My phone rattles against the glass coffee table, and both Rose and I look down at it. I’m curled up on the sofa trying my best not to think about how disastrous my first day apprenticing was.
“Who even has your number?” she asks.
I shrug. “I gave it to Tina.”
“Why would she be texting you at half-twelve?”
My eyes flick to the clock on the wall above the television, and she’s right. It is way too late, and I somewhat doubt it’s an emergency. Playing on the television is a nature documentary about jellyfishes…
I squirm out from under the blanket and reach for the phone, unlocking it.
“Unknown number,” I say, and then I read the text. My eyes go wide.
“What is it?” Rose asks, concerned.
“You won’t believe this,” I say, shaking my head. “How the hell did he get my number?”
“What is it?” Rose asks again, reaching over and grabbing the phone from me. She reads the text.
Drinks and dinner, tomorrow after my tattoo.
“Who is this?”
I look at Rose. “Guess.”
She shakes her head. “I have no idea. Someone from the tattoo shop?”
“Yeah. Someone you know.”
“Someone I know?” she says, pondering with a finger to her lip. “I can’t think of anybody.”
“It’s Pierce.”
She balks. “Pierce Fletcher? He gets his tattoos from your boss?”
I nod, and I rub my forehead. I’m trying to hide it as best as I can, this heady concoction of mixed emotions I feel. On the one hand, there’s annoyance, irritation, even anger. How could he just be asking me out like this?
On the other, excitement, anticipation, a physical response. Personally, I think Rose sees right through it, judging by her smile, but she’s holding back from saying anything.
Which is totally unlike her.
“You going to go?” she asks.
“Probably not,” I say.
She just shrugs and makes a ‘huh’ noise.
“I’m not!” I say. “He really is an asshole, Rose. You should have seen him today at the shop. Plus, like I told you before, my dad is dating his mom. No way!”
That’s when she starts laughing. “Well, damn, Penny, it’s not like they’re getting married! It’s not like he’s your stepbrother or anything! You should go. See what he wants.”
“I know what he wants.”
“You obviously made an impression on him the other night, not to mention the fact that you saw him this morning in the tattoo parlor.”
“So what? He was a dick. I don’t want to go. Plus, we don’t like to call them ‘parlors’.”
Rose peers at me, and then grins. “Did something happen today?”
“No.”
“Yes it did!” she says, wagging a finger at me. “What haven’t you told me, Penelope?”
“He’s in the middle of getting a tattoo.”
“Oh? And it just so happens that Tina is his tattoo artist, right? Now that’s a coincidence.”
“Yeah.” I bury my face in my hands. “What are the chances?”
“Well, it’s a big city, but it’s not huge.”
“He was getting a tattoo near his groin.”
Her eyes widen, and she gets this really mischievous grin. She lowers her voice and narrows her eyes. “Tell me more.”
“He had to be naked from the waist down.”
She covers her mouth and lets out a high-pitched laugh. “So you saw…?”
“Yeah.”
“Everything?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Was it weird?”
“What do you think?”
“Because you had kissed him before?”
“That,” I say, nodding. “And just the general fact that he was naked from the waist down.”
“Oh come on. Think about nurses who have to do that prostate stuff.” She shudders. “Yuck.”
“Tina said the same thing. She got me in trouble for not being very professional today.”
Rose eyes me. I can see the cogs in her brain turning. Though she hasn’t got much self-awareness, she’s very in-tune with what other people are thinking.
“Was it your first time seeing a man’s penis in real life?”
“Uh…” My voice fades.
“No!” Rose cries, slapping the armrest of the sofa. “You’re kidding, girl!”
“I’m not.”
“So you’re still…?”
“Yes.” I frown, and close my eyes, placing my finger and thumb on my eyelids. “Is that weird?”
“No!” she says, quickly rubbing my leg. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin.”
“Don’t say it like that,” I groan.
“But I just find it hard to believe.”
“Why?” I say, my voice raising. This indignation is a convenient outlet for my embarrassment.
“Because of your tattoos and stuff.”
“Well, that’s a stereotype.”
Rose sucks in a breath of air. I can see she’s thinking about how to word her next sentence.
“I don’t mean that all girls with tattoos—”
“Yes you do.”
“No, I really don’t! I mean, you just got one pretty early, you were hanging out with all those older kids before I came here to Australia. You know, I just assumed you would have dated an older guy. One of the guys from that tattoo parlor you always hung out at.”
“Well, I didn’t,” I say. “I cared about the art. And, again, we don’t like calling it a parlor. It’s a shop, or studio.”
“Okay,” Rose says, putting her hands up. “It’s not like I meant anything by it. What is it with you and this shop-parlor business?”
“Ever heard of a massage parlor?”
She nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“What’s the first thing you think?”
“Prostitution,” she says flatly.
“There we go. It’s about connotation. No tattoo artist calls their shop a parlor. It’s either a shop, or studio, okay?”
“Okay,” Rose says with a sigh.
“Please try and remember.”
“I will, I will. So,” she says, drawing out the word. “What was he like?”
“Who?”
“Pierce!”
“What do you mean?”
She drops her voice to a very low whisper. “Was he big?”
I swallow, and nod. There’s a twinkle in Rose’s eye, as if she’s thinking: Unsurprising.
“Did he shave?”
I shake my head.
“Trimmed?”
“Yeah.”
“What about his balls?”
I blink. “I didn’t notice,” I say slowly, staring hard at her.
“Has he got lots of tattoos?”
“You saw him fight.”
“I mean, under his shorts.”
“No, not really. He had this jellyfish, and the tentacles wrapped around his thigh.”
We both turn to look at the television. The narrator, in a posh and sticky British accent, is talking about the Portuguese Man of War – one of the deadliest jellyfish in the world.
What are the chances?
“You should go,” she says.
“Why? I don’t want to.”
“You don’t think he’s hot?”
“He’s a dick. He’s so full of himself. He’s probably got, like, three STDs. So what if he’s hot?”
“He’s a fighter, but he’s not stupid.”
“How would you know?”
“You can always tell when somebody is a dumb-dumb.”
“What do I want with a rude man-slut, anyway?”
“I know you’re attracted to him. I saw how awkward you were when you met him. Not to mention that whole driving-you-home scene after the club. I’m still pissed off at you, by the way. We never got into Juice. You just left us waiting in the line outside.”
I sigh. “I was awkward because he was being a dick.”
“Yeah, he was, but you were also awkward because you liked him. Which is why you hit the sauce hard.”
“I didn’t. I don’t.”
“Okay, babe.” She says it in this really condescending way, and it pricks my temper.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m going to bed.”
“Okay,” she says, flicking her head to the side. She watches me out of amused eyes.
“Stop that, Rose.”
“Stop what?”
“Just stop it!”
I go into my bedroom, cheeks feeling warm, and flop down on my bed and stare at the screen of my phone.
Maybe fifteen minutes pass by, before I finally tap out a reply:
Only if you’re not an asshole tomorrow during your appointment.
I put the phone on my bedside table, and turn out the light, but moments later I hear it vibrate.
I thought girls liked assholes.