“I know,” I said lifting the bottle. “But it gets your attention. Here’s your plan. Number one, stop being a little bitch. Number two, remember who the hell you are, and work your magic. She’s no different from any other—”
“Oh, she’s different,” Travis said.
I sighed and looked at Raegan. “He’s got it bad.”
“Shut up and help me,” Travis said, frustrated.
“There are three tricks to landing a hard-to-get: patience, having other options, and being aloof. You are not the BFF. You’re sex on a stick, flirting just out of reach. In other words, Travis Maddox.”
“I knew it. You’ve always wanted me,” he said, smug.
I stood up. “Uh . . . no. Not at all. Not even in high school.”
“Liar,” he said, standing. “I never tried with you, either. My brother has always been in love with you.”
I froze. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Did he know something?
Travis continued, “Aloof. Other options. Patience. Got it.”
I nodded. “If you guys end up married, you owe me a hundred bucks.”
“Married?” Travis said, his face screwing into disgust. “What the fuck, Cami? I’m nineteen! Nobody gets married at nineteen.”
I looked around, checking to see if anyone heard him admit to being underage. “Say that a little louder.”
He snorted. “Me getting married at all is unlikely? Anytime soon? Never gonna happen.”
“Travis Maddox doesn’t walk into a bar upset over a girl, either. You never know.”
“Shame on you for wishing that on me,” he said, winking. “I better see you at my next fight, Camille! Be a good friend, would ya?”
“You know I have to work.”
“I’ll make sure we schedule a late one.”
“I still won’t come! It’s barbaric!”
“Come with Trent!”
Travis turned to walk away, and I stood, stunned. Was he talking about Trenton before? So, Trenton was talking about me. Who else had he told? As Travis walked out through the thick, red door, a large group walked in, and then the crowd continued to trickle in after that. I was grateful that I didn’t have time to worry about whether or not there were rumors circulating, or if those rumors would get back to T.J.
Late the next morning, I walked into Skin Deep, already in a bad mood. T.J. hadn’t called or texted me back, which only fueled my paranoia about possible fallout from Trenton’s big mouth.
“Cami’s here!” Hazel said with a smile. She pushed black, thick-rimmed glasses up her nose.
I forced a smile. Hazel pouted her red-stained lips. “Why so sad? Did the Alpha Gamma party put you out of business last night?”
“Was that it? You went?”
She winked. “Gotta love sorority chicks. So what’s up with you?”
“Just tired,” I said, flipping the open sign.
“Heads up. Calvin is going to ask you to start working Sundays.”
“Are you serious?” I said, a little whinier than I’d intended. Today was not a good day to ask me to up my hours. By the time I rounded the counter, Trenton walked in.
“Chamomile!” he said. He was holding a bowl full of plastic fruit.
“Oh, please don’t. It wasn’t funny in middle school, and it’s definitely not funny now.”
Trenton shrugged. “I liked it.”
“You didn’t even know who I was in middle school.”
He frowned. “Says who?”
I made a show of looking around. “You didn’t speak to me until I grew tits.”
Hazel cackled. “Work has been so much more entertaining since she was hired!”
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t know who you were,” Trenton said, unamused.
Hazel pointed to the bowl in Trenton’s arms. “What’s with the fruit?”
“For my room. It’s decoration.”
“It’s hideous,” she said.
“It was my mom’s,” he said, unfazed. “I decided I needed something of hers at work. Puts me in a good mood.” He walked down the hall and disappeared into his room.
“So,” Hazel said, leaning her elbows on the counter. Her thin, penciled eyebrow shot up. “The sexual tension around here is getting ridiculous.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you liked Calvin.”
Hazel wrinkled her nose. “No one likes Calvin.”
“I heard that!” Calvin called from down the hall.
“Good!” Hazel yelled back. “So, you’re really not interested in Trent?”
“Nope,” I said.
“Not even a little bit.”
“I have a boyfriend, and he makes me very happy,” I said, licking my thumb and counting forms.
“Damn,” Hazel said. “I kinda liked you two together.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, straightening the stack in my hands before returning them to their bin.
The door chimed, and a group of four girls walked in: all blond, all tan, and all showcasing their doubleD-cup breasts in tight shirts that were in various shades of pink.
I began to welcome them, but Hazel pointed to the door. The girls stopped in their tracks.
“C’mon, Hazel. We told him we’d stop by,” one of them whined.
“Out,” she said, still pointing with one finger, then looking down to turn a page of Cosmopolitan magazine with the other. When she didn’t hear the chime again, she looked up. “Are you fucking deaf? I said out!”
The girls frowned, and pouted for a few seconds before filing out the way they came in.
“What was that about?” I asked.
She shook her head and sighed. “Trent groupies. Bishop has them, too. Women who hang out at the shop, hoping to score free tattoos, or . . . I don’t know . . . that the guys score.” She rolled her eyes. “Quite frankly they annoy me, but up until recently they were allowed in.”
“What changed?”
Hazel shrugged. “Bishop stopped coming in as much, and Trenton told me to send them away not long after you started here. See? You’re not a total disappointment.” She elbowed me.
“I suppose I haven’t really been worth the paycheck. I can’t even mix the MadaCide right. Disinfectant is kind of important around here.”
“Shut the fuck up!” she said with a wry smile. “No one else could have talked Calvin into getting rid of the cheap Asian décor and restructuring the files. You’ve been here less than a month and we’re already more organized, and customers don’t wonder if they’ll get a free fortune cookie with their tattoo.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to feel appreciated.”
“I appreciate you,” Trenton said, walking into the lobby. “I appreciate that you’re finally going to watch Spaceballs with me tonight. I’m bringing it over.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Why not?”
“I’m working.”
“And then what?”
“Going to bed.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re right. I have plans.”
He sneered. “With who?”
“I don’t know yet, but definitely not you.”
Hazel giggled. “Ouch.”
Trenton put his entire palm on Hazel’s tiny face and playfully pushed her away, keeping his hand on her as he spoke. “That’s not nice. I thought you said we’re friends.”
“We are,” I said.
Hazel finally struggled away from Trenton, and began slapping the shit out of his arm. Barely noticing, and only holding up one hand to fend her off, he continued, “Friends watch Spaceballs together.”
“We’re not that good of friends,” I said, concentrating on lining up the paper clips just right in their new organizer.
The door chimed, and two customers walked in: a couple. They were neck-deep in tattoos already.
“Hi,” I said with a smile. “How can I help you?”
“Rachel!” Hazel said, tackle-hugging the girl. She had an eyebrow piercing, a diamond for a beauty mark, and nose and lip rings. Her rocket-fire-red pixie cut almost glowed, it was so intense. Even with a head full of holes and arms covered in skulls and fairies, she was breathtaking. I sat back and watched them chat. Her boyfriend was tall and skinny, and just as glad to see Hazel. I couldn’t imagine either of them wanted more piercings or tattoos. Unless they wanted face tattoos, they had run out of blank skin to ink.
Hazel escorted them back to her room, and laughter and chatting ensued.
“It’s going to be a slow day.” Trenton sighed.
“You don’t know that. It just started.”