"Well if anyone can pull it off it's you. How can I just walk in and get a tattoo without an appointment? I refuse to get something off the wall if I'm going to do this."
"You decide what you want and leave the rest to me."
She turns and walks away, leaving me in silence. I stand from my bed and follow her. "Am I overdressed for where you want to go? You're cute and casual, and I’m going for the sexy but slutty look.” She’s wearing denim cutoffs, an off the shoulder, torn tee shirt showing your midriff, sneakers, and a flat bill cap with graffiti on the front. We couldn't be any more opposite ends of the spectrum if we were summer and winter.
"You look sexy and you are dressed appropriately. I think after your situation you need to dress like that. The fastest way to forget is to find a new toy. The place we are going has no judgments in the clothing category. It has a love for all." She winks as if I haven't been to every place in Atlanta.
I grab my clutch off the bar as she reaches for the doorknob. "Are you ready?"
"Lead the way."
I follow Delta through the glass door labeled with vinyl lettering: Inked aKross the skin. That's a strange name for a tattoo shop. "Is this going to hurt?"
"Yes," she answers, almost nervous. Why is she nervous? I mean sure, the place is big enough and it looks like it has more of a corporate feel to it instead of a random hole in the wall tattoo shop, but it's still just a tattoo shop. She's done this several times.
"Hi. Welcome to Inked aKross the skin. Are you going to be tattooing today or are you just here for a consultation?"
My line of vision follows the squeaky voice sitting in front of a brick wall, behind the counter in the center of the room. The brick is supporting a neon sign made into the name of the shop. The room sways my attention. I look around in awe. Nice. The whole room is like an art gallery for tattoos, showing off large poster sized one-of-a-kind pieces. It looks professional, but dark. There is no white to be found. The entire place is done in navy and brick, accented with neon pink signs in different variations. "I'm taking it the owner likes neon," I mumble to myself.
"I have two appointments with Kross Brannon."
Delta's voice brings me back to the girl in the middle of the room that doesn't fit what I would think should be behind the counter of a tattoo shop. I'm not normally one to judge, but she's wearing a navy polo with the business logo in bright pink over the left breast. Her hair is long, but she has it pulled back in a low ponytail. It's more professional instead of grungy. I think Kat Von D would walk in here, turn around, and walk out, probably cursing that this is a disgrace to the tattoo industry. She doesn't even look like she has tattoos. Isn't it kind of a requirement to advertise for the type of business that you are in? Who would want a tattoo if the staff doesn't even have them?
The girl stands and holds out her hand. I stare at it. Really? A hand shake? Delta returns the gesture. "My name is Cassie. It looks like you're a little early. Mr. Brannon is finishing up his seven o'clock appointment now." She lays down two clipboards, each attached with a form on the counter, followed by a pen. "Delta, I know you filled out the paperwork ahead of time, but we need both signatures and a copy of each driver's license to keep on file. If you'll do that for me while I lock the door, then I'll lead you both to the studio when finished. You both are his last appointments for the evening."
I remove my license and lay it flat on the counter, biting my tongue to try and remain serious as I pick up the pen to sign my ink-less skin away. "What would you have done had I said no, you sneaky ass?"
She quickly signs and whispers as she digs her driver's license out of her wrist wallet. "I would have begged you shamelessly, drug you by the hair, and then strapped you to that tattoo chair. You wait forever to get an appointment with this guy. I've had our names on the list since he opened here. He has shops all over the continental US. How we got so lucky I have no idea."
Delta never begs for anything. Noting that comment for future reference. Cassie takes our licenses and disappears into a door, what I imagine is an office, returning with a sheet of copy paper and our licenses after a few short moments. She gathers up our forms and attaches them neatly, filing them away in a drawer. "Okay. I think we're ready. Follow me."
