Making Bad Choices Page 3

  Max stepped forward, an unlit clove cigarette pinched in his fingers. Like always, he wore a hat. “Cassie, Charlie and I were thinking about flowing in there for your mom, but we weren’t feeling it was right for this scene.”

  “Do it here,” Daisy suggested.

  Max’s eyes moved to my aunt. “Oh, hey, Daisy. Wish we could, but we got to bounce, I have to get home to watch my sisters.” He turned back to me. “Can we give you her eulogy over video-chat later?”

  “Please. Yeah, I’d love that. Please, deliver me fat doses of your art and culture as much as possible, I beg of you.”

  Charlie pulled me into a huge, all-encompassing hug. “Eight months, lady, just eight months of time, and we’ll all be rooming together in a nest of hot, stinky, sweaty art and culture.” He kissed the side of my head, his bristly face felt scratchy on my cheek.

  I didn’t say anything, feeling a sudden dose of guilt. Following my father’s advice, I hadn’t written to the art school we were all planning to attend, or told my friends that I was backing out, but I was.

  My dad had said, “This is not the right time for life decisions, give it a month, then you can decide.”

  It sounded like decent advice, but I had a hard time imagining myself slipping back into my former life plans. Maybe I’d take a year off, travel to all the places my mom had wanted to go to but had never gone to. I didn’t know.

  Charlie released me, then immediately wrapped me in another one of his tight hugs, the kind that threatened to squeeze the life out of me, and the rest of my friends gave me similar love before Max lit up his cigarette and they wandered away to his car. Watching them walk away felt like watching a door closing. I could almost see it: a big celestial door framing my stair-step friends, slowly closing behind them.

  “Your boyfriend is looking for you,” Daisy said.

  “Who?” For a moment I thought she meant my sole ex-boyfriend, Markus. But he was working out of state and hadn’t been able to get away, though at least a third of the flowers in the reception center were from him. When I turned to look, however, Culter was stepping out of the reception doors and heading toward us.

  My face heated as I glared over at my stupid aunt. “You mean my stepbrother?”

  “Keep it in the family.” She shrugged.

  “You are so gross,” I whispered the last part, making her grin, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

  As he approached, I couldn’t help but notice that he looked older in a suit. Perhaps I just thought that because he filled his suit out so well, guys my age usually looked like they were swimming in their jackets, excepting, of course, Charlie.

  “Hey, could I talk to you for a moment?” he asked, stopping a few paces away, his hands going into his pockets. His bright eyes bounced from me over to my aunt. “If you don’t mind?”

  “Have you met my aunt Daisy?” My hand gestured between them.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Yeah, we’ve met.” Daisy leaned in, giving my cheek a kiss. “I’m taking off, girlie. I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asked, like my tattoo appointment was still in question.

  I raised my brows at her. “I’ll be there.”

  Her hand came up in supplication. “Okay, okay.”

  As she walked away, she patted Culter’s shoulder. “Nice to see you, Culter.”

  “Likewise,” he said. Turning back to me, he yawned, but covered it with the back of his hand.

  “Bored?” I asked. Right after I said it, I realized asking him if he was bored at my mom’s funeral was a pretty jerk thing to say. I meant it more as a joke, but I was beginning to suspect that I’d lost the art of joking.

  “Tired,” he said, graciously ignoring my rude question. “I’m thinking of leaving for home tonight. I was going to offer for you to drive with me, but it sounds like you have plans?” he said the last part like a question.

  “I thought we were flying into Colorado Springs—not you, but everyone else?” I asked, gesturing to the entrance of the funeral hall.

  “Yeah, they still are.” Culter rolled back his shoulders. “I have to get back, but I guess everyone else has to stay another week. Josh is staying too; he’s still out of school for another week. But our new semester starts Monday. Mom thought maybe you’d want to catch a ride with me.”

  I paused. “To Colorado . . . tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he said, gaze meeting mine.

