Bianca and Charleigh walk out of the shop together, talking about some book club they are a part of. I didn’t realize either one of them read outside of tattoo magazines. It’s an asshole thing to think, but I’ve only ever seen them with magazines about tattooing. The shop is completely silent. If I listen close enough, I’m almost certain I can hear my own heartbeat. It’s rapid thump, thump against my chest is a little annoying. Not even Miranda made my heart race like this in the two years I was with her. Proposing to her was definitely a mistake. Especially if I didn’t react like this to a girl I supposedly loved, but I am to a girl I’m only interested in.
Sophia is playing with the ends of her short hair, looking everywhere except at me. It’s cute that I make her nervous. Miranda was a force to be reckoned with, demanding everyone’s attention. The woman standing before me doesn’t always want that sort of thing, but she’s strong in her own ways. How many other people can get a shop full of tattoo artists to get their act together like she did?
Breaking the awkward silence, I take a small step toward her. “Are you ready to go?”
“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Um, yeah. Where are we going?” She glances around as if waiting for someone else to answer even though she knows we’re the only two left in the shop.
“It’s not far.” My hand itches to grab hers. I don’t, though. This is just a drink, not a date. Besides, I don’t know what her boundaries are when it comes to hand holding. Maybe it’s not something she likes. Instead, I nod my head toward the door, “Come on,” and she follows me as I open it.
With the shop locked up, I start walking toward the crosswalk, Sophia close behind me. The streets aren’t as packed as they will be tomorrow night with people on their way to concerts and clubs. This area is usually pretty busy, but it almost doubles during the summer. It’s a unique part of town with shops of every kind lining the street. I couldn’t imagine a better place to work, or live.
I open the door to the restaurant and bar that sits directly across from Life in Ink. I know she’s gotten food from here before, we all have, and I want her to feel comfortable. That’s what is most important to me right now. That she trusts me, and sees me more than the asshole vibe that I give off at work. That’s not me, not really. It’s what I do to keep everyone else at bay.
“We’re going here?” She smiles as we walk inside. “I love this place.”
“I did good, then?” My heart skips a beat at the joy coming off of her right now.
“Absolutely.” She grabs my hand and leads me past the bar to a booth in the back. It’s a good thing, too because all the seats at the bar are taken. Most of the booths are, too with only a few tables sprinkled throughout the room open.
God, I hope she doesn’t notice how sweaty my palms are. My body, and nerves, need to get their shit together. I’m not a fifteen-year old boy anymore. I’m a grown ass man that shouldn’t be freaking out over the touch of someone else. It’s never happened before. Not with Miranda, or the girls I’ve seen in between. None of them had the potential for anything more. With Sophia, I can almost see some sort of future.
Before we’re completely seated, Ginger, one of the waitresses is already at our table. “Funny seeing you two here… together.” She winks at us, and Sophia’s cheeks turn a bright red. “What can I get you started off with, Sophie?”
Sophia doesn’t bother looking at the menu. “Cheese sticks and whatever hard apple cider you have tonight.”
“And you, Adrian?” One of my favorite things about this place, and the staff, is that they know who we are. I mean, they should since we’re in here all the time. It’s the closest place to the shop and we know we’ll get good food to tide us over through our long work nights. And, they’re still open after we close up for the night. It’s a win all the way around.
“How about a Coors Light and an order of cheese fries.”
“Do you want them loaded,” Ginger asks.
I glance at Sophia and she shrugs. “Sure. Thanks Ginger.”
“Anytime, Hon.” She backs away. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
Sophia getting her purse situated next to her. No doubt doing anything to avoid eye contact. “Did she just call you Sophie?” Worry that I’ve been saying her name wrong this entire time gnaws at my gut.
“Yep,” she nods. “She’s done it since I was younger. Sometimes she calls me ‘Sophia,’ but it’s almost like adding that extra letter is too much effort sometimes.” She studies the walls, although she’s most likely seen them many times if she’s come here as long as she says she has. “I’ll answer to it though. Jake, Marshall, and Randall all call me the same thing, despite Charleigh always correcting them. It doesn’t bother me.”
That’s good to know. But I love the way her name rolls off my tongue, and I doubt I’ll ever be able to call her Sophie. It’s too cutesy. And while she is very cute, in my opinion, she’s so much more.
“So, you’ve been coming here a while?” I have to raise my voice over the band playing. Maybe it would have been smarter to take her somewhere a bit quieter. A place where I could really get to know her without competing with the band and background noise.
“Yep.” She’s looking at me now, and I wonder what she sees. “My parents found this place on one of their date nights, and thought Jay and I would love the food. They never brought us here at night,” she swings her arm out, indicating the vibe in here. “But we would come on Saturday, or Sunday, afternoons.”
“So, Ginger has pretty much seen you grow up?”
Speak of the devil. She slides our drinks onto the table. “Here you go. They are working on your order right now. Call me if you need anything.” And just like that she’s gone again. Off to take someone else’s order or refill their drink.
“Yeah. She’s the one I would go to when I was having boy problems in school.” When I raise an eyebrow in confusion, she adds, “She is like a mom figure without actually being my mom. It helped sometimes.”
Grinning, I tap my chin. “I’ll have to ask her all about your awkward phases as a kid. And for direction on what I need to do to keep you from going to her about me.”
Groaning, she hides her face in her hands, but looks back up at me seconds later. “Please don’t. That would be beyond embarrassing. There’s no telling what information she would give you.”
“All the more reason for me to talk to her,” I take a drink from my beer, and cold liquid soothes away some of my nerves. “You know if you tell me not to, I’m more likely to do it, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Then by all means, go get whatever juicy information you think you need.”