Maddox leans over me and points to the paper. “Look at the branches right here. You’ve got part of something right there and you don’t know it. Are you seeing what I am?”

For a minute, I study it, trying to see what Maddox does. I squint, trying to make it out.

And that’s when I see it. All the branches together, with all the little parts sticking off, lying a certain way and somehow resembling feathers. “It’s almost a bird.”

“A crow. The black would blend right in. See this part?” Maddox points again. “Curve it a little. Make the head come around this way. Not everyone will see it, but that makes it more incredible.” He shrugs and steps back. “Only a thought. Not sure if it fits what you’re looking for but—”

“It’s perfect.” I’m seeing it in my head, on the paper, and wondering how I could have missed it before.

“What do you think?” I lean back while Dustin looks it over.

“It’s fucking awesome. I’m down.”

“Cool. Let me fix the sketch real quick.” I tell Dustin to have a seat. Maddox washes his hands before he starts getting the equipment ready for me while I lean over the paper to add Maddox’s bird, wondering how he saw it. Wishing I had. And thinking this tat would have been shit without it.

Chapter Eight ~Maddox~

I talked to Laney once and she mentioned how Adrian is always paying attention. Not that she wants to hide anything from him, but that it’s almost impossible to because he notices things. It wasn’t like I really wanted to sit and have a heart-to-heart with her about her boyfriend, but I’d listened to her, partly because he makes me curious.

I know who I am. It might not be pretty, but I’m honest about it. I’m shut down now, and honestly, I can’t imagine how he does it. I gave him shit and called him a pussy for walking out on Laney and I do believe that, but I also know he’s a better man than I am. I couldn’t be with someone if her family took from me what ours took from him.

Laney said he grew up with an abusive dad. That he kind of lived inside himself, making him see the world and other people differently. I don’t fully get it, but I guess it kind of explains how he notices more than other people do. Why he looks a little deeper.

That’s never been me, except when I had sex with Bee today I suddenly saw a part of her that is buried a little deeper.

I watched her eyes as she began to close off when we were having sex. How there was this sort of veil that separates her from other people. I’ve been with women I knew a whole lot less than I know her, yet there was still some kind of emotion, feelings. Something there that Bee doesn’t have. Or that she keeps locked away.

She lost it afterward when she gave me shit about my piercing, but then when I asked her about her name, it was right back. Not that I’m not pissed at myself for bringing it up anyway.

“You see how I’m doing the shading right here?” Her question wakes me up from wherever I was. “Shading is an art in itself. Not everyone can do it well, but if you can, it’s going to make your piece stand out.”

I watch her hand guide the gun along his skin. The brushed blackness of her shading showing me the branches blowing in the wind. His skin is red, little beads of blood pushing to the surface and mixing with the ink and Vaseline. Bee wipes it away.

Fuck she’s good.

“Is the pressure the same when you have the shader on?” I ask her.

Her eyes don’t leave her work as she speaks. “Less pressure for shading and the amp is almost always turned down.”

I nod and keep watching her work, the look of concentration on her face. When I was at the old shop, it wasn’t like this. He basically admitted that it was a way to make money for him. It’s not like that with Bee. You can see how important it is to her, making me feel like a piece of shit because even though I want this, I don’t know if anything other than my sister has ever mattered to me as much as tattooing obviously matters to her.

It takes about three hours for her to finish Dustin’s tat. The whole time I study everything she does and ask questions even though it’s not like me. It’s almost like needing someone and I won’t let myself need anyone, but then, I think maybe someday I could look at tattooing the way she does.

After she’s done, I wash my hands before cleaning his tat, wrapping it and giving him a sheet with the aftercare instructions. Dustin thanks her and then he’s gone, leaving just the two of us again.

She has her back to me, her nice, little ass perfectly shaped in the tight jeans she’s wearing. I wish like hell I could touch her again, because she’s gorgeous and I want to study every bit of ink on her body.

Without turning to look at me, she says, “Good call on the bird.”

I shrug, turning away from her, too, because seeing that bird was nothing. “It wasn’t a big deal.” Was it?

“Yeah it was.” I can tell by the sound of her voice that she’s facing me, so I follow her lead. If she can brave looking at me, I need to man up and do the same.

“All I did was say what I saw.”

“Which makes it even more incredible. Not a lot of people would have seen it. I drew the fucking thing and I didn’t see it until you mentioned it. You have instinct and you’re not afraid to look for things that might not always be there. A good eye is a good quality to have. I don’t give compliments often, so when I do, you know it’s real.”

For a second, I just stand there. My throat feeling all fucking tight for some reason. I don’t know what to say. I don’t need her to tell me she doesn’t give compliments often to know it’s true, but hearing what she said? It’s almost like this sort of respect in her voice that I’ve never heard from her before.

Even as I want to tell her thank you, my skin feels itchy too. Her words scratch across my skin like that needle on the gun, like they want to push below the surface the same way the ink does when she’s creating magic on someone’s body.

“It’s hard to take credit for something that I didn’t really have to work for.” There’s a good chance she’ll take that the wrong way and maybe some people would, but she nods.

“Fair enough.”

We clean the equipment and put everything away. I’m suddenly craving a cigarette even though they aren’t usually something I crave—they’re just something I compulsively do.

“I’m going outside for a smoke.”

I’m surprised when she follows me out. I lean against the building on one side of the door while she sits on the ground, the side of the building holding her up.

“It’s a good thing I slept with you before I knew you smoked—otherwise we both would have missed out on a good time.”

“Twice,” I tease her before taking a drag. Though I have to admit, it’s a relief she can joke about it.

“Don’t remind me.”

I don’t even consider getting offended because I feel the same way she does.

Surprise takes over me when I open my mouth and say, “Is it fucked up that we can sit around and joke about having sex with each other like this? I’ve never spent a lot of time with anyone I’ve been with.”

“Slut,” she teases. “Who knows if it’s fucked up or not? I don’t care. You don’t care. That’s why it works. We both want the same thing, so it’s not like we’re going to get all attached or get our feelings hurt because the other doesn’t call the next day, ya know? We both know what it is.”

“What is was.” The need to stress that comes out of nowhere. Even talking like this feels foreign to me. I don’t do shit like this.

“Exactly.” She moves slightly and something makes me walk over and hold my hand out. I feel like an idiot for a second, but then Bee grabs it and lets me help her up. “Thanks.”