The Sexy Tattooist Page 6

  I nodded, waiting for her to continue, but she didn’t. “I feel as though there’s something else you can add to this that will suddenly make it make sense,” I finally said.

  Chloe leaned forward and turned her head to look at me. “It’s to make her ex-boyfriend jealous.”

  “I know it sounds silly,” Tara said quickly. “But, you’d really be doing me a favor, because my ex is an asshole and he left me for someone else, despite telling me that he planned on us getting married.”

  “Eh ... I’m not that big on social media,” I said.

  “Maybe it could just be the two of us standing there, and your back could be to the camera or something. We wouldn’t have to see your face.”

  “I find it a little hard to believe that I’m the only prospect you have to make this ex-boyfriend of yours jealous.”

  “This is just something that I want to do, like, yesterday.” Tara started digging through her purse. She pulled out her phone and started tapping at the screen. “He’s been posting pictures practically every fucking minute of his trip, and I just feel like he’s doing it to try to get a reaction out of me.”

  “Which he totally is,” Chloe said. “Don’t feel like you have to do this,” she added. “Michael is a total weirdo anyway, and everyone was glad when they broke up!”

  “What about you?” Tara asked. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Nope.” I slowed the truck down. “How does this spot look?”

  We’d driven past most of the other vehicles and had a nice stretch of beach all to ourselves.

  “Perfect,” they both said at the same time.

  I parked and then helped them unload their stuff. Tara promptly spread her beach blanket out and lay down. Chloe took some time setting her stuff up and then took her coverall off, revealing a much more modest two-piece than the one Tara was wearing. Still, she looked great. She caught me looking and I tried to cover it up by asking if anyone wanted to go swimming.

  “In that water?” Tara asked. “Hell no; it’s going to be freezing.”

  “I’ll at least stick my feet in,” Chloe said.

  Tara grinned. “You two have fun. Be good.”

  Chloe put her sun hat back on and we walked through the soft sand down toward the water. I stopped before we got to the surf, though, and she looked back at me.

  “The best way to go about something like this is to just run right in,” I said. And before she could reply, I did exactly that.

  The water was ice cold. I mean, yeah, it was almost July and the air temperature was getting closer and closer to the eighties, but the water felt like it was about fifty. I let out a strangled-sounding gasping shout when I resurfaced, water streaming off me, arms flailing.

  “Holy shit!”

  Chloe was still on the beach, laughing. “You’re insane!” She took a few steps closer and a wave licked the tips of her toes. “That water is so cold!”

  I stood, the lower half of me still submerged. “Come on,” I coaxed her. “It’s actually rather refreshing.”

  That wasn’t a lie; yes, my balls felt like they had been sucked back into my body and my dick was probably about the size of a thumb, but aside from that, the cold saltwater had a way of making you feel cleansed in a way that couldn’t really be compared with anything else.

  “But you’ve got to just go for it,” I said. “Don’t think about it. If you think about it too much, you won’t do it.” Fuck, I was starting to sound like Todd.

  She looked nervous, as if I were trying to talk her into jumping off the top of a building, not coming into the water for a swim. A greenhead buzzed near me and I went back under, the cold still somewhat of a shock to my upper body. When I resurfaced, Chloe had taken her hat off and was looking right at me.

  “Okay,” she said. “Here I come.”

  And just like that, she ran right into the water, shrieking before she’d gotten in past her knees. But she dove under, and actually swam several yards before coming up.

  She was gasping and wiping the water from her face. “Oh my god,” she said, half-laughing. “This water is so cold. You’re right though—it does feel refreshing. I’d just really like to not encounter any sharks.”

  “I’ll protect you if we do.”

  She smiled and splashed a bunch of water at me. “You better.”

  We swam for a little while, then floated on our backs, faces upturned toward the warm sun. I barely even knew this girl, yet there was something about her that made me feel differently than I had with previous women. I had no idea what it was; maybe I was even imagining it since I’d decided I wouldn’t be dating anyone this summer. Maybe it was just a trick my mind was playing on me, trying to get me to give in.

  10.

  Chloe

  I’d decided that I wouldn’t talk to my parents about the sculpture. And even if they asked, I would be purposefully vague. This way, they would be completely floored when they went to the exhibit, and I would be right there to see the expressions on their faces.

  Mom didn’t really have any interest in talking to me about the exhibit though—she wanted to know if I had any plans on Thursday night.

  “I’m not sure,” I said hesitantly. If I said no, I didn’t, she was probably going to try to get me to go with her to a wine tasting or to some function at the yacht club, which was the last place I felt like spending any time.

  “Do you remember my friend Alison? They’re from California and they rent the O’Conner’s house for a few months every summer?”

  “Uh ... not really.” It would be impossible to remember every single person that my mother considered a friend.

  “They have a son, about your age. His name’s Riley. Nice boy. Anyway, they’re here now for a few weeks, and Alison and I were at lunch the other day and we got to talking. About you two.”

  “Us two?”

  “Yes, you and Riley. It sounds like the two of you have a lot in common! So, Alison and I were thinking it might be nice to arrange a little get together. Just the two of you, of course—we wouldn’t be there. How does that sound?”

