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the gun. The picture looked good, but not half as good as it turned out.”
    “Damn,” Brian said. “Hold your arm up. I want to see it better.”
    Jason held his arm over the table.
    Brian whistled. “That’s crazy good. It looks like it’s alive. Where’d you get it done?”
    “Over on Shakespeare Street. I met him Tuesday night at Schaefer’s Pub and—”
    “Wait.” Vic leaned forward. “You just met the guy Tuesday, and you let him do your tattoo?”
    “Yeah, but I saw examples of his work at the shop before I let him start.”
    “When you got there?”
    “Yes.”
    Vic shook his head. “You hadn’t even seen his work when you went to the shop?”
    “No. I mean, I saw his tattoos—”
    “That doesn’t mean he did them,” Vic said.
    Brian frowned. “Jason, are you crazy? Since when did you want a tattoo anyway?”
    “I wanted one a long time ago.”
    When I was Jason, not just Shelley’s husband.
    Understanding flashed in Brian’s eyes; he clinked the neck of his beer bottle against Jason’s. “To freedom, man.”
    “That’s a great tattoo.”
    Jason turned. The blonde in the tank top stood next to their table, looking down at his arm with a smile on her face. “Thank you. I just had it done,” he said.
    “Can I take a closer look?”
    “Sure. Go ahead.”
    “Wow, the detail is really impressive. My ex-boyfriend is a tattoo artist, but his work doesn’t even come close. I love the shading in the wings and the way your guy gave him eagle’s talons on his forelegs. I’ve seen a lot of designs with just lion’s paws. They don’t look as good that way, in my opinion. I kind of have a thing for griffins.” She straightened up and lifted the hem of her shirt. “My ex did this one.” The griffin tattooed on her side paled in comparison to Sailor’s work. She gave Jason an even bigger smile and pushed her shirt back down. “I’m Mitch.”
    “Jason.”
    Mitch sat down in the empty chair. “Who did your work?”
    “His name is John. He has a shop on Shakespeare Street,” Jason said, folding the bandage back down over the tattoo. “Do you want a drink?”
    “Sure. Shakespeare Street? Is it a new shop?”
    “I don’t think so, but it might be.” Jason waved the waitress over and smiled when Mitch ordered a beer, not a candy-colored drink with a stupid name. When the waitress came back with his food and her beer, Mitch took the bottle and moved her chair close enough so the ends of her hair brushed against his forearm. She smelled like coconut, but not perfume, maybe shampoo. Shelley had worn enough perfume for two women, but Mitch’s coconut smell didn’t make his eyes water or his throat itch like Shelley’s had. And she was cute, definitely cuter than Shelley. Not Hollywood starlet beautiful but girl next door pretty, with blue eyes, a slight gap between her front teeth, and an old scar over one eyebrow, like a comma tilted on its side.
    She helped him finish his fries, and the four of them talked about nothing and everything in between. Mitch worked in a hair salon and told stories about some of her clients, Brian did his best impersonation of their boss but kept it going too long as usual and Vic told bad jokes that resulted in a lot of frowns and much less laughter.
    A little after eleven, Vic and Brian said their goodbyes. On his way out, Brian leaned close enough for Jason to smell the beer on his breath. “She’s hot and she likes you. Call me tomorrow.”
    Not long after that, Mitch hid a yawn behind her hand. “Well, I should head out. I had a long day, and I didn’t plan on staying out so late.”
    “Are you okay to drive?”
    “I walked. My place is close. How about you? Are you okay?”
    Silence stretched out between them. Jason looked into her blue eyes and thought about lying. He’d had three beers and food. He was fine to drive, but he liked the way she smiled. He liked it a lot. “Maybe I should walk you home,” he said.
    She smiled and put her hand on