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Ivy slings her bag over her shoulder. “Okay, let's go. I cannot arrive after that asshat or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Deuce is not—” Juniper defends, but Ivy stops her.
“Trace, not Deuce. That guy is a sexist, misogynist pig.”
Headache or not, I laugh at that truth because everything I’ve witnessed of Trace Calhoun, well, she’s not wrong. “It’s the slight fame. A talented man with a touch of fame becomes an ugly, untamable beast. He doesn’t just become his own god, but hethinkshe’s our god, too.”
I mime vomiting, and Ivy laughs. “Nailed it.”
A few minutes later, we’re in the truck, riding into town. Deuce is leaving for his honeymoon next week because this week he’s putting the final touches on Ink Time. Helping him put the final touches on? Hudson.
Juniper carries the case of jam in her arms, tipping her head down the street toward the police station. “I’ll meet up with you guys.” She smiles.
I nod in her direction as I pass Ivy her portfolio from the back seat. “You sure you don’t want us to walk you down first?”
Ivy adds, “It’s fine. I’m still really early.”
Juni wrinkles her nose. “No, no, that’s okay. I’m all good.” She takes a few steps back. “I’ll meet up with you guys.”
With a shrug, we finish gathering everything Ivy hasloaded up to make her space her own. Aside from her portfolio, we carry in a box of assorted succulents, a Metallica poster, herGame of ThronesFunko Pop collection, and a bag of Laffy Taffy.
Ivy sweeps while I use a cleaner to make her glass-topped table pop, and when we have a good handle on things, Deuce appears.
“Congratulations again,” I greet him as we hug hello. He knocks knuckles with Ivy, who isn’t a hugger.
“Thanks. And welcome to Ink Time, officially,” he says, peering around Ivy’s space. “I dig the Funkos,” he says, lifting the Robb Stark figure, touching the tiny sword.
“It’s a ‘look, don’t touch’ type of collection,” Ivy adds, making Deuce smirk. I’m glad he likes her salty persona, and something tells me it’s just what a male-run tattoo parlor needs— a strong woman who takes no shit.
“Trace will be here soon,” Deuce announces, eyeing my sister. “I’d like to formally introduce you two, since you’ll be his apprentice.”
“I thought I was, like, the shop’s apprentice. Learning from everyone and stuff,” Ivy says, a spike of nerves in her tone. Deuce doesn’t hear it, or if he does, he doesn’t let on.
“You will be our collective brain to fill, yes,” he says, “but when it comes to line work and detail, you’ll be shadowing Trace.” Deuce rocks on his boots, his long hair down today after being up last night. There’s a kink from his hair tie, but it looks good, and that’s just not fair.
“He’s the most requested line artist in the country, Ivy. He's supremely talented, and the fans love him.”
“Fans?” Ivy chokes on the word, and I hold back a chuckle.
“The reality TV show fans. And tattoo fans, too. They adore him.”
“They must not really know him then,” Ivy deadpans.
“And do you?” Deuce folds his arms across his chest.
“I know enough.”
“You’re about to learn a lot more, little girl, so I’d put a smile on and be appreciative that the best artist in the country is training you,” Deuce says, his tone even keel. It’s not a reprimand as much as it is a reminder.
The bell on the door jingles, and our gazes shift to the visitor.
“Speak of the devil.” Deuce laughs as Trace saunters in, large sunglasses covering his face, a tiny cap on his head. Sometimes I think when men have super high opinions of themselves, they think they’ll look good no matter what. But the tiny penis cap isn’t working for me, and neither is the “I just rolled out of bed with pussy dried on my face” look, either.
Deuce and Trace clap hands then bump chests, but I keep my hungover head in mind when I want to roll my eyes. Deuce pulls Ivy aside after he and Trace are done greeting one another, leaving the world's greatest artist and myself alone.
He eyes me as he flips his shades to the top of his head, having pulled off the tiny hat as soon as he entered. “It’s you,” he says.
I blink at him. “And it’s you.” I shake my head in confusion.
