“Because good and decent human beings care about fairness, Logan.”
He looked at her, and she felt it, wicked and illicit, down in her stomach. “Who said I was decent?”
“Samantha?”
She turned, and there was a woman with black hair and prominent cheek piercings standing there smiling at her, the silver balls in her face making dimples.
“That’s me,” she said.
“I’m Justine,” the woman said.
Justine had intricate webs of ink all over her brown skin, and extremely creative-looking piercings.
She was almost otherworldly. Samantha found herself fascinated by the two women in the shop, and how they created their own standard of beauty that seemed to exist simply to please themselves. It was innately their own style.
It wasn’t Samantha’s. It wouldn’t be, ever, no matter how much growth and change she went through.
But she was still in awe of the kind of self-possession they must have. Especially living in a place like this.
She was stereotyping, sure. But she herself was from a small town. People who looked like this stood out. They were remarkable.
It took a lot of courage to be remarkable.
“I’ve done a couple of drawings,” Justine said. “So you can let me know what you think of the sketches based on your notes, and I’ll do some revisions.”
It was a line drawing, delicate and perfect. She didn’t have any notes for Justine at all.
The back room had gold stars hanging from the ceiling and glitter on the walls. It was like being in a night sky. It was a great distraction, because her nerves suddenly kicked in.
“Do you want me to stay?” Logan asked.
“Please?” she asked.
He nodded and sat in a chair near the one that she would be sitting in. She wanted him here, because having him around felt right. Because being near him was a comfort.
Logan would always be part of this. As permanent as the ink.
That scared her.
It felt like something too big to grab onto, but she was trying to step away from denial, so she did her best.
He mattered.
A lot.
“This is your first tattoo?” Justine asked.
“Yeah,” she said, sitting down, a rush of anxiety rising up inside her.
“You’ll be back for more. They’re like that.”
Justine looked over at Logan and winked.
He smiled. Then he winked back. He was far too good at that. It should have been both annoying and cheesy, but he just looked good.
Obviously Justine could tell that he was a man that had ink. She was also flirting with him. Not that she could blame her, but Justine was probably barely thirty.
Of course, she bet women in their twenties hit on Logan all the time. He was hot whatever age you were. She was taken aback to discover that she felt a little bit possessive.
