Promise Me This (Between Breaths 4)

I’d forgotten how perceptive he had always been as well.

“Usually,” I said, folding my napkin to give my hands something to focus on. “But we’re studying large-scale photography and tonight was independent study night.”

Nate’s eyebrows bunched together. He was good-looking, but in a boy-next-door kind of way. He had dark blond hair and whiskey-colored eyes. His body was amazing, but way too muscular for my taste. He liked to work out as hard as he liked to party.

Despite outward appearances, he fit in pretty well with this crew, who could work a ten-hour shift at the shop and then drink past midnight, only to wake up and do it all over again.

“What exactly does ‘independent study’ mean?” Nate asked, his leg going a million miles an hour beneath the table, like he needed to blow off some steam. Which is probably where that girl had come in, until I ruined it for the two of them.

Pushing that idea out of my head, I focused on my assignment. I needed to come up with the subject, stat. “I have to create a huge photo exhibit, and the professor gave us a free period tonight to begin working on it.”

“Zach’s is the perfect place to do your homework,” Dex said, smirking into his beer glass.

“You shut it,” I said and then turned back to Nate. “It’s going to be on display at the upcoming art festival, worth half of my grade, and I don’t know what the heck to shoot pictures of. Yet.”

I was going for my Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in studio art, with an emphasis in photography. I needed sixty credits to get there and was well on my way but wasn’t getting there as fast as I’d like, given the expense. But slow and steady wins the race or whatever the hell that saying was.

Like my father, my absolute true love was photography. I was excited to finally make good use of his Hasselblad 500C/M that I’d inherited when he passed away three years ago, but I had the worst creative block. So I figured a good beer would help me get some ideas flowing.

“How about pictures of the neighborhood? The only thing you ever do is people-watch at the shop,” Cory said, egging me on. He knew there was rarely any downtime at the tattoo parlor. I was one of the receptionists at Raw Ink—more like an office manager, glorified maid, or employee wrangler—and a part-time student at the university.

“I’m not people-watching. I’m just ignoring you,” I said, sticking my tongue out.

Cory was cool to work with, but kind of a mess as a person. He was gay and knew how to pick the beautiful assholes. So he was always hurting in one way or another.

Despite that, his artwork was amazing. He specialized in portraits, so if you ever wanted your grandma’s face permanently engraved in your skin, he was your guy.

Just don’t ask him to draw your current flame, his personal hot button. He’d give you a good tongue-lashing, specifically telling you how goddamn stupid you are. If you relented, he’d make you promise not to return to him when you wanted it covered up or removed two months down the road.

“Why not tattoos?” Bennett said and Avery nodded. Bennett was one of the nicest humans on the planet, easy on the eyes too, and seeing him look at his fiancée, made every girl in a ten-mile radius sulk. Together they had sex appeal oozing out of their pores and I’d guess their sex life was combustible as well.

Bennett was expert in all areas but his work in specialized lettering was the bomb. If a customer wanted a favorite quote tattooed on their skin, I’d send them Bennett’s way in a heartbeat. Avery had proof of his expertise on her own skin.

“Those photos that you hung in the hallway at the shop are amazing,” Avery said.

Oliver, the owner of Raw Ink, had asked me to take professional photos to decorate the walls. I had used the university lab to process them and then took them to a framer to get them matted and hung properly. It’d been a yearlong project. I’d asked customers to sit for long minutes, while I adjusted the angle and lighting to snap their tattoos.

“I thought of that,” I said, nodding. “But call me crazy, I want to pick something else to challenge myself.”

“Makes sense,” Dex said, talking a long pull of his beer. I noted he was taking it easy tonight, only on his second beer—otherwise one of the guys would have to cart his ass home again. Even though Dex and Cory were older than the whole lot of us, they sure acted juvenile sometimes.

“I was thinking of photographing something outdoors,” I said to the group, my eyes panning across each of their faces.

“You mean like flowers or trees?” Avery asked. “The fall leaves would be gorgeous.”

I wrinkled my nose. I wasn’t much a nature girl and I knew she wasn’t either, even though I did admire it from afar.

“No, that would be too . . . lame,” I said.

“You could always come with me to the dog park,” Emmy said, still nursing her first drink. I shook my head. Her and those darn shelter dogs. She probably cared more about them than humans.

“I’m thinking something more gritty, industrial—like maybe bikes or motorcycles,” I said. “I don’t know, been wracking my brain about it.”

“Meet me at the biker bar this weekend,” Cory said. “The entire lot is filled with sweet rides.”

He was a true motorcycle aficionado and had even inherited a vintage Harley from his uncle. He’s met some of his past boyfriends at that bar, even though that was a tough room to work if you were gay. But Cory knew how to keep everything on the down low—at least that’s how he’d described it to me.