Dylan gave the drawing a long look before lifting his eyes to smile at me. “This is perfect.”
“Good deal. Give me a few minutes to transfer it over and then we’ll get started.”
“Should I come back?”
“Nah, you can have a seat. This shouldn’t take too long.”
Back in the old days of tattooing, it would have taken a while to do the transfer because it had to be done by hand. Thanks to modern technology, we used a thermal printer to make our stencils and the whole process only took a few minutes.
When the transfer was ready, I lifted it from the machine and turned to face him. “You still want this on your shoulder?”
“Yeah,” Dylan said, nodding.
“Go ahead and take off your shirt and we can check the placement before I start the ink.”
Dylan lifted his shirt, revealing his smooth chest and cut abs. That lean body was exactly my type, but I didn’t show any outward reaction. Contrary to what the homophobes thought, we could control ourselves around attractive straight guys, even if they were partially undressed.
I put the transfer on his shoulder, positioning it the way I thought it would look best, and then had him confirm its placement with a look in the mirror. After he gave the affirmative, I settled behind him.
Firing up the gun, I gave him a few seconds to adjust to the sound before I dipped it into the ink and then got started. He still jumped at the first touch of the needle to his skin, but it was subtle.
That jump wasn’t an indicator of whether or not he could take the pain. Most people reacted that way to the initial press of the needle, even those who had been tattooed before. Once they realized it wasn’t that bad, most people were quick to relax, which always made my job easier.
There were some people who couldn’t handle the pain. A few had even cried, and it wasn’t always who you expected it to be. I’d seen some big, burly biker types bitch up and shed a tear. No one had ever walked out though.
“You go to school?” I asked.
“Uh, yeah, I’m a junior at state.”
I didn’t blame him for sounding surprised by my question after the less than warm reception he’d received when he first walked in. It wasn’t his fault that his buddy was a dick. Besides, I wanted to hear his story.
There was a reason people got inked. Some were celebrating milestones like weddings or the birth of a child. Some wanted to remember a place they’d been or an event they had gone to or a person they’d loved and sometimes lost.
While some tattoos were for happy occasions and some were sad, all tattoos had a story. All of the designs meant something, whether simple or intricate, and all of them were cathartic.
I usually did a little bit of small talk before asking about the meaning of a tattoo. Most of us did, even X who was the grumpiest of the bunch. The only exception was Flynn who didn’t believe in small talk. Flynn’s conversation with his customers was confined to the mechanics; design and placement and such. No one ever complained though because his ink was bad ass.
“What are you studying?”
“Molecular biology.”
That surprised me. I’d expected a dumber answer considering I’d pegged him as just another frat boy. I should have known better than anyone that you couldn’t always judge a book by the cover and all that shit. I’d lost count of how many times I’d heard I didn’t look gay. It was the same with Cooper.
The fact that both of us were gay had been a major source of disappointment to our father. Not that either of us gave a shit since the old man had let us down countless times throughout our lives before he’d finally done us the favor of kicking the bucket.
“What are you gonna do with a biology degree?”
Dylan laughed. “Probably teach.”
Teaching didn’t interest me at all, but to each his own.
“Tell me about the tattoo.”
“It’s for my mom.”
“She played guitar?”
“Yeah, it’s how she met my dad. They were in a rock band together in college.”
“That’s pretty cool.” And not what I was expecting. “Anyone I would have heard of?”
“Nah, they didn’t last, the band or the marriage.”
I knew that story all too well, had lived it. Even though they had never divorced, my parents did not have a happy marriage by any stretch of the imagination.
I’m sure they’d loved it in the beginning when they were partying together all the time. Then I came along and fucked up their lives. Didn’t stop the drinking and drugs though. I just got dragged along for the ride. So did Cooper until my mom decided I was old enough to stay home and babysit for them. I was six and Cooper was three.
As overwhelming as it was to be responsible for my brother at such a young age, it beat the hell out of going to parties with our parents. I still shuddered at the memories of some of the things I’d seen at those parties.
“She died a few months ago, and I found the picture when we were cleaning out her stuff,” Dylan said. “I thought it was cool so I held on to it.”
“What made you decide to get it tattooed on you?”
“I wanted something to remember her by, something permanent. I thought about doing a portrait on my back with angel wings. You know, so she’d always have my back, but it seemed kind of cheesy.”
It was and all of us had done that type of tattoo for that exact reason too many times to count. Didn’t matter what we thought though. The important thing was its meaning to the customer. If someone wanted a family member’s face inked around a pair of angel wings, we did it and made sure it was the best damn thing we’d ever done.
“Anyway, I ran across this picture the other day and it seemed like a sign, you know,” Dylan said and then huffed a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ll bet that sounds dumb.”
“Not at all.”
“Okay.”
I meant it, but I wasn’t surprised by the doubt in his voice. He probably thought it was part of my job to tell the customers what they wanted to hear.
It probably should have been, but that wasn’t my style.
“By the way, sorry about my brother,” Dylan said.
I frowned. “What?”
“You know, for what he said about you guys being gay.”
“You mean when he called us faggots?”
