Page 3 of Tony

Then a new coffee shop opened up right next to Sick Boyz called the Great Cup. And the baristas in that place were all older. A few men in their early thirties, two women in their late twenties, and one… matron, I guess, maybe in her fifties. Vann and I went in there on their opening day—which was packed—and we each got a coffee and some free pastry they were giving away. But… wow. The coffee sucked so bad I decided right there and then I could not be friends with these people.

Vann still goes over there though. Maybe once a week for lunch. He’s probably the only regular customer they have left after the word got around that the coffee sucked. But he doesn’t get coffee, he gets one of those cheap pre-packaged sandwiches and a fruit smoothie. I don’t know why, because that sandwich looks even worse than the coffee tastes and he usually throws it out anyway. But he says he’s down with supporting all the local businesses in Old Town.

So whatever. His business.

My point is—my best friend options are severely limited because all the other regulars in the downtown neighborhood where I live and work are old. Middle-aged ladies running candle shops, consignment stores, or real estate offices.

The only other exception is the Anna Ameci’s Italian Restaurant girl. Soshee. And she has declared herself my mortal enemy because she’s in love with Vann Vaughn and she figures we have a little side action going.

Which we don’t. Vann might have big dreams of getting in my pants, but it’s not going to happen. I’ve known him for eight years and I’ve never even flirted with the idea of kissing him, let alone a full-on friends-with-benefits arrangement.

I tell him he’s too young for me. There’s a four-year age difference. And it did kinda start out that way because when we first met he was only seventeen and I was twenty-one. But that’s not the real reason. I count on him for certain things. Things like the job and the apartment above his family garage. If things go south between us over some stupid casual sex, all the stability I’ve built over the past eight years will disappear.

And I can’t do that again. I cannot lose everything and start over. It was hard enough the first time but a second time might kill me.

So… bookstore girl really is my last chance.

I’ve come in here to browse books every day for a week now. I’m just trying to get her used to me first. If I’ve pegged her correctly, she’s one of those unfriendly people who trusts no one, hates the world, and has mastered the act of glaring at people while looking completely unaffected.

Like me.

I shake my head and chuckle into a stack of old smelly paperbacks as I think that. But it’s true. We’re just… unapproachable. And suspicious of new people. And never looking for something. We let things fall into place. We take it as it comes. We deal.

So I can’t exactly waltz right up to her and say, Hey, would you like to be my new BFF? Because if I did that, she’d say, Who the fuck are you? and then snarl, Get the fuck out of my store, you creepy stalker.

So I stand there in the back of the bookstore, absently flipping through a tired old paperback with Fabio on the cover, trying to think up the perfect opening line.

“Hey,” a cheery voice says behind me. “You’re the tattoo girl, right?”

I turn and then back up and hit the stacks of books in surprise. Because this question came from Bookstore Midnight. “What?” I say, caught off guard and kinda confused by her upbeat tone.

“You work next door, right? With those hot tattoo brothers. I’ve been thinking about getting some ink. But I don’t know. It’s so permanent.” She chuckles. “I’m more of a temporary tattoo kind of girl. I can’t take the pain.”

I squint my eyes at her. “Temporary tattoos?”

“I know. I’m a wimp. But I’ve noticed you in here a lot over the past week. Is there anything specific you’re looking for? Something I can help you with?”

I look at the paperback in my hand, briefly consider playing it off and buying it, then set it back on the shelf. “No. I was just…” She’s still smiling. And it’s creeping me out. “Sorry. I’m… this… I gotta go.”

I head for the door and don’t look back. But I still hear her super-happy, “Bye! Come back soon!” before the door closes behind me.

I walk around the side of Sick Boyz and lean against the brick wall in the alley, frowning.

Wow. Did I ever peg her wrong.

‘Can I help you?’ ‘Come back soon?’ What the fuck is that? And temporary tattoos?

I shake my head and make a face. A blue-haired girl with the name Midnight doesn’t say or do those things.

“Fuck,” I mutter, turning around so I can kick the wall. “Fuck!”

Bookstore girl was my last chance. There’s literally no one left in Old Town Fort Collins to be friends with.

Maybe I could try again? Make it work?

No. No, no. ‘Tattoos are so permanent?’ ‘Can’t take the pain?’

I shudder.