  “Isn’t that like fifteen hours?” I tried to smile at him, but I’m sure my face conveyed that I thought he was insane.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Plus three as you’re in west LA at five o’clock on a Friday.” I gestured to him. “And you’re yawning.”

  He grinned. “So I’m guessing that’s a no.”

  “That’s a: why don’t you leave tomorrow?”

  “Do you mean after you meet up with your aunt?” His brow furrowed.

  I gestured at him. “No, I meant you leave tomorrow, so you don’t kill yourself.”

  “If I leave tomorrow, will you or won’t you be going with me?”

  “Won’t . . .” I drew out the word.

  “You don’t sound sure,” he said. He grinned, flashing white teeth and a dimple at me.

  And I wasn’t sure. I mean, the obvious answer was no. I wouldn’t want to drive seventeen hours nonstop with Charlie, let alone a guy I pretty much didn’t know. Well, I kind of knew him. I knew two things about him: first, he used to suck. And, second, I knew he’d been really helpful the last week taking care of Josh all day, every day so Jen and my dad could take care of me and my mom’s affairs. Other than that, I knew pretty much nothing about him.

  But on the other side of things, having Culter drive me would mean that I could get away from my dad for a straight week. We could leave straight from the tattoo parlor and by week’s end; my tattoo will have healed enough that I’d be able to hide it.

  I looked up, finding him watching me. He was probably wondering why I just drifted off in thought in the middle of a conversation.

  “You don’t mind?” I asked.

  “Don’t mind what?”

  “Driving me all that way. Wouldn’t you rather do it alone? Jen’s making you do this, right?” I kind of wanted him to say that he did mind. If this was just something that Jen put him up to and he hated the idea, I could definitely say no to the road trip. At the same time, I was kind of rooting for a no, because if he didn’t mind, I had a pretty good shot at keeping my tattoo a secret from my dad.

  “Of course not. We can keep each other awake. It’ll be fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck, yawning through his words.

  Chewing on the inside of my mouth, I rocked back and forth on my feet. Lowering my voice, I said, “Would you mind making one stop with me, before we leave L.A.?”

  His brows tucked together. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

  Leaning in a little, I repeated, “Would you make one stop with me, here in L.A.?”

  “Somewhere other than meeting your aunt?”

  “No.” I licked my lips to wet them as they felt like they were sticking together. “To meet my aunt. The thing is, it’ll take about three hours—you can leave and go do whatever you want in that time. And can we keep it just between us?”

  “What are we doing?” he whispered back.

  “I’m . . . getting a tattoo.”

  When he didn’t answer, just kept looking at me, I realized I’d probably just made a huge mistake. Culter would snitch on me, and then my dad would make a huge stink, and it would be hell to get out to the tattoo parlor in the morning.

  Damn it, what was I even thinking?

  Leaning back, he grinned at me, though he looked a little confused. “Sure, whatever. Do you want to head back in? Or, want to go sit in my truck?”

  “Sit in your truck?”

  “Yeah, I’ll go help clean up and then take you home.”

  Jesus, why was he being so nice to me? I knew that it shouldn’t bother me, but it felt di
singenuous.

  My shoulders dropped and I knew I shouldn’t stir the shit pot, but if we were driving across half of the country together, I kind of had to. “The only thing, Culter . . .” I sighed, tipping back my head to look fully into his face, feeling stupid for saying what I was about to say, “Can you be the real you with me?”

  He raised a brow, looking a little offended. “What do you mean?”

  “Okay, so I appreciate you being so nice to me because of what’s happening right now. But you’re like this whole different person than the Culter I remember. And I don’t want to get used to this Culter who is being nice to me because he pities me, if a week later you go back to being the real you.” I grimaced because I knew I sounded like a total bitch. But it was true, I didn’t want to play make-believe with him for a week or two. I didn’t want it and I definitely didn’t need it.

  He blew out a laugh and shook his head. “You haven’t changed at all—always over-thinking everything.” Smirking at me, he leaned in toward me and raised his eyebrows. “I’m real, Cassie, I’m being real with you.” Stepping back, he looked at me, waiting for a response.

