I smiled back and nodded. "I'll get in touch about possibly coming to see you next week."
"I'll be able to work something out for next week no problem," he said. "Especially for something small like an arrow."
"Oh, no, I wanted it all down my leg," I said with a straight face. I gestured from my hip to my ankle. "I was thinking about this long and about two inches thick. All black."
He shot me a sly smile. He used his thumb and finger to show me about the space of about three inches. "Probably about yay big on the underside of your forearm, ribs, or between your shoulder blades. In and out in twenty minutes."
"What? You don't like the idea of a gigantic, leg-sized arrow?"
"I like it fine," he said, challengingly. "We'll get started on it next Wednesday if you want."
I giggled. "Okay, you were right," I admitted. "I want the baby one. But I was thinking right here." I motioned to the back of my upper arm going along my triceps. I hadn't planned on getting it there; I just chose a random spot that he hadn't mentioned so he wouldn't think he had me pegged.
He nodded and said, "That's a good spot," before he waved and went back toward the counter to get his coffee. Stewart and I went for the door. I walked out without glancing back at Patrick at all.
"Cookie butter!" I said to Stewart once we were on the sidewalk. "He told me about cookie butter, and I forgot to tell him I tried it."
"Trader Joes," Stewart said, knowing exactly what I was talking about. "I like the one with chocolate mixed in."
"I've only tried the crunchy so far, but that one's really good."
"Try the one with chocolate," he said.
We talked about random things like that until we got to my jeep, which was parked on the street two blocks away. I gave him a quick hug before unlocking my jeep and sitting inside.
"Thanks for the coffee," I said.
"You're welcome. That was fun, we should do it again sometime."
I smiled and nodded, agreeing easily, but all I could think about was next Wednesday and the possibility of seeing Patrick again. The image of him, and the way he'd stared at Stewart disapprovingly flashed in my mind and my smile broadened considerably.
"You sure you can't grab some dinner?" Stewart asked, capitalizing on the moment.
"Oh, I can't. Thanks for the coffee, though. That was fun."
"I guess I might see you tomorrow," he said. Tomorrow was Sunday, and I knew he was talking about church.
"I haven't decided if I'm making it tomorrow or not," I said, because I was just that stubborn.
"Oh, okay. Well, I guess I'll see you soon."
I smiled. "Hey, thanks again."
"No problem, it was fun." We waved at each other one last time as he headed down the sidewalk and I started my jeep. Stewart was a really great guy, but I could think of nothing besides how and when I'd see Patrick Mallory again.
Chapter 6
It never ceased to amaze me that God had patience with someone as stubborn as me. I didn’t go to church that weekend simply because Stewart said he'd see me there.
I went on a hike instead. It was late in the afternoon when I got home, and I caught up with my roommate and ate like a hungry monster before heading to my room. I glanced at my phone before jumping in the shower, and felt a rush of nerves when I saw Patrick's name in my inbox.
I opened the email.
Hey Mia,
I was wrong about next Wednesday. I'm overbooked that day. How about Friday at 2PM? You still want your leg blacked out with one huge arrow, right? Let me know if Friday works.
Patrick
I hit reply and began typing with a huge smile on my face.
Patrick,
Friday is even better for me than Wednesday. I'll see you at 2. I've attached a reference, but as you can see, it's just a simple arrow you could probably draw in your sleep. I'll take the three-inch version, but thanks for thinking about me with that blacked out leg. Maybe next time. Haha. I'm glad I ran into you today. Thanks for squeezing me in!
I read over it once and hit send before I could overthink it. I didn't hear back from him. I didn't expect to, so I tried not to waste too much time thinking about it.
Friday was there before I knew it, anyway. I was doing some interesting research that made me feel like I went into a time warp. It seemed like all I did was blink, and suddenly it was Friday and I was getting ready for my appointment.
