“Just Eric in fancy lettering. And maybe a music staff and music notes on either end to bracket it, and tiny, multicolored butterflies above it to make it look feminine.”
Butch nodded, obviously picturing what she wanted in his mind. “I’ll draw up a stencil real quick. See if I can capture what you want. Then we can make adjustments before we make it permanent.”
Rebekah’s tummy fluttered as if she’d swallowed a few of those feminine little butterflies. “Okay,” she croaked.
“I’m going to help him,” Eric said. He handed her a book that had photos of the tattoos Butch had done. “Keep yourself occupied.”
Nervous, she looked through the pages. Butch really was a talented artist. She could tell she was in good hands. Some portraits he’d inked on people looked so real it was as if she were looking at a photograph taped to their skin. Ten minutes later, Butch and Eric returned.
The stenciled drawing he showed her stole her breath. It was perfect! She imagined brides must feel that way when they tried on the wedding dress they were destined to wear for one special day. She was trying on a piece of artwork she would wear for the rest of her life.
“Oh… I love it!” She waved at the tears suddenly in her eyes. She was making a lifelong commitment to this piece of art and the man it represented. Or all the guys named Eric in the world.
Eric ran his finger along the notes drawn on the wavy music staff that tapered into pointed curls on either side of his name. “I’ll play this for you when we get home,” he said.
“Did you write me a real song? I thought it was just for looks.”
“Just a little melody.” He brushed her hair behind her ear and leaned close to whisper, “It means I love you.”
She turned her head to capture his lips in a lingering kiss. “I’m so gonna rock your world when we get home, baby.”
“You always do.” He patted her butt and directed her to the table where Butch was waiting.
She unfastened her jeans and slid them low on her hips so he had more area to work with. He transferred the stencil to her lower back and made her look in the mirror to make sure it was where she wanted it. It looked even better on her skin than on the paper.
“So sexy,” Eric murmured.
Butch laughed. “She’d make any tattoo look sexy. Great-lookin’ woman you’ve got here.”
Rebekah beamed. She never tired of compliments.
While the stencil dried on Rebekah’s lower back, Butch busied himself changing the needle in the little machine that reminded Rebekah of a small gun, only with a big freaking needle sticking out of the end. She was trying to be brave, but her tummy fluttered with nerves.
“Do you want yours to match hers?” Butch asked Eric.
“Less swirls in the lettering and bats instead of butterflies, but yeah.”
Rebekah tensed when Butch dragged the buzzing needle across her skin. It felt like someone was scratching her repeatedly. It didn’t hurt nearly as bad as she’d expected, but adrenaline continuously pumped through her body. Eric held her hand the entire time and kept asking if she was okay.
“Why don’t you try taking my mind off it instead of reminding me that someone is jabbing me with a needle eleventy million times?” she asked testily.
“Sorry.”
“Do you still have that jagged crack I inked between your shoulder blades?” Butch asked Eric.
“Yeah. I haven’t even modified it. Still looks great.”
“That’s the first tattoo I ever did professionally,” Butch said. “How old were you, Eric?”
“Um, fifteen, I think.”
“Yeah, he tried to tell me he was eighteen. I figured he was lying, but I needed the experience, so I put him under the needle.”
“I like that tattoo,” Rebekah said. It looked like a crack in the earth that led to hell. The fingers of a demonic hand protruded from the fiery interior, clinging to the edge of the fissure, as if trying to escape. She sucked a breath through her teeth as the needle passed over bone for the first time. “Ow.” Another surge of adrenaline coursed through her body.
Butch paused to let her catch her breath. “Okay to continue?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Your name wasn’t even Sticks back then,” Butch said. “What was it again?”
Rebekah strained her neck to look at Eric. He was scowling.
“Anderson,” he said finally.
“Sticks isn’t your real name?” Rebekah asked. The needle scraped over her spine again. “Ow.”
“Yeah. I had it legally changed when I turned eighteen.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want my mother’s f**kin’ name anymore, that’s why.”
Apparently a testy subject.
“And that design he wanted on his back?” Butch said. “He told me it was a crack in his soul to let the pain escape. Pretty profound for a fifteen-year-old kid.”
“You have a big mouth, Butch,” Eric grumbled.
“You haven’t told her any of this stuff? No wonder she’s willing to have your name inked across her back.”
“The past can’t be changed,” she said. “The future can’t be predicted. All we really have is the present. So none of that matters to me.”
“Isn’t she perfect?” Eric murmured.
“It’s about time you found the perfect girl,” Butch teased. “You’re practically an old man.”
“Twenty-eight next week. I am gettin’ up there.”
“Your birthday is next week!” Rebekah sputtered. “How come you didn’t tell me?”
“Never occurred to me.”
“What day?”
“December third.”
She didn’t have much time to put together a special surprise for him. “Well, happy birthday,” she said. “In case I forget.” As if.
He took her hand and linked his fingers through hers. “Thanks. I never thought I’d live to see twenty-eight. Live fast, die young.”
She squeezed his hand. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Okay, all finished,” Butch said. “Take a look.”
While Rebekah admired her new tattoo in a full-length mirror, Eric helped Butch design the tattoo that would be inked on his lower belly. Butch’s assistant helped Rebekah put salve and plastic wrap over the new addition to her body, while explaining how to take care of the tattoo until it fully healed. By the time she snuggled against Eric’s back, her adrenaline rush was starting to wan and she was already thinking about where she wanted her next tattoo.