  I looked away. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” He cocked his head toward the door. “One of us should tell them our plans. They think we might take off.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, nodding.

  We walked in together, and I wasn’t quite sure what to think about this new and improved Culter I was supposed to believe was real.

  Chapter Four

  I wasn’t crazy, and I wasn’t a bitch. Jackass Culter did exist. He existed, he was real, and it wasn’t even that long ago that jackass Culter told my parents that I was sick in bed, when I was just putting on makeup, making me miss out on Movieworld. Dickwad Culter existed—at least, that was what I told myself as I climbed into his truck beside him.

  But even knowing that there was another, evil Culter doppelganger, the words I said to him yesterday echoed in my head, making me feel itchy under my skin. He’d done nothing but be kind to me for a week, and I’d basically accused him of being a fake and an asshole deep down at his core. Like burs in my bed, my words had kept me up last night for way longer than they should have. I knew that on the night of my mom’s funeral, I shouldn’t be allowing anyone else to be taking up space in my brain, but there he was, making me feel like a jerk.

  Fastening my seatbelt, I turned toward Culter, for the hundredth time considering just apologizing to him.

  He shot me the kind of grin that told me that he wasn’t hating on me the way I was hating on myself.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  Nope, no, definitely not. I most certainly wasn’t ready to spend seventeen hours knocking elbows with him. And I wasn’t ready to move to a new, small town.

  Swallowing my apology and my dread, I grinned and said, “Sure.”

  Culter’s truck was not only clean, it smelled nice, and not in that new-car air freshener way. His car smelled like leather, beeswax, and something else I couldn’t identify. The outside of the truck looked huge, but strangely, the cab felt a little too tight.

  We didn’t talk as I directed him to Artistic Ink, except for the usual “hang a right,” and “turn left here” business.

  “It’s right here. Pull into their little lot, you’ll never find a space on the street,” I told Culter as I pointed, and thankfully he listened.

  “You want to hop out before I park?” he asked as he hesitated in front of the very tight open stall.

  I looked at the space. I couldn’t see how he’d possibly get out of there after he parked, as he was like twice as wide as me. “Do you want me to park it instead? I’m used to getting out of tight spaces.”

  “Thanks, but no. It’s nothing against you; I don’t let anyone drive my truck.”

  I pressed on my seatbelt’s release and swallowed down the teasing I wanted to do about that. He was doing me a favor, and I was determined to make nice with him. Turning to him, I said, “Well, you’re welcome to just go. There’s a mall maybe a mile up on this street. There are restaurants and stuff there. It’s super easy to get to.” I pointed to the left.

  His gaze met mine and there was a little something there. I wasn’t sure what it was: mischief, question . . . something. “Mind if I come in? I’ve never seen someone get a tattoo before.”

  “You want to watch me get my tattoo?”

  “Yeah, if that’s okay with you? I’m curious. I’ve never even been in a tattoo shop before,” he said. He nodded back to the street. “And I’ll get lost in the city without you. I’m no good at that.”

  “Just so you know, I have to take my shirt off. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” I was planning to take my shirt off in an open room where anyone in the shop could pass by and look in, but I should probably warn him anyway.

  He smirked. “Why would that bother me? I’m a guy.”

  “Because . . .well, whatever, if it doesn’t bother you then you’re welcome to come in.” I couldn’t very well send him out into the city or make him wait in his truck for three hours if he didn’t want to do either.

  As I opened the truck door and hopped down, a lanky guy who looked like he might have more tattoos than Daisy peeked his head out of the shop’s glass doors.

  “This lot is for customers only,” the tattoo guy shouted at me.

  “Yeah, I have an appointment with José.”

  “Cool,” he said, and then he ducked back into the shop.

  After squeezing out of his truck, Culter walked to the front entrance and held the door for me. He seemed to be a door-holder type of person—he’d held my car door open for me too, and any door we’d come to all week. The front area of the shop crowded in around a long glass reception desk. The words Artistic Ink emblazoned over a skull-shaped paint pallet blared out at us in every color from a hundred t-shirts and sweatshirts.

