Page 103 of A Little Jaded
With a laugh, I lift one shoulder. “Hey, I love my mom as much as the next person, so…I guess it’s fine?”
He looks up at me and quirks his brow, like I’m literally the craziest person he’s ever met.
“And will you please stop looking at me like I’ve grown a second head or whatever?” I add.
Hands raised in defeat, he concedes, “All right, all right. When do you get to do your first tattoo? Is there a checklist or something?”
“I mean, yes and no,” I hedge. “Technically, I have my own machine, so I could do it whenever, but…”
“But?”
Stalling, I wet my lips. “I don’t know. I guess I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
My lips bunch, and I lift my shoulder again, knowing I don’t have an answer, let alone one he’ll accept.
“So, you’re a coward,” he teases. And honestly, it’s surprising. Witnessing this side of Everett. The playful side. The softer side. The non-asshole Everett. Even if he did call me something offensive.
Biting back my amusement, I argue, “I’m not a coward, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
“It’s a lot of pressure, okay?”
His laugh turns my insides into knots as he flips through my notebook at a quicker pace. “This is awesome. This is awesome.” He pauses at a picture of a bull with massive horns and a pierced nose. “Even this is awesome.” Slapping it closed, he gives me his full attention again. “You’re talented, Stormie. There’s no shame in that.”
My heart flutters in my chest, but I shake it off and reopen my notebook, attempting to see my hard work the same way he does. Without the mistakes or the erase marks or the tiny details driving me nuts, no matter how minute they are.
“See?” His warm, minty breath hits the side of my face. “Talented.”
“Let’s say you’re right.” I peek up at him again, my notebook forgotten. “Being talented on paper doesn’t mean I’m talented on skin.”
“And I think you need to give yourself a little more credit.” He folds his arms and settles back into the cushions. I know this look. I’ve seen it when he’s around his friends. His sister. It’s confidence. Confidence in me. My potential. My talent.
Ignoring the way it makes me want to squirm, I murmur, “I’ll work on it.”
“Good. And while you work on it, I’ll pick my tattoo.” He reopens the notebook, but I snag it from him and toss it onto the coffee table in front of us.
“You think you’re so funny,” I quip.
He smirks. “Not usually, but I’ll take it.”
I snort and loop my hands around his bicep, squeezing tenderly. “Speaking of tattoos, though.”
“Yeah?”
“My, uh, my brother’s coming into town for a concert, and…” I look down at my hands, unable to finish the sentence while simultaneously preparing for a fight.
“And your dad’s calling in that introduction,” Everett finishes for me. “Not sure if you remember, but he mentioned it when he almost ripped my head off.”
I asked Everett to sit in the car while waiting for me to finish my shifts. It’s probably the coward’s way out, but I can’t help it. My dad hates him. He didn’t even have to officially meet the guy, and he still hates him. The prospect of Everett meeting my brother on top of my dad makes me feel about as comfortable as getting a nipple piercing without numbing cream.
No, thank you.
“I’ve been putting it off,” I admit, “but with my brother coming into town, I don’t think I can push it off any longer. Not when you take me to and from work, and?—”
“Okay.”