Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(76)

Audre’s eyes fluttered closed. It was as if she were living a lucid dream. She thought back to the last day of the school year. Before her life got turned upside down. That version of Audre would never have imagined that, on a (seemingly) random day in July, she’d be here, with her arm lying open and vulnerable on the armrest. The smell of leather and a foresty-scented candle wafted through the small back room. Books with titles like The Language of Tattoos, Japanese Tattoos, Painted People, and Micro Tattoos were piled on top of an old, rickety stool. Audre loved being around so much art. Once again, she was reminded of her painting and collaging days… and missed the freedom it brought her.

Nondescript, slow hip-hop quietly poured through a portable speaker—and it sounded hypnotic, almost like white noise. She felt like she’d melted into the softest, warmest embrace. It was almost too good.

Then she opened her eyes, and it got better.

There was Bash, the lanky leanness of him perched on a rolling stool, hiked up so that it was just a bit higher than her chair. His hands were folded in his lap as he peered down at her shyly. His expression took her breath away. For once, he didn’t seem cool. He didn’t seem laid-back or breezy. The corner of his mouth twitched, so he started biting his lip. His eyes burned darker and brighter than she’d ever seen them.

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Positive.”

“Are you cold? I can turn down the AC.”

She was only wearing a halter top and little denim shorts, but in her excitement, buzzy warmth flooded her skin.

“I’m fine. Swear.”

Bash and Audre were talking low, almost whispering. It was just the two of them, alone, in their own private world. There was no real reason to speak in low voices. But the moment felt too big, too important, to tarnish with their everyday, ordinary speaking voices.

“But you told me you’d never get a tattoo. Why now?”

“I feel like I’m spinning out. And I need something to ground me.”

Bash cocked his head, taking her in. “And you’re sure you want me to do it?”

“Yes. Right now, you’re the only thing that feels real to me.” She said it almost guiltily, like a confession.

“I know the feeling,” he said, scratching his fingers along his jawline. “Audre, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”

“Don’t be. I understand,” she said shortly.

And she did. But she didn’t want to talk about either one of their fucked-up families. Right now, she was too raw. She didn’t want to fall apart. She wanted to escape.

“I don’t want to think about anything,” she whispered.

“Then don’t. No one knows where we are right now. It’s just you and me.” Carefully, he picked up his tattoo gun from the rolling cart and attached an ink cartridge. Damn. Watching his strong hands work over the machinery was… sexy. He gripped it with such confidence. Like he knew what he was doing.

Her heart started racing.

“You nervous?” he asked, the corner of his mouth curving upward.

She nodded, shaking out her legs, trying to relax.

“When I was little,” she said, “I used to do this thing called chocolate meditation. You sit a Hershey’s Kiss in your mouth and slowly let it dissolve, naturally. No chewing. It teaches you mindfulness. You know, how to be in the present.”

“Hmm. I don’t have chocolate. I think I have an old candy cane?” He rolled over to a drawer, pulled it out, and handed it to Audre. She broke off a piece and popped it in her mouth. He did the same.

“Let it disssolllve,” she instructed.

He tried for four seconds and then folded, chomping down on the candy. “Can’t do it. I failed. Not chewing is hella challenging.”

“It’s hard, right? That’s the point.” Audre wiggled her arms and fingers, all restless energy and nerves. “Maybe I should take a shot?”

“No, drinking before you get inked is a bad idea. It makes you bleed more,” he said. “I promise you’re in good hands, A.”

“If you say so, B.” And then she allowed her eyes to flutter closed.

“I’ve been doing this forever. Did I ever tell you I started on grapefruits?”

“Grapefruits?” Her eyes flew open. “Well, in that case.”

“Fruit tattooing is valid practice! Ask any professional.”

“I know you’re a professional.” She grinned. “I’m just kidding. I wish I had half of your art skills. That Myrtle Beach tattoo shop will be lucky to have you.”

“If I get the job.”

“You will.” Audre hoped she sounded supportive. It’d be too selfish for him to know how she really felt—which was that she missed him already.

“We’ll see,” he said. And then a smile slowly and sneakily crept across Bash’s face. (It was clear he was trying to fight it. He lost.)

“What? What’s funny?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

He bit his bottom lip, trying to erase his grin. But it broke through anyway. Self-consciously, he clapped his hand over his mouth and whispered, “Fuck!”

“Bash! What are you laughing at?”

“It’s just that… I mean…” He stopped, shook his head, and started again. “I’ve fantasized about this moment a disturbing amount of times.”