I mean, yes, he’s worthy of all the appreciation, but I prefer to be the only one appreciating in my general vicinity.
“Because she’s Melody.” Nick shrugs, as if that says it all.
My blood begins to heat in a way that has nothing to do with attraction.
“If she’d come in here looking for a tattoo,” Nick continues, “I would have had to assume she was either drunk or experiencing some kind of psychotic break.”
He laughs and Kitty, the traitor, has the nerve to join in.
“Either way, I’d have to call Lark,” he says. “John and I are barely breaking even with the shop. I’m going to need my catering job for a while, and Lark would fire me in a hot second if I inked her baby sister.”
“She would not,” I protest.
“You don’t think?” Nick asks in a patronizing tone.
“No, I don’t think,” I snap, though I’m actually not sure what my big sister would do if I came home with a tattoo.
Lark would be surprised, that’s for sure. Aria, our oldest sister, has always been the wild child of our family, and even she hasn’t dared to get a tattoo, just a few piercings Mom fretted about until Aria finally took them out and let the holes heal. I am not a wild child, not even close. I’m the positive, peacemaker of the family. I’m the girl most likely to wear pink chiffon and kitten heels, not red retro pinup dresses or five-inch stilettos like the heavily tattooed girl in the poster tacked onto the wall next to Nick’s tattoo station.
A tattoo would be a significant departure from the norm for me, a bold step in a different direction.
The thought makes my nerve endings sizzle.
“Lark isn’t my mother,” I add, lifting my nose into the air. “And even if she were, I’m twenty-two, almost twenty-three, and more than old enough to make my own decisions.” I grin my own wicked grin. “And I’ve decided I want to get my first tattoo. Tonight.”
Nick’s eyebrows shoot up and Kitty makes a surprised noise, but I don’t turn to look at her, afraid my courage might flag if I meet the eyes of someone who has known me my entire, wholesome, straight-laced life.
“You do?” Nick echoes, disbelief thick in his tone.
“Yes, I do.” I point at the phoenix. “I’d like to get a smaller version of this, please.”
He glances down at the bird and his eyes widen. “Even a smaller version of that is going to be huge, Melody. It would have to be in order to get the detail work in. There’s no way you’d be able to hide it.”
“Why would I want to hide it? Aren’t you going to do a good job?” I ask, ignoring the hesitation prickling at the back of my neck.
The phoenix is beautiful, but have I really thought this through?
I’ve never even considered getting a tattoo before tonight.
No matter how exciting the idea is, maybe I should take a few days to think it over, to plot the best place to put the bird and debate whether a pretty tattoo is worth causing both of my parents to flip their lids. There’s at least a chance Lark and Aria might be cool about a tattoo, but Mom and Dad are firmly in the anti-permanent-alterations-to-their-daughters-bodies camp.
Mom didn’t even let me get my ears pierced until I was fifteen.
“I’d do an excellent job,” Nick says, his features tight. “If I thought this was something you really wanted.”
“I know what I want,” I say, standing up straighter.
“Do you really, Princess?” he asks in a husky voice. “You sure about that?”
Awareness leaps between us again and I watch with fascination as Nick’s gaze darkens, taking on that hungry look. In spite of myself, for a moment I can’t help imagining Nick leaping over the counter, taking me in his arms, and kissing me senseless right here in the front of the shop.
Instead, he says. “This isn’t like you.”
“It really isn’t, Melody,” Kitty agrees gently. “Why don’t we go have some donuts and think about this for a while? We have been drinking, so maybe—”
“Then I can’t work on either of you tonight,” Nick cuts in, his relief obvious in the way his muscled shoulders relax away from his neck. “It’s against state law to work on people under the influence. Even if it weren’t, John and I never work on people who’ve been drinking. It makes you bleed more and can force the pigment out of the skin before it sets. Bad for your tattoo, bad for our reputation.”
I nod, surprised by how disappointed I feel. “All right.” I force a smile. “Guess we’ll have to come back some other time, then.”
“Or don’t,” he says, slapping the smile from my face. His voice is kind enough, but the words still sting. “I really don’t want to work on you, Melody. I’m sorry, but it just wouldn’t feel right.”