I recite it off the top of my head. It’s a way to distract myself, and hopefully Maya. I know a lot about body art and piercings.
She scrunches up her face. “That’s kind of disgusting. Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Typically people say it hurts more than an ear piercing and less than a nipple piercing,” I tell her. “Some guys say it doesn’t hurt at all, but I don’t believe that. Four-to-six weeks healing time.”
“Why do they do it?”
I shrug, and then sit down on my stool next to her. “It’s not like I have a penis. People report they have heightened sexual pleasure. Some say they like the sensation when they urinate. Some women say that, in certain positions, the piercing can actually enhance sex for them.”
“Really?” she asks. “Huh. I wonder what positions?”
“Use your imagination,” I deadpan.
“Why does that guy want one? Doesn’t he know you don’t do piercings here?”
I laugh. “Oh God, to tell you the truth, I don’t know. I don’t think he even knows why he wants one, or if he truly does, or if he’s just winding me up.”
“He’s hot, though.”
I push my lips together, stare daggers into her arm. I try not to squeeze it too tightly. “Yeah, he is.”
“Great body.”
“Yeah,” I say, contemplating pushing the needle into her arm a little deeper than I should.
“Who is he, anyway? Your ex or something?”
I shake my head slowly. “No, not my ex. He’s Pierce Fletcher.”
“Pierce Fletcher,” she echoes. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
“He’s an underground cage fighter.”
“Yeah, my brother talked about him. Something like one of the best ever in the scene.”
“That’s what they say.” My tone lacks any semblance of enthusiasm. “He’s also about to become my stepbrother.”
“Oh,” she says. I see it on her face. At first, there’s polite acknowledgement, and then confusion: Weren’t they just talking about his cock?
“And,” I say, sighing, drawing out the word. “We’re sleeping together.”
She covers her mouth.
Silence swallows us.
Chapter Four
One month earlier...
“I’m moving to Melbourne.”
It is a statement of fact.
My father looks up from his paper, and his cornflake-filled spoon hovers in between the bowl and his mouth. His sea-green eyes narrow and his crow’s feet deepen.
“Are you telling me or asking me?”
I flash him a quick smile. “We’ve talked about it before, and I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving to Melbourne, and I’m going to apprentice for Tina Azume. She’s already granted me an interview.”
Dad gives me a slow blink. Out of nowhere, he looks like he’s aged ten years. “Oh.”
“Rose lives out there and she’s got a spare room and says that I can move in with her. Tina Azume is my favorite artist and one of the best on the planet.” I offer a small shrug. “It’s what I want to do.”
“You’re serious about becoming a tattooist?”
I hold my breath, wait for that hint of passive-aggressive judgment to rear its ugly head, but it doesn’t, so I nod at him. I should give him some credit this time.
“Yeah, Dad. I really am. And actually, we prefer to be called tattoo artists.”
“We?” he asks.
“I’m going to become one, Dad, and I’m going to be good. And I’ll be honest, nothing you say will stop me from chasing this.”
His bushy brows bunch, and he looks hurt for a moment. “I can see you’re on the offensive.”
I lick my lips. I won’t lie, I’m nervous. Butterflies are raging in my stomach, and I’m desperately hoping he doesn’t say no. I want to go with his blessing. I don’t want to disappoint him.
“You’re confident you can do this, Penelope?”
“You’ve seen how well I can draw. I’m going to be good, Dad. I really am. I have a good hand, and a better eye.”
“I know you do. I’ve seen your drawings. You’ve got great perspective and lines.”
I feel a blush in my cheeks. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from an architect. And from you, Dad.”
“But, Penelope, body art, really?”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to draw well on skin?”
“I can’t say I do,” he admits.
“It’d be really great if I could get my father’s support on this.”
He sighs. “You know, you get that manipulative streak from your mother.”