My roommate had just trimmed and colored my hair. She was into pastels, and today's color was sort of a lilac soft bluish-purple. She did a good job cutting it into a clean, angled bob with long bangs, and I had an easy time styling it. I wore fitted capris and a sleeveless shirt. I had fun with my makeup, playing with colors that complimented my new hair color. I felt relatively good about my appearance when I pulled up for my appointment.
I found a spot to park on the street, so I arrived at the studio ten minutes early. It was a gorgeous day, so I sat on a bench for a minute working up the nerve to go inside. While I was sitting out there, the girl who works the front desk came out to smoke a cigarette. She stood next to the door, which was a good ten feet from the bench where I was sitting.
She stood out there smoking without saying a word to me and finally the silence became awkward enough that I walked over to my jeep, and pretended to get something out of the console. She was still standing out there when I closed the door again.
"Is that your car?" she asked, motioning to my jeep with her cigarette butt.
"Yeah," I said, with a smile even though it was a stupid, obvious question.
"They watch this meter. I'd park in the garage if I were you." She said all this without even the hint of a smile, and I glanced around, feeling a little confused.
"I paid for ninety minutes. Are there some kind of new rules today or something."
"Are you coming in here?" she asked with the flick of a wrist to the door.
"Yeah."
"Tattoos take longer than ninety minutes."
"I'm just getting a little one," I said. I made the space of three inches with my thumb and finger. "Just an arrow about that big." I got friendly and talkative when I was nervous and this girl, with all of her mean-girl ways made me chatty.
She looked me over with a disgusted scowl before tossing down her cigarette butt and stepping on it with a twist of the foot. She turned to walk inside. "Patrick doesn't like to do that small sh!*," she said.
I'm doing my best to keep it clean, but this girl, without hesitation, said the S word, and before I even walked into the door, I was ticked.
I came inside right after her. I wasn't the type to back down when someone bowed up to me, and I followed her inside even though I'd been planning on sitting outside for a few more minutes.
She busied herself behind the desk, and I sat in the lobby for a little while before Patrick came walking down the hall. There was music playing, and he might as well have been walking in slow motion, because he was as gorgeous as a movie star. I gawked at him as he approached.
He looked at the girl. "Why didn't you tell me my client was here?" he asked.
"I thought you knew," she said.
He looked at her a bit perplexed.
"Patrick, she was just telling me…" I paused and looked at the girl. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"
"Kells," she said, continuing to look agitated.
I looked at Patrick. "Kells was just telling me you didn't like doing small stuff like this," I said. "I hope you'd tell me if you didn't want to do it."
"I never said that!" she said, screwing her face up like I was a crazy person.
"Oh, because when we were standing outside a minute ago, you said Patrick hates doing this small stuff." I looked at Patrick. "I just don't want you to feel obligated…"
He stared at me then at her in disbelief. "I hope you didn't say that, Kells," he said.
"I didn't," she said.
"Yes you did." I said calmly. I didn't feel scared of her at all. It was obvious by her face, whi
ch was now beet red in color, that she was guilty, and I without a doubt, had the upper hand in the conversation.
Patrick smiled a little and shook his head at her. He put his hand on the back of my arm to usher me to his station, and his touch sent an electric shock down my spine. I was weak in the knees and breathless by the time we got back there. Both of the other guys from last time were at their workstations when we walked in, and they looked up and smiled or waved a greeting, which I returned.
Patrick started laughing. "Mia just put Kells in her place," he said.
I had no idea he was going to bring that up, so I, along with the other two in the room, looked at him with wide eyes.
"Kells told her I didn't want to do this little walk-in stuff, and Mia was all… 'Kells was just telling me how you don't like to do this small stuff'." (He said that my part in a falsetto voice like it was me talking and the guys cracked up.) "Then Kells tried to deny it, and Mia just stared at her with a straight face and told her she was lying."
One guy, the one named Shane, put his fist to his mouth and made a moaning sound at the thought of me standing up to Kells.
