UNEDITED
After violating campus rules and committing student misconduct, twenty-three-year-old Warren Ashford is deep trouble and at risk of losing his volleyball scholarship -- the one thing he truly values other than his bad boy reputation, and hi...
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Nova
The note I leave behind for Warren is a lie. Not a great way to start a relationship, but this is something I want to do alone.
For the first time this summer, I skip out on a morning run and decide to take the car and drive down to where Greyson works. In the note, I mentioned that I wanted to go for a run in one of the parks Warren told me about, which is why I took the car.
I know I disagreed with the tattoo suggestion, but I stayed up long after Warren fell asleep, thinking about what he said. I came to the conclusion that he had a point. I figured I might as well look into what he said.
After struggling to parallel park between two trucks, I get out of the vehicle and begin walking toward Greyson's shop. I pass the building Hazel works at, the café they met at, and a small garden of flowers and shrubs that decorates the remaining space. It's a very beautiful garden, complete with large bushes of lavender.
Turning my attention away from the garden, I continue past it and stop in front of the tattoo shop to think about what I'm doing.
Am I crazy? I ask myself.
It's a legitimate question – I've never been one to think about getting a tattoo, and now that I have considered it, the questions are filling my head. Am I blinded because it was Warren that suggested it? Am I letting what I feel for him get in the way?
I instantly shut down those thoughts. Sure, he suggested it, but in the end, it's my decision. I'm the one that's going to decide what gets inked into my skin. Not him.
When I step through the building, I'm struck with awe. Greyson's tattoo shop has a contemporary flair to it. The walls are patterned with pale bricks, and the one wall that sits behind the front desk is painted a pale tan colour with multiple pictures of sketches and previous tattoos that have been given, all framed in black. The floors are rustic – a well-worn oak. Adjacent to the front desk is a line of black seats with a small coffee table in front of them that's covered with magazines.
"How can I help you today, Miss?"
I blink, and look away from the seating arrangements. At the front desk is a girl with multiple piercings in her left ear and black hair with blue tips.
"Oh," I say, walking up to her. "I was, um, wondering if Greyson Williams is here?"
She looks over her shoulder. Behind her, I see a large hallway with four rooms that stem off of it, all covered by thick black curtains. The areas behind those curtains must be where they do the tattoos.
"Yup," she says, getting to her feet. "Let me get him." She turns back to me. "Do you have an appointment?"
I shake my head. "No – I'm a friend of his, and I was just walking around. Thought I would stop and say hello before heading home." My second lie of the day. I'm actually here to talk to him about getting a tattoo. I want to see what he would suggest doing and if the place I'm considering is worth it.