  “You’re setting me up on a blind date?”

  “You make it sound like it’s a bad thing! And it doesn’t have to be a blind date—here, I’ll show you a picture. Alison texted me one. He’s very handsome.” I sat there, trying not to roll my eyes, as my mother started tapping away at the screen of her phone. “Here,” she said triumphantly, turning the screen to face me. “Isn’t he handsome?”

  The picture showed a guy on a boat, in a sky-blue polo shirt, his short, light brown hair blowing in the breeze. He had a smile on his face, showing off perfect, white teeth. He looked incredibly wholesome, like this was a picture out of some Christian Bible camp pamphlet or something.

  “He looks nice,” I said finally. I looked at her. “Please tell me you didn’t text his mother a picture of me.” I hated having my picture taken and did whatever I could to stay out of photos, but my mother was notorious for sneaking around and getting candid shots, which usually meant the photos she had of me I was mid-sentence or about to take a bite of food.

  “Don’t worry, Chloe, I wouldn’t send a bad photo of you,” she said. “Anyway, Riley is free this Thursday, and Alison and I thought it would be splendid if the two of you went out to dinner together. And before you start trying to think of excuses, I’d like it if you were just open to this idea and went out this one time. If it doesn’t work out, fine, you tried, and that’s the most anyone can expect.”

  “I just don’t understand why you’re trying to set me up on a date. Did I ask you to do this? No.”

  “Well, if you must know the truth, Riley just went through a ... how did Alison put it? A rather traumatic breakup, I think was what she used.”

  “Oh, I see. So, I’m his rebound.”

  “No, that’s not it at all. The breakup was almost six months ago, so it’s not recent, relatively speaking. He’s moved on. He’s ready to get back on the dating scene. And I figured si
nce you’re not seeing anyone, it might work out really well!”

  She seemed so earnest and good-intentioned that I could almost believe her. “But what sense would it make for you to set me up with someone who lives all the way across the country? What if things did work out between us, just for me to have to say good-bye to him when he went back to California?”

  “Well ... let’s just say you two really did hit it off ... who’s to say you couldn’t move out to California? It’s a lovely state, you know. No more harsh winters to deal with. Remember how your father and I were talking about exploring your options? Living in California might be a great way for you to do that.”

  “Are you serious, Mom?” I couldn’t quite believe what she was saying, though I should’ve known better. Of course this whole date was part of her bigger plan. “I didn’t realize how much you and Dad hated the idea of me being in art school. And what other options do you think I’ll be exploring out in California? Being someone’s housewife?”

  Mom gave me a patient look. “Now, Chloe, you’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think? No one’s saying that you and Riley are going to get married, nor is anyone suggesting that you become a housewife! Riley graduated from Stanford, though, did you know that? Just this year, in fact. Alison said he’s thinking about grad school but might take an off-year—but I’ll let him tell you all that. I’ll just text Alison back and let her know that Thursday is good for you too, all right?”

  I sighed. There was no point in arguing with my mother when she got like this. I could refuse this date, but then she’d just find someone else to try to set me up with. If I got it over with now, then maybe she’d leave me alone.

  “Fine,” I said. “Go ahead and set it up.”

  My mother grinned. “I think this is going to work out splendidly, I just have a feeling!”

  I forced a smile and reached up to brush a few, loose strands of hair away from my face. “Oh, boy, not another one of your feel—”

  “What is that?”

  My mother stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. “What?” I said.

  “That!” She pointed, and I realized that the slightly loose-fitting, three-quarter sleeve had slid up when I raised my arm to brush the hair back from my face, putting my tattoo on full display. I knew that by choosing to have it there, my parents would eventually see it, but I hadn’t expected it to happen quite yet.

  “Oh ... um.” I yanked the sleeve down.

  “Please tell me that’s temporary. One of those henna things? What is it called?”

  My mother gave me a hopeful smile, which wavered and then disappeared when I didn’t say anything.

  “Chloe,” she breathed, looking at me as though I’d just informed her I liked to drown kitten in potato sacks in my spare time. “Has your father seen this? No, I know he hasn’t because he would’ve told me. Chloe, what on Earth were you thinking?” Her voice was starting to get shrill.

  “I just wanted to,” I mumbled, feeling like I was five again. I hated that I felt like this whenever my parents got upset with me, even when I knew that I hadn’t done anything wrong. And there was nothing wrong with the tattoo I got—the way she was looking at me it was as though I’d gotten something inked on my face. “It’s nice. And it’s small. I really didn’t think that you guys would mind.”

  My mother opened her mouth to say something but then closed it and just shook her head. “I’m going to have to talk to your father about this,” she said after a minute. “And we both know he’s not going to be happy. How are you going to get a respectable job with a tattoo like that?”

  “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

  She sighed. “Well, whatever you do, make sure you wear something to cover it up for your date with Riley.”

  11.

  Graham

  On Sunday, Todd and I were up at the ass crack of dawn, driving up to New Hampshire for a race. Todd was drinking distilled water and eating energy gel packets while I nursed a hot coffee and thought about eating a second donut.

