"Why?" I asked, feeling a certain amount of heat suffuse my face. Sometimes it felt like Flor's opinion of me hadn't changed in three years, like he still thought of me as that innocent little fifteen year old, sneaking off to a party. I did, in fact, have the type of bikini bottom he was talking about, the kind with the ties on either hip.
"Because," Flor said, standing up and getting way too close to me for comfort. I looked up at him and traced the scar on his chin with my eyes, wishing I could touch it with my fingers instead. "You're gonna need it."
Florian drove us both to his tattoo shop in downtown Springfield, an up and coming neighborhood that I'd once never even considered visiting after dark. Now, the historic buildings on either side of Main Street had more than just for sale signs in the windows. Across the street from Flor's studio, there was an old brick building painted a cheerful yellow that housed a café, and on the opposite corner, two previously empty shop fronts had been turned into a busy restaurant/brewing company. With the city of Springfield (Eugene's neighbor across the I-5) onboard, decorative posts, light fixtures and crosswalk improvements were being added block by block along the seven mile corridor. Flor's shop, On Bent Wings, was smack dab in the middle, still open and filled with people even at this hour.
As he snagged a lucky parking space directly in front of the studio, I twisted my hands nervously in my lap and tried to hide the sheen of sweat building on my forehead. I knew my dad was not going to be happy when he found out Flor had tattooed me. He'd been terrified of it since the moment my stepbrother had gotten his first piece of ink and he'd seen how his eyes lit up. If it were up to my father neither Florian nor I would ever have a piercing anywhere other than our ears and tattoos would be out of the question. Already, I'd managed to piss him off by getting my nose pierced and Flor … well, my stepmom and my dad had always agreed to disagree on Florian. It had prevented a lot of fights between the two of them as they had drastically different parenting styles, but I could see the way my father looked at my stepbrother. He might love him like a son (might), but he wasn't exactly always ready with a smile and a hug either.
Flor parked the car and shut off the ignition, turning to look at me with one raised brow. I focused on the three piercings there and refused to look into his eyes. Enclosed spaces like this only seemed to trap the sexual tension between us, lock it inside a bubble that threatened to drown me with its intensity. Sometimes I wondered if I was crazy, if I was the only one that felt these things when we were together.
"You look like you're about to puke," he said with a smirk, like he found the entire situation hilarious and was trying to hold back his laughter. I'd have been annoyed with him if the lights from the shop hadn't fallen across his brow just so, revealing the natural blue-black highlights in his hair. "If you've already changed your mind, we can go grab some dim sum or something. Besides, your dad's going to fucking kill me when he finds out about this." Dim sum. Exciting. I'm sure all of Flor's other dates are this entertaining.
I dropped my gaze to his as I reached out and opened my door to release some of the pressure that was building inside the car.
"I can do this, Flor," I told him, squaring my shoulders and straightening my spine. "I want to do this." Flor shrugged like he didn't care either way and climbed out of the car. I followed after him, aware of all the eyes that swung our way when we entered into the shop. I knew some of these girls by sight. They hung out here a lot, flirting with Flor and some of the other tattoo artists that worked alongside him. What I really wanted to do was tell them all to get a life and stop clinging to my brother, stop touching him, stop going home with him.
Instead I smiled and tried to soak in the campy, eclectic atmosphere that felt even more like Flor than his own house did. With a black and white tiled floor, pale blue walls, and a black chandelier hanging over the counter, there was a surprising chicness to the place that seemed to draw people in. With the couches in the front, the beverage station stocked with tea and coffee, and a TV playing nonstop horror films, it felt less like a tattoo studio and more like somebody's living room. My dad said the whole place looked and felt unprofessional, but I liked it.
As curious (and overtly jealous) gazes started to swing my way, I refocused my attention on Flor's back as we moved around the counter and he greeted his friends by bending over their pieces and commenting on the designs.
"What the fuck are you doing back here today?" his best friend, Max, asked, coming out of the back and acting like seeing Flor here after-hours was the most shocking thing he'd ever witnessed in his life. When he spotted me, he raised his eyebrows and let a smile come across his full lips. Crap. I looked right back at him and pretended not to give a shit that he was here. Only I did. I really, really did. Max was the last guy I dated, and we dated behind Florian's back. I think we both were under the impression that if he found out, he'd kick Max's ass and at least verbally, he'd have kicked mine, too. Max was one of those guys that you just know is an asshole. Know it, and can't help yourself from going after him anyway.
"Hey Abi," he said, and I didn't like the way his voice dropped, like he was really, really excited to see me. This was exactly why I avoided stopping by the shop when I knew he was working. Flor had gotten under my skin tonight, made me forget. Damn it. "What brings you here?"
Flor stood up, pulling his eyes away from a killer black and white rose that graced the elegant shoulder of a beautiful twenty-something. Her gaze found Florian right away and stayed there.
"Getting her first ink today," Flor said and then, for whatever reason, decided to add, "and the motherfucker wielding the needle is gonna be me." He winked at Max, moving past him and leaving me there in an awkward moment of hesitation. Max was still smiling, still looking beautiful in an outfit eerily similar to Flor's – tight T-shirt, jeans, boots. I opened my mouth to say something, horribly aware that Flor would hear it, too. Our breakup had been amicable, but that didn't mean things weren't awkward. Guess that's what I got for dating a guy I'd known almost as long as I'd known Flor. Maybe childhood friend stuff never really worked out in the end?
Max seemed to sense my hesitation, but before he could say anything to break the tension, one of the other artists called him over and I made my break. I followed Flor down a short hallway with doors on either side. I knew these rooms were reserved for people who wanted privacy and didn't want to be tattooed in the chairs that sat behind the front counter, in plain sight of all Florian's groupies.
I shook my head to clear the negativity away. I didn't need that today. Today had to be special, momentous.
"You ready for your first time?" Flor purred, knowing damn well the double entendre he was laying on me. I stuck my tongue out at him when he glanced over his shoulder and grinned, turning around and pressing his back to one of the blue doors. Or at least, I thought it was blue. In all reality, it was so covered in stickers that I wasn't exactly sure what color was underneath. "Seriously," Flor said, his hand resting on the knob as I paused in front of him, once again far too aware of the narrow hallway and his nearness for my own comfort. "Are you really ready for this? I don't want you doing this just because you want to make me happy."
"Please, Flor," I said, reaching out for the knob and thinking he'd move his hand out of the way. "When have I ever done anything just for you?" I kept my voice playful, hoping he wouldn't call me on my bluff. When we were really little, I used to do anything and everything in my power to get Flor to pay attention to me; this was not one of those times.
My hand curled around his, fingers entwining together for the briefest of moments before he turned the knob and pulled away from my touch. If that brief bit of contact made my blood heat and turned my knees to jelly, I wondered what it was doing for him. From the looks of it, the answer was simply nothing. I guessed he'd touched enough girls in his day that it didn't really matter anymore.
"Take a seat on the table while I work this sketch out, okay?" I nodded and waited for Flor to flick on the lights, bathing the small sterile room in color. His paintings lined the walls, colorful renditions of women in armor, dressed as vampires, hiding behind hooded cloaks. He was amazingly talented for his age, reminiscent of painters like Luis Royo and Victoria Francés. I took in the art with a smile, sitting down on the edge of the black cushioned chair and leaning back, letting my hair fan out around me while I glanced up at the ceiling and the swirl of stars painted across its blue and purple depths. If the exam chair and the stainless steel countertop to my left reminded me of a doctor's office, the rest of the room was awash in color.