"What?" I asked. "The eighth graders at Maxwell are more intimidating than that," I said. I was being sincere, but they both oohed and aahed, thinking I was just trying to offend her. They all said a few things about how gangsta I was and I didn't correct them. They were all intrigued by me, saying things about what a firecracker I was and other cool compliments like that. Again, I didn't correct them. I knew in my heart that I was just a big nerd, but for whatever reason, they seemed entertained by me, and maybe even interested in what I had to say.
We joked around for a few minutes before Patrick and I drifted over to his station in the corner so we could discuss the arrow and get going on it. There was about thirty minutes of talking and planning before we were ready to put needle to skin, and we talked and laughed the entire time. The other guys could clearly hear us from their stations and they chimed in every once in a while.
We were just about to start tattooing when Shane asked Chad what he had coming in next.
"Philippians 4:13, dude. That script I was working on with the whole quote going across the chest."
Shane nodded. "That's one I know by heart," he said.
"No sh!*, dude, I memorized that one a long time ago. Those Philippians must be some cool mo-fo's with all the tattoos people get about 'em."
I cringed inwardly at him calling Philippians mo-fo's, but at least he didn't say the real words… he actually said "mo-fo's" instead.
Patrick was working on my arm, and I made the conscious decision to remain quiet and stay out of the religious conversation.
"The Corinthians are good too," Shane said, laughing.
Chad shook his head. "I think they were different tribes in the Bible, and maybe this group's leader was named Philip and that one Corin so they called themselves Philip-pians and Corin-thians. Get it?"
Shane laughed. "Yeah, I get it, but you're an idiot," he said.
Everyone was quiet for the span of a few seconds, before Patrick said, "Mia probably knows exactly who they are, don't you?"
Keep your cotton-pickin' mouth closed, Mia Louise. "Yep." I said simply, after taking a second to remind myself not to elaborate.
"Aren't you gonna tell us?" Chad asked.
What was I supposed to do? There I was making a real effort not to bring up God, and this conversation falls into my lap!
"They're epistles, which is a fancy word for letters. The book of Philippians is a letter written by a guy named Paul to a church at a place called Philippi. So you were right when you said it was a group of people, but they were named for the place and not their leader." I paused for a second. "Paul also wrote the letters to the church in Corinth. That's the other one you were talking about."
"Well, they must be some good letters, because here we are all these thousands of years later and y'all are still getting them tattooed."
"Paul was an interesting character," I said. "He wrote thirteen letters that are books of the Bible, four of them from prison." I stared off into space, imagining the life of Paul.
"He's the one who went blind for a little bit and changed his name," Patrick said.
"How'd you know that?" I asked. I must've sounded surprised because he laughed.
"I read the Bible. I also read the Upanishads and the Bhagavad Gita and a bunch of other books that claim to be holy."
I felt a stab of disappointment hit me in the gut when he said that. How could he have read the Bible and still call himself an atheist? I got a hopeless feeling that made my stomach ache.
"You read the Bible?" I asked in disbelief. I prayed he'd say he was mistaken.
"Yeah," he said. "Cover to cover." I glanced at him and he smiled sweetly at me. "I read the King James Version, and I have to admit, some of it didn't make much sense, but yeah, I read it."
I didn't know what to say. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought he might come around to the idea of God one day, but that was before I knew he already read the Bible! Cover to cover!
I felt deflated.
I couldn’t believe I sat there and lectured them on Paul and his letters when Patrick already read the Bible for himself and decided not to believe any of it. It was embarrassing, and I was mostly quiet for the next few minutes while he finished up.
Chapter 7
Patrick walked me to the front. I made an effort not to look at Kells the whole time I finished things up with him. She was on the other side of the lobby with her head down looking into a display case, and we were content to ignore each other.
Patrick ran my debit card for a hundred dollars, but instead of remarking on it, I just wrote in a tip for forty dollars and put the word thanks with a smiley face next to my signature. He smiled and winked at me. I was so smitten with this guy that my body rumbled on the inside with nervous jitters.
