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And he's at work. He has to be friendly.
Stop shrinking him, Iris. You're not even going to be that kind of shrink.
I clear my throat. "Yeah. I, um. I'm going to need coffee after this."
"It's a small piece. You'll be done in half an hour." Walker motions to a half-room to his right. It has high walls and an open doorway. It's some privacy. Enough for this.
Far too little for a second round, but enough for this.
"You ready?" he asks.
"Yeah. Thanks." I slide my backpack off my shoulders.
Walker looks to his friends. Dean, I guess. He shoots the guy a curt look. Then he shoots a softer one to the girl with the purple-grey hair.
God, she's cool. Between the three of them and their tattoos and ripped jeans, I'm hopelessly outclassed in the cool department.
He motions to the teal chair. It's set up like one of those seats at the gym, one for chest flies. It's at a forty-five-degree angle.
I sit.
He pulls out a tray.
"Why do I feel like I'm at the dentist?" I hug my arms over my chest.
His taps my wrist with his pointer finger. "You can call this off. I'll wave the cancellation fee."
"Generous."
He nods.
"Won't your manager get upset?"
"I'm my manager."
"Oh."
"I co-own the shop." He peels my arms from my chest. He brings my left arm to the tray and wipes my forearm with rubbing alcohol. "You won't hurt my feelings if you leave."
"You're still the guy who did all the work on your Instagram?"
"Yeah."
"Then I'm sticking around."
He moves the temporary tattoo onto my forearm, right under the crook of my elbow. "I shouldn't tell you this, but anyone could do this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's a simple stencil. I'm happy to take the shop minimum for it, but if you don't want to work with me—"
"No. It's fine." I force myself to smile. It is fine. Or it's going to be fine. If I go to another artist or another shop, then last night meant something. And it can't mean anything. "Really. I'm good."
"You still want it here?"
"Yeah."
"Exactly?"
