The Reinvention of the Rose - Christina C. Jones Page 0,39

out of sorts. Add to that the sensitivity of us having finally had sex, and I was just confused. And not nearly as secure as I would have liked to be.

So… I pushed past my little doubts and sauntered up to the front desk anyway.

The same person who was there when I initially went to get my tattoo was there at the front desk again.

Priya.

She smiled when she saw me, recognizing me as a former customer.

“Hey, you back for some more ink?” she asked.

“Oh no, not today,” I told her, pressing my fingers into the cold surface of the desk. “I actually popped by to see if I can talk to Tristan for a minute. I mean, if he’s available.”

For some reason, that made Priya roll her eyes. “I mean, he’s back there with a customer, but he ain’t busy. You can go back there.”

“Oookay.” I thought, but gave her a smile and nodded before I took her at her word that Tristan wasn’t actually busy.

Maybe he was taking a break, or maybe he was tattooing one of the other artists that worked there in the shop, so it was a casual thing.

Or... maybe he had his face in Nya’s crotch as he tattooed her upper inner thigh.

This whole not killing people thing was getting harder and harder as this day wore on.

“Oh hey Temp,” Nya chirped, looking up at where I was standing in the open doorway.

It made me feel a little better that the door was open for this, implying that there wasn’t much privacy needed, but still… this wasn’t exactly the kind of scene I wanted to walk up on.

“That’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Temp like temporary. Only for now, not really anything serious you know?” She kept talking, only irritating me further.

“So it’s going to be real serious when I beat your ass then?” I asked, not even remotely capable of exercising any type of real restraint against simple words.

My rebuttal, not her slick comment was the thing that finally made Tristan look up from what he was doing to notice I was there, stopping the tattoo gun to give me that censoring look.

”Babe, chill,” he said. “Nya is fucking around.”

“Yeah, she’s gonna fuck around and get my foot up her ass,” I countered. “I’m not her damn friend, so, she can find somebody else to play with.”

“Oh so serious and violent. I didn’t know you were into that, Tristan,” Nya went on, still needling.

“Well maybe the mother of his child beating your stupid ass should have clued you in.”

Nya gasped, and Tristan groaned, putting the tattoo gun down completely and standing up from his seat between her legs.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, not looking back as he hooked his hand around my arm to drag me from the open doorway to an empty break room. “Is this how it’s going to be now?” he asked, clearly annoyed with me for some reason. “This is exactly why I wanted to hold off. We’ve had sex, we crossed that line, and now the drama starts.”

“And that’s my fault?” I asked. “I’m the one bringing the drama? A few hours ago you had your dick down my throat, and now I walk up in here and you’re face deep in your ex’s pussy while she throws little jabs, and somehow the drama is my fault?”

“Man come on with the exaggerations T,” he groaned. “Yes, me and Nya used to date, but we don’t anymore. She’s a friend who wanted some ink. I was supposed to say no to that because of what me and you have going on?”

“Don’t try to twist it to make it sound like I’m being ridiculous. A typical friend? No, it wouldn’t be a problem. But when this friend very clearly wants to be more than that, and has no issue openly antagonizing the person you’re seeing? Yeah it’s a problem.”

“Temp, how is it different from any other customer? I’ve got to run my client by you beforehand to make sure there’s not somebody you don’t like on it?”

“Okay so is she a friend, or a client? Did she pay for the tattoo?”

Tristan frowned, confused. “I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but yeah, she’s paying - we… barter, I guess. She keeps my locs together for me.”

My eyes damn near ballooned out of my head at that. “Ohhhh, so she pays by getting to be up close and personal with you for hours and hours at a