Page 7 of Under My Skin

Chapter Seven

LUCY

Everett wipes a hand over his face as he says, “Lucy, did you bring a fucking cat in here?”

Getting to my feet, I try to keep my voice down as I hurry to the front of the shop. “I didn’t really have anywhere else for him to go.” I scoop up the cat carrier and try my best to discreetly make my way back to Everett’s station in the back.

He’s standing where I left him with his eyes trained on the ceiling.

The girl tattooing a woman’s back laughs at the sight but says nothing about Pudge being here.

I know you’re not supposed to bring a cat to get a tattoo with you, but what was I supposed to do?

Trust Ellen to babysit him in her Rav4 while I get ink injected into my skin?

I can’t believe Everett Meyers owns this place. I’ve seen him in passing over the years, but this is definitely the most we’ve interacted since I was a kid. He was always just at our house, eating our food and hanging out with Simon.

In a lot of ways, he looks the same as he did back then.

Tall with dark hair that’s always a little out of order and plenty of tattoos.

The biggest difference now being that there are a lot more of them.

Both arms are all but completely covered, and even though I can’t see much from here, traces of dark lines poke out from the back of his black T-shirt and up the back of his neck, like whispers alluding to what’s hidden underneath.

My eyes wander from his shoulders to the muscles of his chest, where the black fabric of his shirt stretches, then loosens again over his abdomen. My gaze lands on his hips by the time he stops staring at the ceiling, and I’m forced to snap my eyes back up to meet his.

Holy shit. Everett is . . . hot? I mean, he’s always had a way about him I guess, but this? I swallow. This is a lot for me to take in right now.

“Look, I know you’re new to this.” He takes the cat carrier from my arms. “But usually, people just bring a picture.”

He gently sets the carrier on the bottom step of a narrow staircase nearby, and I kneel in front of the cage, so I can press my hand against the mesh front.

“I was worried you wouldn’t get his eyes right.

” Wiggling my finger, I scratch the top of Pudge’s head before looking over my shoulder to find Everett with his back leaning against a nearby cabinet as he watches me with the faintest crease between his brows.

“Don’t worry, he’s practically hypoallergenic,” I offer, assuming that’s his main concern.

Everett nods, eyeing Pudge’s fluffy cream coat through the front of the cage. “Yeah, he looks it.”

“I’m serious.” I get to my feet and take a seat on his tattoo chair again. “I give him special food. It’s a whole thing.”

“A whole thing,” Everett echoes to himself, still eyeing Pudge like he isn’t sure if he should kick us both out.

“I need this tattoo,” I blurt.

His dark eyes finally break away from the cat long enough to meet mine. “Right.” He grabs a pen. “You want an outline of uh . . .” Pointing the pen in the direction of the cat carrier, he adds, “Pudge, I take it? ”

I nod. “Pudge. Yes.”

He holds my stare for another beat. “Right.”

“I do have a picture,” I offer as I reach for my phone. “I wanted an outline of him curled up and sleeping.” I hold out the phone for him to see.

Everett takes a step toward me before taking the phone from my hand. He tilts his head a little as he studies the image, but all too quickly, he hands it back. “Should be easy enough.”

Without another word, he takes a seat on the stool next to me. “Where do you want it?”

This is all happening faster than I thought it would. “Um, I think I want it on my ankle.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You think? You can’t exactly change it. You know that, right?”

I give him a heavy-lidded stare. “Yes, I know that.” Sitting up a little straighter, I say, “I want it on my ankle.”

“Great.” Turning on the stool, he grabs the alcohol. “Roll up your pants.”

I do as I’m told, but my fingers feel like they’re fumbling in slow motion. This suddenly doesn’t feel real. Am I actually sitting here, about to get a tattoo from Everett of all people? “Don’t you need to draw a few options first?”

“For a sleeping cat?” He shakes his head. “I’ll just freehand it. It’s easy enough.”

My pulse quickens. “Not just any sleeping cat.”

He waves away my concern. “I know, I know. Pudge.” He looks over at the carrier again and gestures toward him with the cleaning solution in his hand. “I’ve got a great visual right there.”

“But you didn’t even tell me how much it will cost.”

Everett wraps a hand around my exposed calf, his long fingers making my leg look small. The warmth radiating from his fingertips somehow travels up my leg even though his hand doesn’t. Eyeing my brown boot, he asks, “May I? ”

I nod and try to gulp down whatever physical response is threatening to come over me. This is ridiculous. This is Everett Meyers. I know I’ve been in a bit of a dry spell, but I should not be this affected by a guy who used to make fart noises with my brother when I walked into a room.

“Shop minimum is eighty,” he says, snapping me from my thoughts.

I try to muster all my conviction, so my voice doesn’t shake. “Sounds good.”

