Grace (The ‘Hello’ series)

9. Chapter 9

nine

I stir in my bed, unable to fall asleep. My mind and heart race as I ache between my legs. The sound of the front door opening and closing lures me out of bed as I give up on the hunt for sleep.

I’m not going to start counting sheep.

So I crawl out of bed and open my bedroom door, heading to the couch. Ashley’s dressed in a black T-shirt and black shorts with ripped fishnets beneath. I blink at her as admiration blooms.

“Ashley?”

She looks up at me in surprise. “Hey!”

“Is that what you wear to work?” I ask softly.

She peeks down and laughs. “Yeah. I gotta show off the tats to make sure my clients know I’ve been on the other end of the needle. Today was a more conservative day. If I show a little more cleavage, I get more tips from the guys.”

I laugh lightly. “Is it that easy?”

“Plus, I like seeing them try not to look, knowing they can’t touch. It’s hot.”

“I’m starting to think you like seeing other people in pain or… or staying in control,” I note.

She winks. “You can’t be a tattoo artist if you’re not a bit of a sadist.”

My lips curve up and then I laugh. Ashley pauses and laughs too, kicking off her boots and leaving them wherever they fall. She drops onto the couch and shakes out her hand. “You have no idea how nice this is.”

“What?” I ask.

“Actually having a roommate who’s willing to talk. My last roommate just glared at me if we crossed paths. She wasn’t a fan of tattoos, thought they were delinquent.” Ashley rolls her eyes. “And piercings were mutilation.”

“I don’t know. You kind of look like a piece of art,” I murmur.

“Oh, I am.” Ashley taps my nose and grins. Her stomach growls. “Have you eaten?”

“Nope.”

After my moment with Daniel, all hunger left me as my thoughts were focused on the way his hand felt on my body.

Ashley’s voice lures me back as she orders us food over the phone. “What do you want? I don’t know what you eat when it comes to Chinese food.”

“Um, just lo mien and, um, orange chicken are fine,” I say.

While we wait for it, I grab something to drink for the both of us and sit beside her on the couch.

Ashley beams. “I’m telling you, there’s something so satisfying about drawing with a tablet. The way the lines come together, then seeing the client light up when the stencil is on is perfect. Even if they have me move it, I know right away whether they’re in love with the piece or not. Then I get to stab them over and over, turning it into art.”

I laugh. “That sounds great. Not sure about the stabbing part.”

Ashley keeps telling me happily about every win, every drawing, every client until the door is knocked on.

“Your day!” she demands. “I need to hear all about it.”

“Not much. Just meetings and some, um, some sickness,” I say simply as she heads to the door to get our food.

As she unpacks it, she glances my way. “Honestly, I’ve been thinking about you.”

I blink. “Me?”

“Do you see another ‘you’ around?” she asks pointedly and pops open her mushu pork container. “You’re so hesitant to say anything, it’s like you didn’t have the right friends in high school or college or something. I can’t put my finger on it.”

I wring my hands together and shrug.

She sits back and takes her time chewing for a moment, then takes a breath. “You know my parents won’t talk to me? They kicked me out after I got my first tattoo at seventeen.”

I gape. “What?”

“Yeah. They had plenty of opinions to slap me with, but I realized how little their opinions mattered. I could either fight to stay there and be unwanted, yelled at constantly, and judged when they weren’t yelling, or I could be myself and find people who appreciated me for who I am,” Ashley says.

“So you left?”

“Yup,” she says simply. “I moved in with my best friend and her family. They loved me, encouraged me, told me to chase my passion.”

I blink at her.

“Have you had anyone like that? Anyone who made it clear that you should own who you are and appreciate yourself?” she asks.

“My mom was supportive… at least in the kitchen,” I mutter.

“I look at it this way—it’s cynical, I know—but I have to live with myself constantly, right? I can’t change that. My brain is stuck in this body, and I can choose to enjoy the experience or hate it. Hating it doesn’t change anything unless I make a change, like adding tattoos or piercings, or how I dress. So, I choose every day, to find something great about myself,” she says.

I finally open my food, knowing I’ve always tried to not stand out.

“Today, I like my confidence and how I draw boundaries with clients when they want to touch me,” she says with a bright smile. “Now you.”

“I like…” I hesitate.

“Come on. It can be physical, it can be personality wise, an accomplishment, anything,” she encourages.

I give a weak smile. “I like my cooking skills and that I haven’t lost them.”

“See, just do that every morning. It makes the day a whole lot easier, and you start noticing when people are treating you badly because they aren’t capable of being good to you or don’t want to be. You’ll stop blaming yourself for their issues,” Ashley says with a shrug.

Her words simmer inside me as she turns on the TV and puts on a sitcom.

We watch it together, and Ashley doesn’t quiet a single laugh, she doesn’t pause the show when she whispers a joke in my ear, and she doesn’t ask for forgiveness when she’s happy just being herself.

It’s brand new. She’s not caustic or overwhelming, she’s quirky and bright and… and I feel lucky that I ended up with her as a roommate. She pats her belly and groans. “Well, I can’t believe I ate all that. It’s normally a two-meal amount.”

“You earned it,” I joke.

“Damn right, I did. I do have to go draw, though. Half-finished stencils don’t make good tattoos,” Ashley says while standing, then points at me. “And if you decide to come in to the shop, you can just let me know here and we’ll design something perfect for you.”

I snort. “You think I could pull off a tattoo?”

“If it’s the right tattoo, you’ll do more than pull it off. You’ll flaunt it like it’s part of you,” Ashley says brightly, then hugs me.

After a second, I hug her too. I exhale as her arms tighten around me. How long since I’ve been hugged without having someone grab my ass or pat my head and tell me it will be okay?

“Ashley?” I ask.

“Hmm?” she asks as she draws back.

I bite my lip. “I’m really happy I chose you to be my roommate.”

She beams. “Back at ya, babe.”