not both?" She smiles and her grey-green eyes light up. She's not sunshine, exactly, but she's pretty damn joyful.
She's good for Oliver, the world's grumpiest tattoo artist (and trust me, that is some stiff competition).
Speaking of the recently sober artist—"Is Oliver in?"
"Luna, it's great to see you today. I love your outfit. Very chic." She motions to her snug black dress.
"You look hot."
"Okay, that's boy for chic."
"Is he in?"
She clears her throat. "Let's try again."
"You are working the counter?" I ask.
"I'm not trolling for johns."
"You're filling in as our assistant manager over the summer?" I ask.
"Yes," she says.
"Does that not leave you in charge of scheduling?"
She makes a hmm noise. "Even so." She motions to me. "One more shot, Tricky. 'Luna, you look great today.'"
"Does it need to be about how you look?"
"Anything. As long as it's not a question about my boyfriend."
I'm tempted to fuck with her. She hates when I refer to her as Oliver's girlfriend.
In theory, I get it. She wants to be her own person. She doesn't want a qualifier. But there's something about the idea of belonging to someone—
It's kinda nice.
Luna clears her throat.
"You look great today, Luna. Is that a new dress?" I try.
"It is. Thanks for noticing." She smiles. "No, Oliver isn't working today. He's off this week."
"Trouble in paradise?"
"He's at Berkeley, visiting Daisy." His kid sister. Luna's best friend. Complicated shit.
"It's June."
"She's taking a summer course."
Is that why Imogen is in Brentwood? Or was she born and raised in Los Angeles? "Is Holden miserable?" Holden is Daisy's boyfriend.
Once upon a time, Oliver and Holden were best friends. Until the whole 'I slept with your sister thing' (Holden slept with Daisy, Ollie's sister). And then the whole 'I slept with your best friend thing.' (Ollie and Luna hooked up. And Luna is Daisy's best friend).
I swear, I need a diagram to follow the gossip here.
"He's there too," she says.
"Weird."
"Kinda," she says.
"Why aren't you there?"
"Are you kidding? I'm not getting in the middle of that catfight."
"You must miss her?"
"Like crazy," she says. "But we talk three times a week. And I'll be up there in a few weeks."
"Once the dick-measuring contest ends?"
"It's almost sweet," she says, "like they're competing for who loves her the most."
"Does that bother you?"
"Not the way you mean," she says.
"How do I mean?"
"Because Oliver is my boyfriend and I want all his love?"
Guilty.
"I'm an only child."
She's lucky that way. She can't lose a sibling. But, hey, I know better than to say that. "Siblings are annoying."
"Yeah, but they know what it's like to grow up in your house, with your family. I wish I had that."
Dare crashes the almost intimate moment. "You look hot today, Luna." He winks and runs his fingers through his dark hair in a total you know you want me move.
"Is that what you wanted?" I ask.
"I prefer words like 'sophisticated' and 'gorgeous' but I know they're a little long for you two," she says.
"Sophis-ta-what?" Dare plays dumb.
"You look nice too," she says. "The iconic Inked Love uniform."
He is wearing standard-issue hipster tattoo artist gear. White v-neck (it doesn't compete with the colorful ink and it shows off the tattooed biceps). Jeans (his are dark. Some are light. Holden is the only one who dares to wear shorts). Trendy kicks. (Checkered Vans for Dare today. Grey eco-friendly sneakers for me).