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Her touch gets softer as she drags her fingertips up my leg. To the hem of my jeans. "Can you even do a tattoo with all this hair?" Her voice steadies. It's not quite confident, but it's closer.
"No." I chuckle. It's a good question. But, fuck, it makes it even more clear how little she knows. "That didn't come up?"
"I guess it did."
"What happened?"
"Walker shaved some guys arm." Her nose scrunches as she looks up at me. "Do I have to shave your ankle?"
"Yeah."
She sticks her tongue out gross.
"You do realize you have to touch people to give them ink?"
"Of course."
"Guys a lot less attractive than I am."
"Not possible. You're hideous."
"That so?"
"Yeah."
"You need to look at me again?"
Her laugh breaks up the tension in her jaw. "You're conventionally attractive, sure. But your personality ruins the whole thing."
"You'll have awful customers. It's part of the job."
"Thank so much, master tattoo artist. I had no idea I'd have annoying customers in a customer facing job."
"You're gonna pretend you know customer service?"
"I sold Doc Martens for years."
I can't help but laugh.
She flips me off.
"Just…"
"It suits me, yeah. I got an amazing discount."
"Didn't it bother you?"
"What?"
"Selling all that leather?"
"Sometimes. But we had a great vegan line. I got to talk people into that. And leather is a renewable resource, unlike plastic. So, it's not cut and dry." She bites her lip. Stares at the ground. "You really remembered that?"
"You wore a Meat is Murder shirt to class once a week."
She laughs. "I was sort of—"
"Confrontational?"