The guy who greeted me when I first entered the shop walks up. His hair is buzzed short, and he might have more tattoos than Everett, but he seems nice enough. He eyes Everett with a lift of his brows. “You’re tattooing her?”

Everett gives an upbeat nod. “Yup.”

“Damn.” Troy looks at me. “I would have loved to set up an appointment with you.” He waves it off. “You’re in good hands, though.” Then flashing a crooked smile, he adds, “We’ll have to get together under different circumstances.”

“Okay,” I offer with a smile even though I know I won’t take him up on his offer. I’m only here for the weekend, anyway.

He gives me a thumbs up and walks to the back cabinet where he gets something for his client.

As soon as the guy passes us again and gets back to work, Everett glances his way before wiping a small patch of skin outside my right ankle.

“You know,” he says, keeping his voice low.

“I can’t say I’d recommend Troy as a distraction. ”

I blink. “As a distraction?”

Everett waves a hand back and forth over my exposed ankle to help the skin dry faster. “Yeah. I know you’re going through some stuff, but Troy is . . .” He shakes his head with a laugh. “He’s Troy. Find someone else to keep your mind off things. Anyone else.”

Is that what I need? Twenty minutes ago, I would have told him he was crazy, but maybe that’s why he’s caught my eye tonight.

It’s not because of him specifically. It’s just a way for me to distract myself from the chaotic mess that is my family.

Relief floods through me. Yes, a distraction.

That’s all Everett has been tonight. A tiny distraction from the impending doom of coming home.

A light laugh leaves me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Everett looks up from my ankle long enough to smile my way, and I easily dismiss the butterflies stirring in my stomach as a meaningless distraction.

It’s easy to study him when he isn’t looking at me.

His focus as he works is enough to put me in a trance-like state.

So much about him feels familiar, and yet, there’s so much I don’t know.

His dark hair naturally sticks out at different angles, but in a way that works for him.

His hair has always been like that. Sure, there were times when it was longer or shorter, but it always had this untamed edge to it.

Trailing my gaze from his hair, I take in the sharp lines of his face.

Between his dark eyebrows squared in determination, the straight edge to his nose, and the angle of his jaw, everything about him feels harsher than I remember.

Even when he and my brother would annoy me, he always had this subtle softness about him.

That softness is gone now, and part of me can’t help wondering what happened to it.

“All right. Done.”

I blink. Done? I didn’t even feel any pain.

Sitting up straight, Everett caps a Sharpie and turns to put it back where it belongs.

Tilting my foot, I examine my ankle. There’s an outline of a sleeping Pudge, but it’s not a tattoo. “What the hell, Everett,” I mutter as I take a closer look. “You drew on me with marker? ”

After securing the black marker in one of his drawers, he turns back to me. “Think of it as a temporary tattoo.”

My eyes narrow. “But I don’t want a temporary tattoo. I want a tattoo. The kind that doesn’t wash off.”

He shrugs, seeming perfectly at ease with my disappointment. “Then come back tomorrow. ”

Pulling my feet underneath me, I sit cross-legged on his tattoo chair. “I—but I’m here now.”

He nods. “And you’ll be here all weekend. If you still want the tattoo, come back tomorrow.”

I glower at him. “You know this is bullshit, right?”

He smiles, and I hate the warming effect it has on me. “I know, but this way makes me feel like I’m doing a good deed.”

Getting to my feet, I tuck my phone in my back pocket. “I don’t need you to save me from myself. I’ve thought about this.”

He stays seated on his stool, the same look of amusement shaping his features. “I’m sure you have.”

“This isn’t fair. You wouldn’t turn me away if you didn’t know me.

” I may have only come up with this tattoo idea when I saw Copper Ridge Tattoo Co.

out front, but now that I’ve come to terms with it, I don’t want to leave here without one.

I don’t want to see my parents without having something to shock them just as much.

He tilts his head. “Sure, I would.”

I lift a dubious brow before taking a step closer to him. “I’m sure you’ve given plenty of girls worse tattoos than this.” I gesture toward the sleeping cat on my ankle even though it’s hidden under my pants at this point.

He lets out a laugh and nods. “I definitely have.”

The fact that I’m practically standing over him should give me some sense of having the upper hand in this conversation, but even with him sitting and looking up at me, his unwavering attention is unnerving in a way that has me tempted to take a step back.

I cross my arms and glare at him. “Then what’s the problem?”

Everett smiles a little at the question before getting to his feet. Now I’m the one who has to look up at him, and fighting the urge to take a step back has turned into fighting the urge to run out the door. We’re toe to toe, and the warmth practically radiates from his body.

Just when I don’t think it’s possible for us to be closer, he leans forward, and my breath catches in my throat.

“The problem?” he says with an arch to his brow that might be considered playful if being this close to him wasn’t making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

His lips pull upward, and as if he were letting me in on a secret, he says, “We don’t take walk-ins. ”