"Not for you?"
"Something like that." He curves the gun over the last letter then turns it off. His eyes meet mine as he moves backward. "There. Done."
There. Done.
I watch him pull off the stencil.
He takes me to the mirror. Marvels at my ink with me.
It's perfect.
You are not your mistakes.
"Come on." His fingers curl around my wrist. "I have to clean you up."
I'm buzzing. From the adrenaline and from his touch.
I follow him to the chair.
Watch him rub some ointment over the ink then wrap it in plastic.
We move to the counter. I pay with my credit card. Sign for a generous tip.
Stare at the new ink.
This is really on my skin.
It's really happening.
And he's there, next to me, offering me something. A tube of that same ointment.
"I'm guessing you did your research, but in case you didn't, wash it well tonight. Then use this. Same thing for a few days. Don't wrap it or bandage it. And no swimming for two weeks." He hands over the tube.
I nod. "Thanks."
"You still want that coffee?"
I press my lips together. Pull my backpack from the floor. "Yeah."
"I have an hour until my next appointment." His eyes meet mine. "You want some company?"
Chapter Six
Iris
It's a simple question, but it feels profound.
You want some company?
I have no idea.
Thankfully, the question isn't some.
It's not a date with someone.
It's Walker.
I want to get coffee with Walker.
I want to get lunch and ice cream and dinner and post-dinner coffee with him.
And I really, really want to lead him back to my apartment so he can fuck me senseless.
I want it too much.
It's dangerous.
I press my lips together. I try to find a polite no. Thanks, but I need to get to work.
Thanks, but I think it's best if we never see each other again.
Thanks, but how about we skip the coffee and go straight to the backroom slash office instead?
I stare into his eyes.
I don't want to say no.
I want to say yes.
It's just company.
Just coffee.
I nod. "Only if you promise it will be great coffee."
"I know just the spot."
The air is warm. The breeze is soft. The sun is high in the bright blue sky.
It's a beautiful day.
But then, it's always a beautiful day on the Westside.
Venice is a lot like the gated community in the valley where I grew up. It's more crowded and less sauna like in the summer. And it's harder to find parking. And it's a million times more hip.
But it's the same lemon sun and bright sky.
That particular cliché about California is true.
The breeze rustles the palm trees lining the street.
It's picture perfect.
A sunny spring day by the beach.
A walk with a gorgeous, tattooed man.
"I hope you don't mind hipsters," Walker says.
"My haircut doesn't give me away?"
He laughs. Tugs on my backpack straps. He's wearing it. Holding it for me. Like in high school. "And now you have ink. You're on your way."
"Mom would be so proud." She already is. My parents suffocate me with praise. It's sweet. But it's too much. You're so strong, Iris. You've already made it a month. You'll get through this. And Lily will come around. You'll be best friends again. We'll be one big, happy family again.
"Is she?"
"Yeah." I run my fingers through my hair. I'm still buzzing. I can still hear the tattoo gun's hum. I can still feel the needles on my skin. "Do you usually ask women about their moms on dates?"
"I told you. I don't date."
"Then what is this?"
"Coffee." The back of his hand brushes mine. "And conversation."
"It's been a while since I've been on the market, but I'm pretty sure that's called a date."
"Ah."
"What do you mean ah?"
"Explains a lot."
"What?" My rubber sole hits the pavement. My canvas shoes are comfortable. But ordinary. At least they're purple. That gives them personality. And it's something I know. I love the color purple. It's not much, but it's a start. "If you tell me I was rusty, I'm going to—"
"Hit me?"
I shake my head. "Dig my water bottle from my backpack and pour it on your head."
"Vicious."
"I try." I let the back of my hand brush his wrist.
He leans into the touch. Brushes his fingertips against my palm.
"What did it explain?"
"I'm not sure I can answer honestly with such a brutal threat hanging over my head."
"Are you chicken?"
His laugh floats into the air.
It makes me warm. Fills me someplace I'm normally empty. There's a distinct lack of laughter in my life. I want more of it. More of him.
"Well, some of us have balls." I drag my fingertips over his palm. "And I'm not afraid to say it. Coffee and conversation the day after sex is a date."
"You want it to be a date?" He nods to the street to our left. This way.
I follow him onto the slanted street. It's familiar. Somehow. "I'm not looking for a relationship."
"A fling?"
"Depends on the definition."
"Hmm."
"You're doing it again."
He laughs. "Maybe."
We stop at a red light. I turn to him. Stare into his dark eyes. I can't quite figure them out.
This is a date. A date he invited me on. But he's insisting it's not.
Maybe he's as terrified of commitment as I am.
His eyes are inviting. Dark. Deep. Beautiful.
Ahem.
"You are not your mistakes." The light turns green. He takes my hand and leads me onto the street. "You messaged me about it a while ago."
"I was working up my nerve."
"It takes a lot of people a while."
"And you?"
He laughs. "Not anymore."
"Now it's more like I have an hour to kill, let's find some free skin?"
"Close. But not quite. That no swimming shit is serious."
"And you're a swimmer?"
"It's not obvious?"
No, it is. He's carefree. Tan. Toned. Broad-shouldered. "You're a surfer?"
"I know." He flips his wavy hair. "Not a blond. I defy stereotypes."
"Are you from Southern California?"
"You won't believe me."
"I'm from the Valley. Try me."
"Ah."
"This again?"
He nods to the coffee shop on our left. It's all white with a blue sign and curvy letters. I recognize the chain. It's from San Francisco and each iced coffee is tiny, expensive, and to die for.
"I'm going to have to call off this non-date."