Page 6

Long lines along my leg are replaced by short, swirly ones.

"Oh, well, I’m sure your parents can also use help on their maple farm by someone less scrawny than you.” I stick out my tongue at him, which he doesn’t see because he’s still focused on being professional and sketching out my tattoo. “Also, Kinstead might be boring, but all kinds of exciting things are happening in Wayward Hollow. My neighbor recently found a skeleton. Did you hear?"

The pen stops halfway up the back of my thigh.

"I thought it was only a rumor." He gets up, takes a few steps back, and stares at my leg, eyebrows furrowed. "I have to see this with you standing. Come on, get up and take a look in the mirror if you want to."

"Bossy," I murmur, but do as he asks. Because, oh boy, do I.

Thankfully, he works in his studio completely alone, and I can waltz around almost naked. He doesn’t even have an assistant to manage the reception or his schedule. From appointment booking to preparing his station, he does everything all by his lonesome.

Good for him. Apart from, well, his clients, he’s living an introvert’s dream.

"And you know what the best thing about moving here is?" I stare at my reflection as I flex the muscles of my thigh and slowly turn to see the tattoo from all angles. "Having a friend close by who does the most badass tattoos and who'll ink me up in exchange for my gratitude and some TikTok promo." His face darkens in the mirror. I turn around and press a kiss to his cheek. "Did I mention you're the best?"

"Remind me again why I don't charge you at least five times what I would a normal client?" He shakes his head, but the corner of his mouth twitches. "You definitely have the money."

"Because you, my friend, are way too nice. And because my ad rate would be about five times what you'd charge a regular client, so I’d say we're even."

"Not if we consider all of my nerves you're killing. One of these days I’ll sue you for emotional damage."

"Ah, you've got thick skin." I slap his shoulder and brush past him.

"Anyway, it looks good. If you have no complaints, let's get to it."

“Nah, I trust you.” I climb back onto the bed and try to find a comfortable position because I will be in it for the foreseeable future. While he disinfects my skin and shaves where the tattoo will go, I stare at the exposed brick wall on the other side of the room until the shrill buzz of his tattoo gun tears me from my thoughts.

“Are you ready?” He’s got his glasses on, now it’s time to get serious.

“As ready as it gets.” I let out a deep sigh and close my eyes. “Ink me up, Evan.”

The tattoo needle pierces my skin, and it’s taking everything in me not to wince. Or scream. Or flinch. Fucking hell.

I mean, yes, tattoos hurt. I have enough to be well aware of the fact.

But legs? A whole other beast. This is my first leg tattoo, and holy shit, am I going to be happy when it's done. I'm pretty sure he's dry-wiping my skin with the singular goal of making me suffer.

"This is next-level agony. Medieval torture level." I hug a pillow to my chest. “Didn’t know you’re such a sadist. No wonder we didn’t work out.”

"Oh, shut up, Kieran.” He chuckles and pats the leg he’s not tattooing with condescending reassurance. “You can do it."

Hell yes, I can. It’s been a while, so it takes me a few curses and winces to get into the groove. I take a deep breath and let the pain flow through me.

It's grounding.

Then again, pain always has been. No, I'm not a masochist. Pain is not usually my thing.

But whenever my emotional turmoil got overwhelming, I got a new piercing or tattoo. Because pain is a distraction, something else to focus on until I’m in a better mindset to deal with said turmoil. And while pain is only temporary, the clarity it gives my mind lasts far longer.

So, I let the constant hum of his tattoo needle and the muffled sound of the occasional car driving by lull me into a trance. However, when he reaches the back of my knee, any Zen I acquired rushes out of me within the blink of an eye.

"Holy fucking shitballs," I curse and hit the bed with my flat palm.

"Don't move," Evan scolds me, keeping my calf locked in place with a firm grip on my ankle.

"I’m trying, but it really fucking hurts."

"I'll make you a deal." He wipes some color off and I want to scream or punch him in the face. "You stick through this part with minimal movement, and we'll take a short break. I'll even buy you an ice cream. How does that sound?"