She opens the door that resides on the same brick wall the counter sits in front of, but off to the side. The building is not huge in diameter, but it's tall. You can see that just from the outside. As the door opens a staircase is revealed. We climb them one by one until we reach the top. The walls of the top floor are painted navy just like you see downstairs, again decorated with miraculous works of framed tattoo art being spotlighted from the small lights above each one, gallery style. The floor is stained concrete, also dark in color. Stations line each of the walls, each consisting of a black, leather chair that reclines, a mirror framed in black hanging above a narrow counter with drawers and cabinets, and a neon sign above each station mirror reading the name of the artist that occupies the station. The entire room is dim, except for the hanging, black, adjustable spotlights above each chair reminding me of a surgical table.
I'd love to know how much this dude spends on fucking neon.
The buzzing of the tattoo gun stops, catching my attention. All stations are empty except the last. "Is this my eight o'clock," the deep voice asks without looking up from the area of skin he's wiping.
"Yes. The girls are ready when you are. Where do you want them?"
"Put one at Wesson's table and the other at Remington's."
His voice sounds sexy, controlling, and domineering, but I have yet to look at his face. Maybe that has something to do with me staring like an idiot into the smoldering blue-gray eyes of the one getting the tattoo. Fucking hell is he one hot piece of man-candy, completely appetizing to my lady bits. He looks a little rough around the edges with his shaved head and five o'clock shadow, both dark in color.
I allow my eyes to savor his body in its entirety, completely unashamed. Hey, there is nothing wrong with enjoying a beautiful view that is already on display. His top half is completely bare, and nothing less than chiseled muscles of perfection. He is lying on the reclined chair flat on his stomach, his arms crossed and propping his head up by his chin to allow space for breathing. The buzzing of the tattoo gun starts again as if we aren't interrupting anything at all.
My eyes stop on that marvelous fucking ass, the beginning of the climb that makes up the beautiful shape peeking out of the waistband of his jeans as if he needs a belt.
My mouth is dry.
It’s getting hot in here.
I swallow, visions of that body rubbing against mine haunting my thoughts.
"You want a closer look?"
That's a different voice than the first one. I finally get knocked back into the damn present.
Shit. His voice is just as tempting as his looks.
I start blinking at a rapid rate. "Excuse me?"
My eyes quickly divert back to his face. He has a cocky grin spread across the bottom half. His mouth. Fuck, his mouth. I just want to run my fingertips over his full lips, right before nibbling on them with mine.
I cross my legs at my feet, trying to be subtle, and suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable between my legs. What the hell? He's not even my type. He's a little too jagged for me, seeming slightly jaded, and cocky...definitely cocky. I would classify him as a bad-boy all the way. He probably is in a band or something, maybe even a bartender like Delta, the furthest from my type you can get.
My eyes connect with his...again, just before his line of vision goes directly to my crossed ankles and back. Fuck subtle I guess. Oh well. The beauty to being a strong woman is owning your sensuality. So I'm attracted to him, no big deal. A woman can be attracted to a lot of men. It doesn't mean I'm going to act on it.
"The tattoo. Do you want a closer look?"
I wave him off, metaphorically speaking. "Nah. That's okay. I don't want to be in the way."
"Come here."
I glance at
Delta, but she's watching the artist like a hawk, biting her bottom lip as if she's mentally fucking him. I know this, because I've known her since we were kids.
"You won't bother him. He could tattoo in the middle of a fucking hurricane and still come out with a perfect piece."
The voice of the mysterious man I would love nothing more than to see between my legs pulls my attention back to the activity at hand. Did I just think that? I need alcohol...lots and lots of alcohol.
The artist retorts to his comment with a dry laugh. Without instructing them to, my feet start to move toward them. I grab Delta's arm along the way, pulling her with me. I'm not standing next to something that fine without a wingman, or woman in our case.
I stop in front of him and look over his head. The tattoo artist is finishing up the shading of the tattoo that runs from the flat area between his shoulder blades down to the bottom of his back, his very defined back. There is no way he's done all of that in one session, and I’m guessing what they have done today started hours ago. I'm not real sure what it is. It's dark. I know that. At first glance it looks like a grim reaper, but instead of a skeletal body under the cloak it's human flesh, perfectly sculpted to resemble a fit man, everywhere except the hands. You can only see the outline of the face peeking out of the hood, because he's looking down at the claw-like skeletal hands covered in blood, forming a shape like they're holding an invisible ball. It's huge, covering most of his back.
