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“I can’t do this,” I say, shaking my head.
“Ellis,” Griffin says, looking over my shoulder. “It’s literally just an orange.”
I stare down at the fruit on the table in front of me, the incomplete line splattered with ink because I haven’t wiped away the excess. My hand is trembling, and Ryan lets out a laugh next to me, sitting back in his chair and running a hand down his face to hide his smile.
Griffin’s warm eyes meet mine. “You’re practicing on fruit. It’s literally fine.”
“I can’t tattoo you,” I say. “That’s certifiably insane. I sketch in a sketchbook every so often. It’s not the same.”
“It’s not,” Ryan affirms. “But it’s a start.”
I look back at the orange, the buzzing of the tattoo gun still sounding from where I set it on the table.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not even allowed to be doing this,” I say.
I feel the plastic bandage covering the back of my arm, pulling my sleeve up and taking a peek at my newest impulsive decision. The lines are thin–smooth. It looks exactly as it should. Beautiful flowers decorating a vintage bike–beauty blooming from the basket on the front. There’s no way I can match that.
Griffin crouches down, bringing us eye-to-eye from where I sit. He looks concerned. “I’m not going to make you give me a tattoo,” he says, his voice soft. One corner of his mouth turnedup at the corner. “I only thought it would be fun since Ryan owns the shop, and you like drawing.”
“What if I completely ruin your skin and make you the ugliest human alive?” I ask.
Finn’s eyes brighten, dancing with humor. “Then good thing you already fake married me. I won’t have to worry about being alone for the rest of my life.”
I look back at the orange, biting my lip and contemplating what I actually want to do. If I were being honest, giving someone a tattoo definitely sounds like the type of activity you’d be crossing off your bucket list. It also seems pretty reckless.
I kind of want to be able to say I did it. Just for the hell of it.
“Okay, I’m going to do it,” I announce with new determination.
Picking up the tattoo gun, I focus on my breathing, steadying my hand and readying myself to create some art. My mind is swimming with all the ways this could go wrong, but the excitement is searing through me–burning through my fear and making me feel like I could do anything.
I put the needle to the orange, and time slows. I find myself in my own little world, carefully crafting and creating and–
“There,” I say.
Ryan snatches the fruit, examining my work. “You’re not going to hurt him,” he says.
I deadpan. “Encouraging.”
Ryan tosses the orange to Griffin to let him analyze my work. He nods before throwing the fruit in the trash.
“It was a lovely straight line,” Finn says. “I trust you completely.”
Before we sat down to do this, just after Ryan finished my tattoo, I told him what I wanted to do. He quickly let me know that whatever I etched into Finn’s skin had to be the simplestdesign I could think up. It was pretty easy to decide, but Griffin still has no idea.
Before I know it, Finn is on his stomach, his shirt pulled off to reveal his back, free from the patchwork of tattoos that decorate his arms and legs.
“Just above my shoulder blade,” he instructs. “And if you kill me, at least we had a good time.”
Ryan starts prepping supplies, pausing to hand me a pen. “Just sketch it out real fast,” he says. “You can follow the lines.”
Griffin turns his head to the side, resting it on his arms to look at me. It’s strange being this close to him–feeling this close to him when we’ve only known each other for less than twenty-four hours.
And now I’m about to mark his skin permanently.
“I’m going to try to guess what it is.” A small dusting of stubble has formed on his face, and I wonder how often he has to shave. I wonder what his favorite color is–his favorite food. I want to know if he is a sock, sock, shoe, shoe person or a sock, shoe, sock, shoe person. If he’s the latter, our friendship cannot continue past this tattoo shop.
“Okay,” I say, uncapping the pen and running my fingers over his skin, trying to find the perfect spot.
