Kidding.
It was a massive serpent on the back of his shoulder blades. I sketched it up one day when I was just fucking around, and he dug it, so I told him I’d do it for him right then. I knew the guys at the shop would let me fuck around a little (as this was before they’d hired me on). At first, he’d said, “Fuck no,” because he knew I had never actually tattooed flesh before, but after a few minutes of me bribing him with bountiful amounts of alcohol, he agreed.
I’d done such a damn good job that he’d refused the alcohol in the end, and that was when Jake offered me a job.
“Well, that’s the last fucking time I ever bet you.”
I chuckled as I watched a pouty Kip, with his hair pulled back in a low ponytail, stomp his way back over to his desk.
It was a slow night at the shop—a typical weekday. We were mostly busy on the weekends, especially at night when people got drunk, causing their inhibitions to lower dramatically. I couldn’t tell you how many people had stumbled into the tattoo shop, asking for a certain tattoo (usually something extremely common and not at all creative – which was fine, more dough for us) and they had been lit. I always made my clients sign a waiver, indicating that they hadn’t consumed alcohol. Everyone signs it—even the drunk ones, lying straight to our faces.
I’d only ever had to turn down a few women in the past because, although they said they weren’t drunk or that they hadn’t consumed any alcohol, they most definitely had, and tattooing someone who had copious amounts of alcohol sloshing through their veins became very messy.
My favorite type of person to tattoo was one who came prepared. They came in, picked out what they wanted or gave me an idea of what they wanted, I’d draw it up, and they’d look at it with excitement glimmering in their eyes.
Just like a few weeks ago, when I’d tattooed my younger brother for the first time ever. He came to me with a shit-eating grin on his face, asking for a favor. I lifted my eyebrow at him, expecting something stupid to come out of his mouth, but his idea was… perfect.
He wanted to surprise his girlfriend, Ivy, for her upcoming birthday. The two had had a hell of a ride. They were best friends as kids, but then she had to move away, leaving Dawson in the dust. He was torn up over it for a long-ass time, but then she moved back to Oak Hill and the two reconciled. They were so obsessed with each other that it made me want to vomit, but I loved Ivy so much that it wasn’t that difficult to hold down.
But anyway, Dawson wanted to get Ivy’s birthday tattooed on his arm. He said she’d probably flip out since it was permanent, but that was exactly why he wanted it. He wanted to show her that she was permanent in his life.
I smirked at him and agreed. I even did it for free. It was on the inside of his bicep, and although I usually thought couples tattoos were a bad, bad idea, his wasn’t. I knew he and Ivy were together for the long haul, and several days after he showed her, little Miss Ivy walked in with a fire in her eye that I’d never seen before.
I thought she was going to slap us all for tattooing her birthday on Dawson’s arm, but instead, she plopped herself down in the back room where I usually tattooed my clients and pulled off her jacket. She held out her arm and said, “Give me the same but with Dawson’s birthday.”
I smiled widely and chuckled. Those two... they were it.
If I could find an Ivy one day, I’d be golden. That was, if I were looking for an Ivy.
I wasn’t looking for love.
I was through with that shit after Carrie. At least for now.
My head snapped up as the bell jingled on the door. All I could see was a chestnut curtain of hair that fell over a petite woman’s face. Her head was pointed downward, as if she were having a staring contest with her own two feet.
I moved my eyes over to Kip, but he was no longer in his chair. He must have finally gone back to the storage room to stock like I’d asked him to do three hours ago. I hurriedly clicked off my computer, shutting down the inventory list I’d been viewing, and stood up, straightening out my jeans.
The girl’s head was still down low, and I could feel the nerves spiking off her body. I glanced at the clock hanging above her head, wondering if this was another one of those drunken I-want-a-tattoo moments, but then she lifted her head, and I swear to God, it stole the air out of my lungs.
She was… gorgeous.
Wide, sapphire eyes locked onto me and blinked several times. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head: should I go or should I stay? Fight or flight? I wanted to beg her to stay. I had no idea what she wanted, but I’d give it to her. No doubt.
The girl lifted her shaky hand and pushed back a bundle of honey-colored hair behind her ear. A diamond stud glittered underneath the light, and I couldn’t help but take in her full appearance. I wasn’t typically prone to checking out a client from head to toe the second they walked into the shop, but I felt compelled to. Like I couldn’t control my gaze—or my horrific… naughty… naughty thoughts.
The girl was wearing a denim jacket that was pulled over a tight white shirt that showed just how slim, yet curvy, her body really was. The shirt was tucked into a tight skirt with buttons lining the front, all the way down to the tiny gap between her legs. And that was when I had to break my eyes away before I continued getting swept away by her. Her legs… tanned and toned, smooth-looking… I wondered, for a slight second, how they would feel wrapped around my back as I pumped into her.
I coughed, bringing my eyes up to hers. “Can I help you?”
She had to be in the wrong place. She didn’t belong in a tattoo shop, especially not with all those nerves flickering off her body.
The girl smiled—a tiny one—but it was enough to punch me in the chest. “I would like to get my belly button pierced.” Her voice was soft and timid. For as beautiful as she was, it was perplexing that she appeared shy.
I heard Axe snicker from his seat, and although the stripper thought he was laughing at her, I knew better. He was laughing at the timid girl in front of me asking if she could get her belly button pierced.
I hated doing piercings. That was something Kip did. I refused simply because I could, considering I was the boss.
“Okay, then. Come on back.”