"Damn. That must hurt. Strangely, I like it. It's different." I say nothing more, because Delta taught me long ago that you never ask what someone's tattoo means. It's the outward proof of someone's most intimate thoughts, a way to bare their soul a little at a time. If they want you to know, then you will know the exact moment to bring it up or they will tell you before you have to.
My leg starts to give, offsetting my balance, probably from locking both knees in these heels. Without even thinking my hands grab the top of his shoulders to steady myself. The instant heating of my body as it transfers from his to my hands cause me to quickly release him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."
"What's your name?"
I look down at his head in the same position it's been in. "Lux. And yours?"
"Kaston."
"Oh. Okay. It's nice to me-"
"Lux."
"Yes?"
"I'm not complaining of this view, but if you don't get your pussy away from my face I will not be held responsible for my actions when I get up from this chair. I may be in physical pain, but I'm still a man. At some point the brain stops working and the dick takes over. Consider yourself warned."
I immediately back up, unsure of what to say, and surprised I didn't bust my ass in my attempt to step back. Oh. My. Hell. I look around. Cassie is nowhere to be found and Delta is pursing her lips as if she's trying not to laugh at me. I narrow my eyes at her. Bitch, I will cut you.
For the first time since we arrived I notice the artist's face as he looks up and starts cleaning the finished tattoo with what looks like soapy water on a paper towel. The beginning of a smirk takes place in the corner of his mouth. How did we end up in the den of hot guys? "It's true though. I have to agree with him, especially after getting a look at you two. I'm Kross." He circles his black latex-covered index finger in the air. "Owner and artist. I'm almost done with my boy and you're up. Who's going first?"
"Actually, Kross, I have a little spare time. I can do Lux while you do..."
He pauses.
"Delta," she fills in.
"Delta," he repeats, finishing his sentence. "It'll give you a quicker break after the hours spent on my session. It's the least I can do."
My mouth drops. No fucking way.
Kross looks into the mirror across the room as he starts rubbing ointment over the tattoo before covering it, assuming so he can see Kaston's face. "You sure, man? It's been a while, hasn't it?"
He looks at me heatedly. I suddenly feel very naked. "I'm sure."
I look between the two of them. Shouldn't I have a say so in this matter? I am the client. Before he looks away I catch Kross scanning down Delta's body. I almost missed it had I not been looking. "Yeah, okay, if it's okay with Lux I'm down. I'd like to see your work again. I know it's good. How long has it been? Shit, college?"
"Something like that," Kaston says.
"Are you guys sure?" I look at Delta. "I kind of wanted Delta to draw it out, so I was going to let her go first. I don't really know what I want. She's the one that wants to tattoo, so I was going to let her design it for me."
Her mouth is gaping and her eyes are as big as saucers. She's pissed. One thing about Delta is that she doesn't like to be called out when she isn't ready for something, but she will never brag on herself. She's been talking about tattooing since we graduated high school. I love her, but I'm sick of hearing that she's going to and it's time for her to actually do it.
"No shit," Kross says. "Do you have a portfolio with you?"
She starts to shake her head, but I interrupt. "She's wearing it."
"Lux, shut up. I'm sure he's busy and ready to leave. Let's just get started. I'm here to get a tattoo not bore him."
Kaston stands as Kross finishes covering his tattoo and goes for his shirt, but I continue looking at Delta. I hear the spritzing of a spray bottle and look over to him wiping down the chair that Kaston was just lying on. Placing the sprayer and towel aside, he disposes of the gloves and grabs her hand, pulling her toward him. Her cheeks are starting to change color. It dawns on me.
Fucking shit, she thinks he's hot. It all makes sense now. How did I not catch this?
"Sit."
She does as he says. "I'm going to look at them."
