INKED 8: A Tattoo Shop Reverse Harem

Whatever.

I don’t miss their shared glances, but I don’t care about what they think anyway.

I hang around by the reception desk, making small talk with Carl. He seems happy to unload some of the business challenges, which is unusual for him. Or maybe it’s just unusual for me to provide a listening ear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kyla arrive outside, pausing to straighten her black slacks and a pink button-down shirt. She’s curled her chestnut hair this morning, making it obvious that she wants to make a good impression on her first day.

What she doesn’t realize is that she made a pretty big impression the first time she came into this shop.

Kyla’s nothing like the girls that usually hang around a place like this. My last girlfriend lived in band tees and ripped jeans. She wanted me to cover her in ink. By the time we broke up, there wasn’t much virgin skin left.

Kyla, on the other hand, is all virgin territory. Her pretty pale skin is just begging for marks, but she doesn’t want any. As she pushes open the door, I have to stifle a smile. It’s good that she’s kept true to herself and not tried to blend in with the shop and the rest of us. I like that she looks like a doctor’s receptionist. It adds a certain professionalism to the place and shows me that Kyla has confidence in her own identity.

“Morning,” she says brightly, her eyes scanning first over Carl, lingering on his long blond hair, which he has drawn into an elaborate braided style. He’s channeling his Viking heritage and has the air of an ancient warrior. Today he’s wearing a sleeveless shirt that shows off his elaborately tattooed forearms covered in a latticework of intricate tribal-style designs. It’s only when her gaze drifts to me that the pretty flush returns to her cheeks.

“Kyla, am I glad to see you!” Carl says.

“Well, that’s a warmer welcome than I ever received at the Daily Grind.” Kyla grips her purse, smiling with a look of relief. She’s trying to come across as confident, but her body language is saying something else entirely.

“You might not be so happy once you’ve been dealing with this mess all day.” Carl’s hands drift across the chaos that is our reception area.

“It’ll all be fine,” she says brightly. “Leave it to me. I’ll shout if I need anything.”

“Can you deal with the booking system first?” Carl asks, running his big hand over the top of his hair. “It’s a miracle we have any customers left. It’s such a mess.”

“Sure. That’ll be no problem.”

Wasting no time, Kyla drops her purse under the desk and takes a look at the disheveled diary that is currently controlling all our workload. Flicking through, she can see that we’re booked out months in advance. I wonder if she realizes that we squeezed Luna into the schedule because she asked us to. If she notices, she’ll probably believe it’s because Luna’s a celebrity, but it wasn’t. It was just to put a smile on Kyla’s face.

The rest of the guys arrive as Kyla’s getting settled; Lex and Dex, and lastly, Kase and Kole. They’re all smiles when they see her, and her blushes are cute as hell.

When the phone starts to ring, Kyla immediately takes the initiative and answers, responding to the customer in a natural and friendly way. In response, Carl’s tense shoulders relax almost immediately.

Customers begin to arrive, and Kyla glances around, realizing that she’s not yet familiar with the shop layout.

“I’ll show you the place,” I say, and she nods gratefully.

It doesn’t take long to point out where each of us works. The customers all settle into conversations with their artists. There are some intrigued looks directed toward Kyla. I guess she’s not what they’re expecting to find at Ink Factor, but I’m happy she’s here.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I say when she’s settled back in at reception.

“Sure. And thanks.” The smile she gives me is accompanied by another little flush of color across her cheeks. For the first time in my life, I get the urge to pinch her there like some adoring auntie fussing over her cute niece! It’s an urge that’s way more affectionate than I’m used to. My eyes drift to her wrists, and I imagine what they would look like bound in rope, shackled above her head. Would she plead with me to stop? Would she beg for more?

You never can tell.

I finish my first client, filling in some of a large back tattoo that I started a month ago. It’s going to take a few more sessions to finish. He’s a big guy with a low pain threshold, so dividing it into manageable sessions is the one way we’re going to get it done. As I drift to the back of the shop, intending to make a cup of coffee, I find Kyla leaning against the office door jamb, talking to Carl.