Page 71 of Rebel Summer

Before he could respond, our dear, sweet photographer asked us to do the Titanic pose.

“Huh?” we both asked at the same time.

It got weirder from there, so I’ll spare the details, except to say that it took disembarking from the ship and several long minutes later before I stopped feeling the imprint of Dax against my skin.

The tattoo parlor was down a few blocks and one questionable alleyway from the dock. For all the fire and guns I had when leaving Dax’s shop, somewhere along the way, I had lost my steam. Thank you for that, Whitney. The closer we got to the parlor, the faster my mouth seemed to move.

“So have you ever TPed anybody?” I asked.

“Pretty sure nobody does that anymore.”

“Nobody?”

“You were the last rabble-rouser of your kind, Books.”

“It was really fun.”

“I’m sure.”

“There was this one time…“ That was the part where my mouth started saying words, my hands flying every which way.

Very chipper.

It was exciting to do something fun. Out of my comfort zone. I was about to pick something meaningful to me that I would want printed on my body forever. This was great.

“And then I told my professor…”

There I was again. Off on another story my brain wasn’t fully connected to, but my mind was a whirl of nerves and butterflies and pictures of skulls and snakes, and weirdly, Dax’s face.

“And then he was, like, ‘Whoa, you should really eat more cheese.’”

That’s the statement my jabbering ended on as Dax led me to the small black painted building where I would be repeatedly stabbed in the name of art.

“You’re not nervous, are you, Books?” Dax looked suspiciously like he was trying to hold back a laugh. But I couldn’t waste my energy on him because as soon as he opened the door, the smell of cleaner and something else I couldn’t pinpoint hit me in the face. Like a deer in headlights, I stood, gulping down air and momentarily stunned, until Dax’s light hand at the base of my back guided me forward.

“Bravery starts now, Caroline,” he whispered. “You ready?”

“If I do this, you have to start calling me Ivy.”

A smile lit his face. “If?”

“When,” I corrected.

He turned and nodded at the pretty brunette with a streak of purple in her hair and a colorful arrangement of tattoos on her neck and arms who was coming to greet us.

“Hey, Dax,” she said, giving him a hug. “Long time, no see. Finally got off that island, huh?”

Dax smiled, leaning in for a quick embrace. “Hey, Jordan. I’m just here for a bit. You guys keeping busy?”

She shrugged. “It’s steady, but not too crazy.” I looked around the room with a critical eye. Several seats were occupied in a large room with a tattoo artist doing their work. Nobody seemed to be writhing in pain, but maybe they kept those customers in a private room. A soundproof room.

She looked at me curiously. “What brings you two in?”

Dax threw his arm around my shoulders. “This is my…acquaintance.” I didn’t miss the look he gave me at that word. “She’s on a quest to find herself and is in dire need of a tattoo.”

“A small tattoo,” I supplied with a tight smile, clutching my hands together so as not to shake. “I’ve already found most of myself.”

“Right,” she said slowly, looking back and forth between us with a confused expression. “Do you have an appointment?”

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