I take a minute to respond, trying to decipher if he's actually flirting this time.
Less than kinda.
It's a sin to lie, pretty girl.
His nickname brings a wave of heat to my face, and I bite back my smile as I respond.
I would never lie.
You better come to the bar this weekend. You didn't come to my party today & you're actually nicer than I thought you'd be. We need a proper goodbye.
Why does the end of your contest have to be goodbye?
True…
“What are you smiling at?” Coral's voice drags me out of my thoughts, and when I look up at her, her eyes are on my phone.
“Nothing.” I offer her a smile and swipe out of the messages. I, of course, don't care if Coral knows who I'm texting, but she's notoriously nosey and going to ask about Liam every chance she gets, and I don't even know what's going onifanything is even going on.
Liam is cute, and I've grown to like his company… along with his nickname. I don't want our friendship to end, but that's all it is right now, a friendship.
Quinn pulls Coral away, and I open our messages again.
Didn't you tell Moon you don't like having friends?
Yes.
I'm in the middle of typing when he sends another message.
I'll see you this weekend.
Liam
“I like your tattoos.” Sagelooks down at my arms, nodding to herself.
I sidestep as someone walks past. Sage follows me as I take a seat at the bar, and she remains standing in front of me, keeping us at eye level.
I wasn’t going to come here since it isn’t my scene. Bars are, but it’s more of a party scene here because of her friend'sbirthday, and I don't really know any of them. I wanted to see her, though, and Jordan and Moon also tagged along.
I almost tell her she’s already seen my tattoos until I realize she hasn’t since I never wore anything less than a jacket in the studio back in New York, considering it was usually colder in there.
“I posted a poll the other day asking if sleeves or sticker tats were hotter, and sticker tats somehow won by four percent, but I think my followers would change their minds if they saw you.” She shakes her head as she realizes what she just said. “I meant your tattoos, not you.”
“Right,” I tease, and her smile doesn’t falter.
“I don’t mean that you’re not hot because you are; I just mean if they saw your tattoos, they’d agree that sleeves are hotter,” she says matter-of-factly, her usual nervousness gone.
I simply nod in response. “I have a few more tattoos.”
“How can you possibly have more? Your arms and neck are completely covered.” She looks back down at both of my sleeves, studying each design. “When did you get your first one?” She leans against the bar.
“When I was sixteen.”
Her jaw drops. “Why so young–” She shakes her head and waves her hand as if she were waving away her words. “Wait, how’d you get it that young? You have to be eighteen to get tatted.”
I lean past her for a chair and bring it closer so she can sit. “I knew someone who did tattoos, so my age didn’t matter.”
She nods in understanding as her attention shifts back to my arms. “Which one was it?” She goes to touch my arm but stops. When she looks up at me, I give her a nod, and she runs her hand along my sleeve.