He starts with her sleeve in progress, rubbing his hands over each one as if he's touching a sculpture. "Some of the ones I drew forever ago probably aren't that great. I'm an amateur," she says with a slight stutter in her speech. He intimidates her. That never happens.
He moves to her thigh, brushing his fingertips over the vivid colors. "Lay back." As she does he raises her shirt, looking at the art further up on her ribs, halfway hidden by her shirt. His fingers trace the lines almost as if he's worshipping them. I've never seen someone study ink that way. He never looks at her face until he's done. "Where do you work, Delta? Have you ever tattooed someone's skin before?"
Are we even still in the room? I feel like we're intruding on a business meeting. She shakes her head. "I bartend a few blocks away."
"You really want to tattoo? Do you want mediocre or do you want to learn from the best?"
She sits idle. Staring. No words are exiting her mouth. I'm not even sure if oxygen is.
"It's my only dream," is all she says. "Go big or go home is the way I live. I'm not going to change it now."
Their eyes are burning into each other’s. "Well I guess you stumbled in my shop at the right time, Delta. You see this station right here?"
He points to the one next to his. She nods.
"It just so happens that it's vacant. It's missing a sign above the mirror. Be here tomorrow at noon for an interview and a test. If you pass it's yours, and I will teach you everything I know. That opportunity will never come around again. Ninety-nine percent of the time my new hire artists have years of experience when they even come and apply for a job. My shop is the best, and so are my artists. This is a once in a lifetime chance. You in or out?"
She looks at me. I can tell she's trembling inside. I slightly nod to nudge her, before she returns her attention to him. "I'll be here. Thank you, Kross."
As if a switch just flipped he doesn't acknowledge her response. "Let's tattoo."
Weird.
The air shifts around me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. That's when I feel it...him. "You know, I'm pretty good at reading people," he whispers into my ear, making my eyes close upon the contact between his warm breath and my ear. "I want to take your tattoo virginity. Trust me with your body."
My internal walls are quaking from hi
s voice alone more than any other male before. I just met him. I don't understand it, but tonight...I'm going to let it ride. "What makes you think I don't have any tattoos already?"
He places his hands on my hips and rotates us in a one hundred and eighty degree turn, until we're both looking in the mirror at each other. "Like I said, I'm good at reading people. No one has secrets, Lux. All you have to do is read between the lines."
He slides both hands down my dress, stopping at the bottom hem at my thighs. Grabbing the fabric, he starts pulling it up my legs. "What are you doing?" I whisper the question. Am I really letting a guy I met two seconds ago do this?
He continues.
I don't stop him.
I guess I am.
"Digging deeper. Respecting your body. Adding to its beauty. Every tattoo should tell a story of the person inside. Each is open to interpretation to the viewer. No one has to know the real meaning if you don't want them to."
My lips part, but nothing comes out. No words. No air. Nothing. I just stand here and watch him pull my dress up my body until it's at my breasts, leaving only the necessities covered. He tucks the fabric underneath the wiring of my bra. "The perfect canvas...is a clean one. Let me paint my interpretation of the girl that lies inside. Trust me with your body," he repeats again.
"Okay."
One word. Trust. That one word holds more meaning for me than most people. It's also one part of myself that I never give anyone. The fact that I agreed to give it to this stranger is mind-boggling.
He steps forward, inching me toward the chair, before stepping around me and straddling it. The sound of the voices and the buzzing of the tattoo gun behind us takes away my thoughts reminding me that I'm nearly naked in a tattoo shop. Kaston pats the seat in front of him as he turns and starts digging in the cabinet, pulling out ink colors and all the necessities I suppose you need for tattooing. I wouldn't really know since I'm a newbie.
Thank God I wore underwear…
I grab the back of the chair for leverage and step over the bottom seat until I'm straddling it in the opposite direction of him, trying to keep my distance by scooting as close to the back of the chair as possible while closing my knees together. He pulls a rolling tray toward the side of him with a bunch of things piled on top and turns to look at me. One look and that fucking cocky grin is back. I follow his line of vision and realize my hands are crossed over my lap, trying to hide my underwear. When did I become modest?
Marked Page 7