I wasn’t about to let him sugar coat that shit.
“Um, yeah.” Dylan’s voice was tight. “I know it’s not an excuse, but he’s still kind of messed up from our mom’s death. Nobody expected it.”
“What happened?”
Since he’d brought it up first, I didn’t feel bad about asking. I got the feeling he wanted to talk about it anyway.
“Car accident, this teenage girl was texting and driving. The girl, she got banged up, but she’s alive.” Dylan took a shaky breath. “Anyway, it’s been really hard for all of us, especially Britt. I’m trying to be a good example and keep him in line, but it’s not easy. He’s seventeen and thinks he’s too grown for all that.”
This guy couldn’t be much older, maybe twenty-one, but he sounded worn out. Something I understood all too well.
Growing up the way I did had aged me pretty fast. I’d been determined to keep the same thing from happening to Coop which was just another thing that had taken its toll on me. Some days, I felt twice as old as my twenty-nine years.
“Tell me about your mom.”
For the next hour, I listened as Dylan told me about his mother. From the way he talked, she sounded like the perfect mom. No doubt she wasn’t perfect, but any flaws she had were likely distorted by his loss.
I wondered what it was like though. To have a mom who actually loved you. I sure as hell didn’t have one. I hadn’t seen Marjorie since my dad’s funeral when the bitch had tried to hit me and Cooper up for money. And this was after she’d insisted we had to pay for his funeral because she couldn’t.
It had been tempting to leave the bastard for the county to deal w
ith, but Cooper had talked me out of it. For some reason, he felt like we had to see it through. Like dear old dad wouldn’t be dead until we saw his corpse lowered into the ground. So we paid for his funeral, but it was not the lavish affair our mother thought he deserved. I doubt she was as offended on Dad’s behalf as she claimed. I suspected it was more like she saw the writing on the wall when her time finally came.
Cooper and I weren’t the only ones lacking in the parent department. X’s mom had been just as bad as ours before bailing to leave X with his abusive dad. Damian’s parents had kicked him out when he’d come out, and he’d been forced to live on the streets before he’d managed to save up enough money to get a small place. And Flynn never mentioned his parents. The one time we had asked, not long after we’d met him, he’d gotten a dead look in his eyes and told us he didn’t have parents, not anymore. It was the last time we’d brought it up.
Our shitty backgrounds made it easier for us to relate to each other. It was also the reason we were so tight. We weren’t just coworkers. We were a band of brothers, family, and no one fucked with our family and got away with it.
Setting the gun aside, I wiped away the blood on Dylan’s skin before I leaned back and surveyed my work. It looked damn good if I did say so myself, but his opinion was the one that truly mattered.
“All done,” I said.
“Yeah? That was fast,” Dylan said. “I can’t wait to see it.”
I grabbed a hand held mirror and handed it to him. “Go ahead.”
While Dylan stood and headed for the full length mirror, I peeled off my gloves and started cleaning my station, waiting for his reaction.
“Damn, it looks so real. This is really good, Heath.”
The kid had a nice smile. The fact that I liked the way he said my name made me realize how long it had been since I’d gotten laid. It was definitely time for a trip to Whispers soon before I did something stupid like ask out a straight frat boy who was way too young for me.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it. I don’t know how to thank you.”
No matter how many times I heard it, shit like that never got old. I never had a good response for it. I knew the ink looked good, and I’d expected him to like it, but he didn’t need to hear that.
While Dylan went on staring at his new tattoo, and gushing over it, the bell above the shop sounded, followed by my little brother’s sing-song greeting.
“I have arrived, and I come bearing gifts!”
Cooper’s first stop was my station, a fact I was grateful for when I saw the tray of Starbucks drinks in his hands.
Man, I loved Starbucks. I didn’t give a shit if it made me sound like a hipster douchebag or a suburban soccer mom. Starbucks was awesome, and fuck anybody who made fun of me for it.
Cooper lifted a cup from the tray and handed it over. “Double shot on ice for my favorite brother.”
“Thanks, squirt.”
I used the nickname just to fuck with him, but he smiled at me. Cooper may have been several inches shorter than me, but he wasn’t a small guy at five-eleven.
As much as I hated giving the old man credit for anything, I got the height from him. Growing up, we’d heard endless stories about his glory days of high school football. I can only assume he wasn’t as good as he’d claimed to be since he hadn’t played past high school, but I had no doubt believing he’d played the sport. The man had been huge.
When I glanced at Dylan to ask if he was ready for me to wrap up his tattoo, I almost laughed out loud. Dude was looking at my little brother like a virgin seeing dick for the first time, blushing and everything.
His acceptance of being in our shop suddenly made sense. With a brother like Britt, I couldn’t help feeling bad for him though. If he ever did come out, it wasn’t going to be easy.
From the sly smile Cooper gave him, it was obvious he’d picked up on Dylan’s interest. I cringed at whatever he would say next. If you weren’t used to Cooper, he could be a little in your face.
Cooper gave Dylan a slow, head to toe perusal. “Looks like someone just got his cherry popped.”
“What?” Dylan’s face turned redder.
