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I get why he wanted me to take photographs, but I still don’t know what this is.
“People get inked with the small heart tattoo, and instead of paying, they make a donation.”
“That’s amazing.”
He tugs at my hand. “Let’s start easing you into this.”
Now I know what he meant back at the diner.
If I’m here as the photographer, that means taking pictures of people getting tattoos which means I will need to be around needles, which means given what today is for, I can’t be a baby and pass out at the sight of one.
With that in mind, I remind myself of a little girl who has probably been poked with more than her fair share of needles. I roll my shoulders back, swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth, and close my eyes.
Because if I can’t see it, it’s not there.
We stop.
Logan drops my hand, only to replace his touch with his heat at my back.
His breath sweeps across my neck. “Plan on taking pictures with your eyes closed?”
I peek through one eye. I’m grateful for all the commotion here because no one is paying attention to me.
Well, apart from the Logan and Archer.
Archer’s eyes dart between us. “The fainter? Really?”
“I’m a runner too apparently.”
Logan side eyes me. “She’s our photographer.”
Archer’s brows pull together. “I thought we had one of those.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”
“You’re not,” Logan clips.
There’s some kind of silent conversation happening between the brothers.
Archer finally smiles. “You’re good. Thanks for doing this.”
Logan shoves a bottle of water in my hand and pulls an extra stool over to his booth. “Sit and keep drinking that. Let me know if you feel like you’re going to pass out and I will stop. You’ll get used to it.”
I open the bottle and take a swig before he pries it from my mouth.
“Sip it,” he demands, putting the cap back on and handing it to me.
Hands shaking, I reluctantly sit on the stool he’s provided. When I look around, there’s three other tattoo artists here, including Archer and the girl I recognize as Cindy from last night.
“Which one of you fuckers is first?” she asks, holding out her arms.
Why did I agree to this?
It’s going to be so embarrassing if I pass out again.
But I remind myself I leave in less than twenty-four hours, and I won’t have to see these people again.
“Ready?” Logan grabs my chair and yanks me closer before pushing his hands into black rubber gloves.
