I chuckle. Out of everyone, I never would’ve thought it would be Rian to call me out. But actually, paying it forward is something I feel guilty about. Like someone saved me, so shouldn’t I save two more people and keep the good deeds going? I understand her bigger point, but I’m not sure this is the situation to step up.
“So because Winnie saved me, I should let a shelter dog shit and piss all over the apartment? You have the dog for its entire life, not until it reaches adulthood or its parents sort their shit out.”
Rian bites her lower lip and stares at the sidewalk. “True. Maybe this is a bad idea.”
Her disappointment hits me square in the chest, making it tighten. But the more I think about it, she’s kind of right. Adopting a dog who’s hours or days away from death sounds pretty damn appealing right now. And yes, I’m fully aware I’m probably more willing to do this because I just left Winne’s grave. Plus, dogs piss off Jax. He’s never liked them. Naomi had one that would always hump his leg.
“Maybe not,” I say.
Rian’s eyes light up. Shit, to see that excitement from her, I’d adopt ten dogs. “Really?”
“Yeah, come on.” I tug her sleeve and we walk a little faster now. Our excitement escalates the farther we make it down the sidewalk.
“How far away was it?” she asks.
“I don’t think they said.”
“They didn’t act like it was this far, did they?” She bites her lip again and her sunshine smile dims.
Finally, I see the shelter’s sign on the corner, but we have to wait to cross when we’re met with the big red hand. When we reach the animal shelter, a couple is walking away with a dog and Rian claps her hands in front of herself. But when we look in the little pen, all that’s there is shredded newspaper with some dog shit.
“Where are the puppies?” Rian asks a woman who approaches us.
“That couple just took the last one. Thank goodness. Did you see our flyer?”
I put my arm around Rian’s waist because we’re not going to be dog parents today.
“They’re all gone?” she asks with a strangled voice.
The woman finally understands and touches Rian’s hand. “I’m sorry. They are.”
Rian splashes on a fake smile, something she does often. “That’s good. I’m glad they all have homes.” She steps away and out of my hold.
“There are a lot of other shelters. Would you like a list?” the woman calls.
I take the piece of paper from her since Rian isn’t listening anymore, then I catch up to Rian down the street.
“Hey.” I duck to meet her eyes. No tears, thank fuck. I have a hard time dealing with tears.
“We should probably head back, huh?”
And just like that, the dog subject is abandoned.
We walk off the train, neither one of us accomplishing what we wanted. I’ve never seen Rian so depressed. Like she owned a puppy and someone ran over it.
I stop us outside our apartment building. “I’ve gotta go to Ink Envy, want to join me?”
“Nah. I’m going to try to work on that equation.”
I nod. “Cool. I’ll be home in a little bit. Let’s order pizza tonight?”
A slight smile creases her lips. “Sure.”
After she gets in the front door, I walk across the street. The parlor is dead. Of course, that’s because neither Frankie nor I are working and we’re what keep this place going.
Lyle takes his feet off the front desk and sets his sketchpad on the table. “What’s up, boss?”
“You can relax,” I say, beelining it to my office, but I stop midway and turn back to him. “Do you have an Instagram account?”
Lyle is my newbie. He’s still trying to find clients, but you find lots of those through walk-ins. It’s why he has the crappy shift. But he needs to produce on the crappy shift too.
“I don’t take pretty pictures, boss,” he says.
“Start taking pictures of your drawings and posting them on Instagram, tagging Ink Envy. Same if you do a piece on someone. Friend every eighteen-plus person in Cliffton Heights. Find a way to bring in some business, or you’re out.”
His face pales. Once I’m back in my office, I feel like a jackass. I can’t pressure him like that—he’ll never produce what I need him to through fear.
Rian was wrong when she suggested I’m not into repaying my debt for what Winnie did for me. I take in the artists people won’t give a chance and try to teach them the way of old tattooing—not the nuevo way of get a client and do whatever the fuck they want no matter what reputation you get from it.
I’m all about the no face until chest and no hands until arms. If I don’t think I can give them what they want, I send them to someone I know will. Tattooing is about the art, not the ink. And not solely the money.
I pick up the phone and buzz to the front.
“Yeah, boss?” Lyle says, his voice apprehensive.
“I’m not firing you. But I think the Instagram thing is a good idea. It might drum up clients who like your stuff.”
“Okay, I just joined on my phone.”
I chuckle. “Okay.”
I hang up and press my fingertips to my temple. I should be worried about my bottom line, but all I see is Rian’s frown.
Instead of posting my own sketches to Instagram, I start a group text.
Me: Game night tonight. We’re playing Drawing Without Dignity because it’s Rian’s favorite and she needs cheering up.
A whole slew of messages come in.
Sierra: We got the pizza.
Blanca: Ethan says he’ll get her favorite wine.
Seth: I’ll pick up a dessert.
With that settled, I open up another chat box.
Me: Hey, Rian needs some cheering up, game night tonight at our apartment.
Three dots appear. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he never changed his number.
Jax: Your dick would cheer her up. On second thought mine would do a better job.
Me: This was a peace offering so you weren’t excluded. Now you can fuck off.
Jax: Aw, don’t be such a sourpuss.
I toss the phone onto the desk, regretting extending him an invitation. One thing I need to figure out soon is whether Jax wants revenge or friendship. Because he’s back for a reason, and I need to find out which one it is.
Chapter Nine
Rian
I got about ten percent through the problem today and I feel as though I’m on the right track, but I’ve had enough for one day, so I shut the notebook and swing my purse over my shoulder.
Jax comes out of his bedroom in a pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt that hugs his muscled shoulders and chest. “Where are you going?”
“Grocery store,” I say. “Do you need anything?”
It’s been an entire week since Dylan planned a game night to cheer me up after my out-of-body experience when I couldn’t get a puppy, and since then, he and Jax have been civil enough. There’s no watching television at the same time or eating at the table together, but there are no more mean words being spat at one another.