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“Damn it,” she says. I don’t bother asking what she’s doing. Who knows. She finds some tape I have on my desk and tapes it to the wall. “There, it’s yours now. You better tell me as soon as someone picks it for a tattoo.”
I laugh from where I’m cutting out the stencils. “I sincerely doubt anyone is gonna look at my flash and choose a hastily drawn beetle from a faded Post-it.”
“You never know,” she says. “People can surprise you.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t think I could tattoo that on someone anyway. I drew it for you. It would feel weird to tattoo it on someone else.”
Once we’ve settled on the size and location, I have Raine stand beside the tattoo bed. She starts giggling when I grab a disposablerazor and squat down in front of her to shave the part of her thigh I’ll be tattooing.
“Sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why it’s funny. It’s not. I was just thinking about how I should just get a tattoo whenever I’m too lazy to shave.”
“Could be a good idea,” I say. “So long as you only plan on having part of your leg shaved.”
“Also, you look really great in this position.”
I glare up at her. “Are youtryingto distract me? You know tattoos are permanent, right?”
“Sorry! Sorry,” she says.
I clean her skin, and even though I’ve done this a million times before, I hold my breath as I apply the stencil and step back to take a look.
“What do you think?” I say.
Raine turns toward the mirror and examines the stencil on her leg. “I love it,” she sings.
I have Raine sit on the tattoo bed. A few minutes later, I’m in front of her, everything I need set up beside me, tattoo machine in hand.
I look up at her. “You ready?”
“I’ve been ready ever since I found out you were asort oftattoo artist,” she says. “I suppose you’re just a tattoo artist now.”
“All right, first line, here we go.” I brace my hand against her thigh and get to work before I have the chance to doubt myself. I glance up at her after the first line, and she smiles at me, so I continue working. After a few minutes, the nerves lessen. Raine is quiet and still. Which is... very unlike her.
“Are you doing okay?” I ask.
“This hurts way less than I expected,” she says. “I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call it fun, but it’s not so bad. I just don’t want to throw you off your game.”
“You can talk. Just try not to talk with your hands as much as you usually do. If you whack me in the head, the results won’t be pretty. And I mean that quite literally.”
My OCD must know how keyed up I’ve been about this, because half an hour in, just as I’m starting to think this will be a breeze, it comes out swinging. Raine must sense the change because she says, “You okay?”
I sigh but keep my eyes on my work and don’t look up at her. “The usual.”
“Anything good?”
“I wouldn’t call itgood. I’m worried I’ll tattoo something awful.”
“I don’t care if it’s ugly.”
“Not that kind of awful.”
“Well, now you have me intrigued. You don’t have to tell me what it is. Though, maybe I want it. I could go for something a little scandalous.”
I feel myself turning red. “I really don’t think you want the wordsluttattooed on your thigh.”
“Slut? Wow.”
“I obviously don’t think you’re a slut. Not that there’s anything wrong with being one, of course. I... Jesus, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now.” I pause to look up at her. “You know I don’t really think anything negative about you, right? You don’t think I’d tattoo something awful like that, do you?”
