Page 5 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

“No scorpion.”

“Come on, Ivy! You’re too old not to have any tattoos. How’d you grow up at the beach and remain ink-free? Didn’t all your friends have tats?”

“No, not all of them. I almost got one once, but I chickened out. My mom’s a nurse. She fed me horror stories about them my whole life. Allergic reactions. Infections.” I shrug. “I got over it.”

“What were you going to get?”

“A strand of ivy that wrapped around my ankle and extended onto the top of my foot.”

She flinches. “Thank God you didn’t go through with that.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not very interesting. Basic. Boring.”

“If I said yes to you, which I’m not, what would you suggest?”

“What about a tribute to your Gran? Something from her artwork?”

“Huh. I never thought about that. It could be a tribute to her and my time in Ivydell.”

“See? I knew we’d come up with something.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I don’t want a tattoo. I was just saying if I did, that would be a good idea.”

A resounding knock interrupts before she can respond. I know who is on the other side of the door before I open it this time, too.

He’s also freshly showered, even wearing a shirt. But his scorpion tail is visible above his collar. It still draws my eyes every time I see it.

“Am I interrupting girls’ night?”

“Yes!” Josephine shouts, simultaneously to me saying no.

Jensen laughs until he spots the black bag on the bed. “You setting up shop?”

Josephine’s head bobs excitedly. “Yes. Want some new ink?”

“Maybe.”

How is this happening? I didn’t say my casita could be turned into a tattoo shop. That’s a terrible idea, anyway. I’m well acquainted with my housekeeping habits. There’s no way it’s sanitary enough in here. I haven’t dusted once since I arrived over two weeks ago.

“No way. I’m not going to be responsible for him getting an infection and having to have a limb amputated.”

“Excuse me!” Josephine pulls her head back dramatically. “Nobody has ever had to have anything amputated because of one of my tattoos.”

“This isn’t a sterile environment.”

She looks around like she sees nothing wrong with the space. “His skin will be sterile, and so will my gun. The needles are pre-sterilized and disposable. There’s not debris flying around, so trust me, it’ll be fine.”

“I trust you,” Jensen says, pulling his shirt off as if it’s been decided.

Clearly, they’ve both lost their minds. “But there probably is stuff flying around. Just because you can’t see contaminates doesn’t mean they’re not here. There are germs everywhere!”

Josephine unzips her bag and splays it open, revealing her tattoo machine, little containers of ink, paper, pencils, and other things I can’t make out before she leans over it and blocks my line of sight. She pulls out a small bottle and heads for my kitchen sink, where she washes her hands with her own cleanser.

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