Talking about getting a tattoo and actually sitting in the parlor next in line turned out to be two completely different things, Matt discovered.
The Saturday before Labor Day, he woke up convinced that if he didn’t get the damn tattoo today, right now, this instant, he’d chicken out and never go through with it. Impatiently he paced the small kitchen and circled the dining room table where Vic sat nursing a cup of coffee, trying to wake up. “Sit down, will you?” his lover grumbled. He nudged the chair beside him to block Matt’s path. With a huff, Matt fell into the chair, arms crossed, one leg jiggling so hard, it shook the table. Vic placed a hand on Matt’s knee to still it. “The place doesn’t even open until noon.”
Somehow Matt managed to make it that long, but nervousness churned h
