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He spins his phone some more and then leans back, reaching for his duffle bag. His shirt rides up, showing a fraction of his waist and a tattoo there.
“You have tattoos?” I blurt.
“Yeah, designed them myself a couple years ago,” he says as he rustles around in his bag and then sits back in his seat, a sketchpad in his lap and a pencil in his hand. I wonder if his parents knowingly let him get those too. Did they go with him? Probably. I bet they signed the waivers themselves. He didn’t even have to forge them.
“I’ll show you when we have a chance.”
“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t need to see them,” I say, and Quinn taps the pencil on his sketchbook.
“Nah, I’d like to show you.”
I swallow and nod. Yeah, cool. It doesn’t need to be weird. I’m making it weird. I have a way of doing that. Probably one of the many reasons Joshua has avoided me over the years. I embarrass him. I know it.
Speaking of, I glance down at my phone and see the texts I sent Joshua after Quinn invited himself on this trip.
I mean, they’re friends first. I’d never want to make things worse between us. Or between them.
Me:
Quinn is going to come with me since you can’t make it. Is that okay?
Joshua:
Yeah, you guys have fun.
Me:
I’ll let you know where we are if you and Hailey want to come and hang out.
Joshua:
Sounds good, Dad.
And that was that. He hasn’t texted me since. Probably too consumed with his girlfriend.
Young love, I guess. I never really had that. I spent most of my teens and twenties fighting with Karen, and then there were some casual hookups after we broke up. And then came Kevin.
I’ve been unimpressed with my dating history thus far, and I don’t think it’s looking up anytime soon.
Maybe I’ll meet a hot older man on this trip and find a few seconds of satisfaction in a truck-stop bathroom.
Here’s hoping.
“Can I sketch you?” Quinn asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
I glance over at him, feeling a little…shocked, I guess. I mean, why the fuck would he want to sketch me? I run a hand across my buzzed head and shrug.
“Um, sure, I guess.”
“Full disclosure, I’ve sketched you before. You’re my muse.”
My heart stops beating at that little tidbit.
“What? Why?”
“Dunno,” he says, biting down on the end of the charcoal pencil and flipping his sketchbook open. “Just saw you, and bam…inspiration hit.”
I don’t know what to say about that. That’s weird, right? And a little inappropriate.