“I don’t see any other ink so I’m assuming Heath just did your first,” Cooper explained.
“Oh, uh, yeah, he was my first.” Dylan’s eyes widened. “I mean, he did my first tattoo.”
Cooper grinned. “Can I see?”
“Um, sure,” Dylan said and turned his back to Cooper.
Cooper moved closer, so close his chest could have been touching Dylan’s back. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the shop heard Dylan’s sharply indrawn breath.
I wanted to tell Cooper to back off and quit fucking with the dude, especially since he hadn’t paid yet. The last thing I needed was to get screwed out of a tip because Cooper was preying on the closeted guy, but I decided to let Dylan handle himself.
“It looks good,” Cooper said, and I recognized that tone.
It was the same one you would use with a skittish animal. One that said you weren’t there to hurt him. One I had no doubt my brother had used on a number of curious guys who were nervous about their interest in him.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Heath.”
“I, uh, already did.”
“Let me just wipe that blood off you and we’ll get you all wrapped up.”
I shook my head at Cooper taking over my duties, but if Dylan wasn’t going to say anything, neither was I.
Cooper reached for some gauze and had Dylan’s tattoo cleaned and covered in no time.
“There you go, all better,” Cooper said. “As much as I hate to say it, go ahead and get your shirt on, gorgeous, and then we’ll talk aftercare.”
As soon as Dylan had his shirt on, he was quick to seek out Cooper. I probably would have been pissed off that he’d forgotten who had done the actual work if I wasn’t so amused.
Though I didn’t like thinking of my little brother as someone who had a sex life, especially not when I could still remember changing his diapers, even I could admit he had serious game.
Dylan listened with rapt attention as Cooper gave him the rundown on tattoo aftercare and the signs of possible infection.
At the end of his speech, he whipped one of his business cards from his back pocket and handed it to Dylan. “And if you have any questions, no matter how silly you think they are, you can always call me. Day or night, I will always answer.”
Dylan took his eyes off Cooper long enough to glance at the card. “Okay, um, thanks, Cooper.”
“No problem. It’s what I’m here for,” Cooper said with a pretty smile.
“And thanks for what you did, Heath,” Dylan said. “It looks awesome. I’ll be sure to tell all my friends to come here when they want a tattoo.”
It was good to know he remembered I was in the room.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “You can settle up front with Damian.”
“Cool, thanks,” Dylan said.
“Let me walk you out,” Cooper offered.
“All right,” Dylan said, looking at Cooper like the guy had just offered to blow him right there in the shop.
“Thanks again, Heath,” Dylan said before letting Cooper lead him away.
I waited until I was sure they were a good distance away before I gave in to my laughter. Even then, I kept it quiet so I didn’t hurt the guy’s feelings.
Unfortunately for Dylan, he wasn’t the first guy I’d seen fall victim to the charms of the silver haired devil that was my brother. I’m sure he wouldn’t be the last either.
X came into my area. “I heard there was Starbucks.”
“Right there, but I don’t know what’s yours,” I said, pointing to the tray Cooper had left on the counter.
“It’s the vanilla bean frap,” Cooper said as he joined us. “The strawberry smoothie is for Flynn and Damian already got his drink.”
“You are unbelievable,” I said as X s
nagged his drink.
X frowned. “What did I do?”
“Not you. Cooper,” I said.
“What’d the kid do now?” X asked.
“I’m not a kid.” Cooper’s pout didn’t help his case. “And who says I did anything?”
“I know you,” X said and then gave me an expectant look.
“Little bastard came on to that frat boy I just tattooed,” I answered. “Gave the dude his card and pulled the whole ‘call me if you have any questions about your tattoo’ line.”
X grimaced. “You do realize that guy is so deep in the closet he’s probably finding his grandpa’s porn.”
Of course he would say that shit at the exact moment I took a healthy drink of my iced espresso. I almost choked; mother fucker.
Cooper just smiled. “It’s cool, X. Some of the best blow jobs I’ve gotten have been in closets.”
And there it was folks. The one thing that could make me lose the taste for my favorite Starbucks drink.
“You go ahead and fuck with closet cases if you want,” X said. “I like my guys so far out of the closet they’ve never even heard of Narnia.”
My thoughts exactly.
Chapter Two
Ned
“Are you sure about this?”
“All I’m gonna do is talk to someone,” Derek said.
I frowned. “I thought you wanted a tattoo.”
“I do, but I can’t just walk in and get one, Ned. Not without making sure these guys aren’t homophobic pricks. That’s why I’m doing a consultation first.”
I shook my head, but I couldn’t say I was surprised. As a police officer, Derek had a very black and white definition of right and wrong. There was no gray area for him.
Except for that one time, but I didn’t like to think about it, let alone talk about it. If anyone ever found out what Derek had done for me, he would probably be out of a job.
I shoved those dark thoughts aside. “And exactly how are you going to find that out?”
Derek grinned. “I’ll ask.”
Again, I wasn’t surprised by his answer, but I dreaded what would happen if he didn’t like what he found out.
Going Inksane (Nice Ink Book 1) Page 2