  “Aren’t you supposed to eat those when you actually need the energy?” I asked.

  “I always need energy,” he said. “And by the way, I’m going to shoot myself if you come in ahead of me today. I mean, really. What did you have for dinner last night? A bacon cheeseburger? I had whole grain pasta and baked whitefish.”

  “Close,” I said. “I hung out with Chloe and her friend Tara and we got some food at Fish Fry.”

  “Wait, you hung out with both those girls who came in for the tattoos? And you didn’t invite me along?”

  “It was kind of a last-minute thing. And I knew you were at work.”

  “Fuck man, that’s what personal days are for! I would’ve called in. I was only doing a half day, anyway. How’d it go?”

  “It was totally G-rated in every way. Nice, though. Went to the beach.”

  He groaned and shook his head. “You’re fuckin killing me. I don’t want to hear that you went to the beach with two hot chicks and it was G-rated. Let me guess—you ended the day with ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re pathetic. Seriously. You’re taking this whole ‘giving-up-dating’ thing way too far. It’s offensive, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Are you offended?”

  “I am. I’m getting stood up and you’re swearing off women. What—do you think being celibate is going to help you win races?”

  “I don’t care about winning races.”

  “Yeah, everyone knows that.”

  And when we got to where the race was being held, I was again reminded of the fact that most people here thought of me as an outsider. I knew that a lot of the guys I raced against didn’t consider me on their level—despite the fact that I’d beaten a good many of them—since I wasn’t affiliated with a club and I didn’t wear Spandex or eat that energy gel shit. Most of them didn’t have the balls to say anything to my face, though, which was fine—I didn’t care what they thought, I wasn’t here for them. The one person who didn’t seem to mind giving me a hard time, though, was this kid, Parker. I had never beaten him before, which was a fact that he reveled in. Maybe today would be the day.

  “You been training, Graham?” he yelled to me as he rode by on his carbon-fiber bike that probably cost almost as much as my truck.

  “That’s a nice color pink,” I said, nodding at the thick, pink stripe going across the front of his Spandex jersey. “Really good color for you.”

  It was, in a way, the sort of good-natured banter that happened when people competed against each other, yet there was this undercurrent of something else, like it could quickly deteriorate if either of us took it there. There was something about Parker that made me simultaneously want to be his friend and also deck him. It was an odd juxtaposition of feelings to have toward someone I didn’t really know at all.

  The race was three ten-mile laps through mostly singletrack, a lot of rock gardens, some pretty big roots. As usual, I started toward the back of the group, but midway through the second lap, I started overtaking guys.

  “Fucking bitch,” Todd growled at me as I zipped around him. I was not, however, able to catch up with Parker in time, though maybe if the race had been a little longer, I would have. He was definitely tiring toward the end, but was able to sprint the last tenth of a mile and make it to the finish line before I did.

  12.

  Chloe

  I recognized Riley right away, standing out front of the restaurant in another polo shirt—dark gray this time—and beige Bermuda shorts. He had his hands in his pockets and he looked nervous, which, for some reason, put me at ease a bit. I knew he was about a year or two older than I was, but he looked so young, with his clean-shaven face and naïve expression. I realized as I walked up, before we’d even exchanged one word, that I was comparing him to Graham.

  Stop it, I told myself. I arranged my face into a smile. “Riley?” I said.

 
He snapped to attention, as though I’d startled him. “Chloe? Um, hi.” He held his hand out. “Yeah, it’s me, Riley.” His palm was clammy, but he smiled, showing off those perfect, white teeth, most likely the result of expensive orthodontia. No one’s teeth were naturally that straight and uniform.

  We went inside, only to follow the hostess back out to the outside seating area.

  “Have you ... have you been here before?” he asked, and immediately started blushing as though he’d just blurted out something terribly embarrassing. It was an odd turning of the tables; usually it was me who was blushing and feeling foolish. I felt a strange, almost maternal feeling come over me. I wanted to make him feel comfortable, not because I was trying to impress him or wanted him to like me, but because he appeared to be so painfully out of his element. I’d only been on a few dates—which had all either ended disastrously or unremarkably—but I’d always been the one feeling nervous or shy.

  “I haven’t, but my mother talks about it so much that I feel like I may as well have!”

  He laughed. “Yeah, same here. My mother treats shopping and going out to restaurants like it’s her job. And matchmaking. She’s been trying to set me up on dates since I was about twelve years old.” He leaned toward me, looking around first as though he were afraid that someone nearby might be eavesdropping. “I’m sure it’s pretty obvious and everything, but I’m gay.”

  “Oh,” I said, genuinely a bit surprised. Well, that explained why I was feeling so at ease! I knew plenty of gay guys from art school, though they were all a good deal more flamboyant about their sexuality than Riley was.

  He waved me off. “You don’t have to pretend to be surprised. I’ve only been trying to tell my mother for about ... oh, the past eight years or so ... that I’m gay, but she refuses to believe it. She just thinks I haven’t met the right girl, despite her claiming not to be homophobic in the least.”