"I guess it's too early for coffee," I said, to my own horror. I couldn't help it, though. I had to make one last effort to remain in his presence.
He smiled. "I wish I could. I have somebody coming in right after you. But I can walk you to your car."
Kells picked up her head to look in our direction when he said that. I saw her in my periphery, but I didn't glance her way.
"I would take you up on that, but we're already there," I said. I pointed out the window. "That's my jeep."
"I'll walk you out there," he said.
"Any big plans for the weekend," I asked once the door closed behind us and we were walking toward my jeep.
"I work tomorrow. My weekend starts Sunday. I'm going to a friend's wedding." We stood on the sidewalk right next to my jeep. Patrick regarded me with an unreadable expression. "You wouldn't want to come to that with me, would you?"
I was devastated with butterflies. "To a wedding?" I asked.
He smiled and shrugged. "It comes with dinner if that's an incentive." I stared at him a second, and he must have been wondering what I was thinking because he lifted his hands in surrender and said, "I'm not looking for a girlfriend or anything. I don't date. But all my friends know that and they always give me a hard time about showing up alone." He shrugged. "I just thought if you weren't doing anything—"
"I'm not," I said. I smiled. "But thanks for clarifying the lack of interest, I was worried for a second."
He grinned at me. "Oh, I'm interested," he said. "I'm one hundred percent interested—just not in a relationship, which happens to be the one and only thing girls want. I'm definitely interested in hooking up with no strings attached, but we both know there's no such thing."
I stared at him with wide eyes. A year ago, I would have said, "I'm good with no strings," with every intention of backing it up, but I wasn't the same person I was a year ago. Believe me, I was tempted. But he was right. When it came down to it, I wasn't interested in anything with no strings anymore.
I leveled him with a discerning stare. "So you need me to pretend to be your date?"
"No, I'd like you to be my actual date," he said.
I laughed a little. "Just so I don't get my heart set that it'll be a reoccurring thing."
He shrugged. "I'm leaving in a couple weeks. I'll be gone for two months, and that cycle never stops. I'm out of town about thirty percent of the time, and I'm not ready to change that or feel guilty about it." He smiled at me. "If you want to know the truth, I really like you. I'd be overjoyed if you'd agree to the no strings thing, but I'm not ready for anything more—not until I decide not to travel. I've been in different relationships over the years and they all end the same way. It's the exact same scenario. Females cannot handle their man being gone, and I can't handle not being gone… so I'm without a female. It's by choice, but that still doesn't stop my friends from giving me a hard time." He paused. "It's okay," he said. "I can just get Kells to go with me."
I narrowed my eyes at his attempt to get a rise out of me with her name. "I never said I wasn't okay with going."
"No sex, I guess, then," he said, obviously joking around.
I smiled at him while shaking my head. "No, no sex, I'm afraid."
"That's too bad," he said. He looked me over for a second. "Your hair looks really cool."
I smiled. "Thanks. Beauty school roommate."
"My barber makes house calls, so I basically have one of those too."
I smiled. "You're a high-roller."
He gave me a sideways grin and smirk that had me giggling.
"So I guess you should email me with your address and phone number, but I'll pick you up Sunday at 3:30."
"I assume I should just wear a dress or whatever," I said.
"You need to wear red velvet, actually. The dress code's pretty strict. They have this whole pagan ceremony thing and we have to be a part of it." His face was totally straight—not a hint of a smile or any indication that he was joking. He was dead serious. I felt the blood leave my cheeks.
"Yeah, I'm not gonna be able to do that," I said awkwardly.
He stared at me for a few seconds with no smile whatsoever before letting his face crack into a grin. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself," he said, laughing. "Yes, to answer your question. Just wear a dress or whatever you ladies like to wear to weddings."
When Lightning Strikes Page 4