Man, trying to get some while kids were around was an entirely new experience. Tomorrow, though—or tonight, rather, since it was past midnight—there would be no one to stop them if it went there. They’d have only an hour or so for dinner, but nothing would stop them from meeting up after she was off for the night. She wouldn’t talk herself out of it this time. Third date was the charm.
She actually couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited. The first time, maybe, but what a painful letdown that had been, like expecting ice cream and getting broccoli. Backseat at a high school football game—so romantic. And then the cops had caught them. Called her parents. What a joy that night had been. They’d been praying for her soul; she’d been praying for them to shut the fuck up and let her crawl under a rock in peace.
Whatever the night held for her and Jared, she sincerely doubted it would be a letdown. No, that wasn’t her worry. Her main concern was that she wouldn’t be able to get enough. Then what? Because, despite their feelings and their plans, how could this really go anywhere? She would be screwed. Again. She would be shattered.
Starla slept in fits and starts, seeing every hour on the clock until five a.m. or so when she finally settled down into a deep sleep until eleven, when a slice of sunlight hit her dead in the eyes.
For once, she didn’t absolutely dread the day ahead.
***
Dressing for a real date was a new experience for her too. “Dating” wasn’t something she normally did. Hanging out, hooking up, or just plain fucking… Those were her terms. She wondered if she should actually wear a dress or some shit like that. Where the hell was he taking her? Because she couldn’t very well wear a dress to work—everyone would know she’d finally lost her mind.
Jeans and a T-shirt it was, then. Only she’d wear her nicest jeans and a cute blingy T-shirt and hope she wouldn’t get ink all over herself. Occupational hazard.
When she arrived at Dermamania that afternoon, paranoia set in. As irrational as it was, she felt as if everyone knew somehow. Ghost barely paid her any attention; Janelle was chipper as usual. Nothing weird on either account there. Brian came in looking tired and said Candace was staying home with Lyric because he’d kept them up most of the night. They all urged him to go back home too, but he had an appointment coming in, and since it should be pretty quick, he said, he didn’t want to cancel. “He’d better show up, though,” he grumbled, chugging coffee. “He already ditched on me once, and I’ll be pissed if I dragged my dead ass up here for nothing.”
Despite everything, it was nice having Brian with them again. He kept morale up just by his presence, and he kept Ghost from being such a twat waffle. Mostly. No, it wasn’t too awful a day for a change. Just long. Jesus. The time crept by so slowly, Starla kept checking her watch to make sure the clock at her station wasn’t slow. It wasn’t. She listened to her clients, made idle chat when they seemed to need it, asked appropriate questions. She tried not to think about tonight at all. Don’t get your hopes up; you won’t be disappointed.
She finished a tattoo around five, repressed a squeal at the awesome tip the guy slipped her, then stepped outside for a smoke. Staring up at the sky, she didn’t pay attention to the black car zipping into the side parking lot until it careened madly toward her and screeched to a halt mere feet from her toes.
“What the fuck!” she shrieked, leaping sideways and losing the remnants of her cigarette in the process. “Max! Are you out of your mind? Stupid motherfucker!” Before he could even get out of the car, she kicked the shit out of the grill, and would’ve kept on, but he threw the door open and bailed out.
“The fuck you been, huh? I send you a dozen fucking roses and can’t even get a thank-you out of your stuck-up ass?” He advanced on her, a look in his icy blue eyes that had her sidling away, afraid not for the first time that he might hit her. She yanked her arm back when he tried to grab it.
“Don’t touch me. You make me sick. Were you watching me?”
“I’ve been sitting across the street for two hours. Didn’t think you could go that long without your nicotine fix.”
She scoffed and pulled another cigarette from her pack, lit it, and blew smoke in his face. “Fuck right off.”
“So it’s like that.”
“Yeah, it’s like that. Leave me alone.”
“Why? You got someone else giving it to you now? I know you can’t go without it. I always had a feeling you were fucking one of those clowns in there.” He slammed his palm hard onto the door to punctuate his words.
“Max. Get in your car. Drive away. Forget my name, forget my number. I don’t give a fuck how many flowers you send—you threaten to kill us driving off a bridge and throw me out of the car? I’m done. You hear me? Done.”