  “José will be over in a minute,” the tattoo guy shouted at me over the Nirvana song blasting through the speakers over him.

  Culter picked up a sweatshirt, looking at the price tag. Fifty dollars, I read over his shoulder. That was stupid expensive. It was probably because this shop was kind of famous in the tattoo world, or so Daisy had told me.

  “Cassie?” A buzzed head I recognized peeked out of the half door that led into the main area of the parlor. José opened the half-door, giving us a wicked view of his full sleeve tattoo on his left arm. “Come on back. Is Daisy with you?”

  I stepped through the door. “Not yet, she’ll probably show up in an hour or something. Is it cool if my friend comes back with me?” I gestured to Culter, who was already following.

  “Yeah.” José looked over my shoulder to Culter. “Hey there. You’re welcome back, but I’m going to ask that you don’t touch anything. We have some magazines over there if you want to take them in.” He gestured to a couch with a coffee table covered in magazines at the end of a long hallway of partitioned off stations.

  “Yes, sir. Don’t worry, I won’t touch anything,” Culter said.

  José peered back at him. “Where are you from?”

  “Bulvin, Colorado.”

  Jose smiled. “I’m from just east of Santa Fe, I’ve been through Bulvin. I thought I heard it a little bit in your voice. How you like L.A.?”

  “It’s very different,” Culter said on a laugh.

  A low buzzing sound emanated from each station we passed, along with a burnt, sweet smell. I’d already visited Jose’s station a couple times, and didn’t need to be directed by him as he and Culter continued chatting about Bulvin—my future home.

  When we reached his station, Jose said, “All right, I have everything set up for you. Cassie, you can go ahead and lay down on the table. And you’re welcome to take a seat over here, man.” He gestured to a chair in the corner of the space. Then to us both he said, “I’ll just be a second.”

  The blue partition rose to about six feet around us, and though I could hear the low buzz and soft chatter in other tatt
oo stations, I couldn’t see anyone outside of our space. A long thin leather tattoo table took up most of the area. José’s equipment was all still bagged in sealed plastic, something Daisy told me to look out for. The bed was clean, seemed new, and had no tears or scuff marks.

  Culter also gazed around the room, looking interested.

  I tuned to him, pursing my lips. “You planning to get any tattoos?”

  “I have no current plans,” he said, slowly. He shot me a grin that again had that little bit of something I couldn’t name. “I like trying new things, maybe I’ll get one.”

  I nodded, turning away, hoping he’d get the signal to go do his own thing, because I was supposed to be undressing now.

  I pulled off my sweater, setting it onto the tattoo table. As my fingers gripped the hem of my shirt, I glanced over my shoulder, finding Culter sitting in the chair, his attention on his phone. Turning back, I pulled my loose tank top off, setting it on top of my sweater.

  “You want me to hold those for you?” Culter asked from behind me.

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. He still wasn’t looking at me, his gaze fixed on the screen of his phone. Why was I being so weird and shy? My sports bra covered more than most crop tops. This was L.A., girls wore less clothing when they went grocery shopping.

  Grabbing up my discarded clothes, I turned.

  “Thanks.”

  He looked up, grabbed my clothes, then turned back to his phone.

  Returning to the table, I lay down on the table on my stomach. The leather felt cold when it touched my bare skin. A quick glance back at Culter told me that he’d draped my shirt and sweater over one knee. He looked perfectly relaxed, leaning back, legs open, his fingers moving over his phone screen.

  “Hey, guys.”

  I turned at José’s voice, catching him pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

  José’s gaze moved over my back while he chewed the inside of his cheek. He crossed the space. “Cassie, I think I’m going to have you unbuckle your jeans and pull them down a bit, and the bra might have to come up a bit too.” Even though he was telling me to undress, he said the words very clinically, like a doctor might.