“You can’t just do something on a whim. It’s permanent.”
“So make it not so permanent. Can’t you do that? Give me a temporary tattoo or something?”
I glance toward Farrell, who’s bouncing his head up and down, letting me know we have the equipment. “Yeah,” I answer her. “We can do an airbrushed tattoo. Do you have any idea what you want?”
“Can I…think for a minute?”
“Sure. I’ll ready the station.”
She nods, and I head back to our locker room area, going to a chest and pulling out my preferred items. I head to the empty training room, the one I haven’t had to use for a couple years now, and begin setting up the airbrush machine in there. I check the pressure and grab a few different cases of colors just in case she’s wanting something vibrant.
Once I’m sure everything is set, I head back out to the front counter and find Haley bent over a blue photo album. Farrell’s there too, pointing at images, talking to her about the client or the work. She’s enamored, and not once does a look of distaste cross her features. In fact, she looks awed, intrigued. No matter what smartass comment flies from Farrell’s mouth, she doesn’t look away from the artwork in front of her.
As I draw closer, it dawns on me which album she’s checking out.
Mine.
When they hear me approach, the tall, lanky tattoo artist quirks a single brow, amusement coating his features. Briefly narrowing my eyes at him, I turn to Haley, whose eyes shine with…
Wait. Is that…?
No. No way.
“I’m gonna go check on Romeo right quick,” Farrell suddenly says. He makes eye contact as he walks past me, giving me another smug grin. I like Farrell—he’s a good guy—but I have never wanted to punch him so many times in a single day before.
That’smyartwork. Those aremydrawings. He has his own goddamn book to show potential clients. Why did he bring mine out? If I wanted Haley to see my book, I would have shown her. In fact, it’s a rule of the shop to not touch my portfolio.
I know, I know.But this is a tattoo shop. Everyone has portfolios to show to clients and they’re all usually available to anyone.Yeah? Not mine. I work here about once a month for roughly six hours. That’s it. Somyportfolio isn’t on display. It’s reserved for those precious six hours and if someone comes in specifically asking for me to be their artist. That’s it. I don’t spread what I do around, and I certainly don’t like anyone else showing off my book, especially to people who make me so fucking nervous I shake—like right now.
Farrell showing Haley my book practically opens the door to the tendrils of anxiety floating around me. I can feel the uncertainty digging in, the worry gripping my chest like the hands of Death himself. I grow cold and sweaty all at once. Everything is too much and not enough. Just as the edges of my vision start to blur, a sure sign my breathing isn’t right, I snap my gaze to the floor. I focus solely on the air entering and leaving my lungs, gulping in a big breath and counting backward from ten.
I’ve always likened my anxiety to that of a short pier leading out into the ocean. There’s a boat wrapped closely around a wooden dock slamming against the planks relentlessly from the force of the waves. That rope is the only thing stopping my boat from freedom. So, I untie it, and each loop around the timber pole is another easy breath I take.One loop, one breath. One loop, one breath.I do this until my boat is free, until I breathe without any hesitations. And then my fears drift away.
When I finally lift my head, Haley’s back to staring at the photographs on the page in front of her. I take tentative steps toward her, the sudden desire to know which image has her so enraptured hitting me hard.
“This is my favorite. I love how you can look at this man’s arms and see this tragic, beautiful tree. One arm dedicated to the tree at its peak, alive and beautiful, the other full of sorrow and decay. The lack of color doesn’t sway you from its beauty—it adds to it. The way the two meet at the middle over this black hole. Only then can you see an ounce of color as you look into the heart—literally—of the tattoo. And it matches, each arm half alive and half dead.” She looks toward me, her eyes boring into mine with a fierce stare. “It’s haunting.”
I’ve never heard someone tell me something is haunting before and feel nothing but at peace. Her words are dipped in admiration, and I don’t stop the action as my eyes close momentarily against her words.Fuck. That feels good.
“Your talent astounds me.”
“Stop it,” I say, my eyes back on hers.
“Why?” She frowns. “I mean it.”
“I’m certain you do, Haley, but I’m doing everything I can to not reach out and kiss the ever-loving shit out of you, and last I checked, we weren’t going to cross that carefully laid line.”
Her mouth drops open and she quickly breaks eye contact. My hands twitch at my sides. I want so badly to reach out and pull her to me, to tilt her head up so her perfect lips can meet mine. I want to kiss her, devour the sweet words she spoke.
I was worried beyond belief about bringing her here because this shop is me at my core. Although I don’t dress my skin in the creations I make, each one of them is etched into my soul. They all contain a little piece of me. Knowing that, I led Haley here. Hell, I fuckingdroveher here. I wanted her to see this side of me, see this passion I have. If she had hated it, I’d have been devastated. There’d be no going back from that sort of pain, the kind that sears you right through the gut, then drags the blade slowly to your heart as you stare it in the eyes, writhing in agony until you take your final gasps of air.
I didn’t expect this reaction though. Admiration, appreciation, approval. I had hoped, but didn’t assume it.
So, yeah, that makes me want to kiss her. Badly.
“I’d really like you to do me.”
Any thoughts forming in my head zing directly to myotherhead. I rush to bring up as many images as I can think of that will convince my dick to stay down.
