“I’d suggest turning it into a barbed wire band or maybe something Aztec.” Her slim finger pointed to one design. Short, neat nails painted black, of course. A silver band was on the thumb of her left hand. “This one’s pretty common, but I can do some variations to make it unique if you like.”
“You been doing this long?” I wasn’t sure it was such a great idea to get ink from a tattoo virgin.
She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the drawings. “I was a fine arts major in college. Then after…” Her throat cleared. “I needed a job. Carl showed me how to work the equipment.”
I noticed her near-slip, but let it pass. “A fine artist?”
“Yeah.”
“So I guess your biggest problem was fear of needles.”
“Oh, you don’t see the needle.” She was starting to relax and make eye contact more. Still there was something up with her, a guard or something. It had me curious. “It’s more like illustrating with an ink gun. The blood was the worst part for me.”
My arm flinched back at that. “I’ve never bled getting a tattoo.”
“It only happens once in a while.” Her silky hair swished over her right shoulder as her head moved. For a split second, I wished it was all there. The way the right side hung in long waves, I could tell she’d be pretty without her disguise on.
“I faint at the sight of blood.”
“At least you share the pain.” I teased, hoping to diffuse the remaining tension. “But let’s try and avoid that drama with me.”
“So you want me to do it?” She walked around the counter, and I got the full view—including the shoes. Her skinny jeans ended at black and brown, needle-thin stripper heels.
“Those are some shoes,” I said. “How tall are you for real?”
A little color appeared in her cheeks, and it softened her looks so much, I wanted to make it happen again. “Five foot.” She pulled out a sketch pad and wrote Stacy in almost the exact script of my arm.
“You’d make a good forger.”
The pink stayed on her cheeks, and in five more quick strokes, she’d turned it into a design that was completely unrecognizable as a name. Then she turned the pad toward me.
“Damn, girl. You’re good.”
Bingo. Red flooded her face, and she was all softness, defenses down. She looked really pretty. “I’ve been at it about six months.”
“Let’s get started.”
She nodded and led me back to a chair with a table attached. An assortment of inks was arranged on a rack, and she picked up the gun and a few tips. “I didn’t ask if you wanted color.”
“Plain black is fine.”
She nodded and went to the cabinet, pulling down a narrow-headed, disposable razor, alcohol, and a cotton ball.
Carl’s voice snapped from the back where he was working. “Kenny.” He didn’t sound mean, but definitely stern. “You forgot the paperwork.”
She dropped the cotton ball, and her hand pushed the short side of her hair back. “Oh my god, I never forget that.” It was said more to herself, so I didn’t answer. Truth was, I’d forgotten it, too.
“I’m sorry.” She quickly went back to the desk. I couldn’t believe how fast she could move and still stay upright in those shoes. In a flash, she was back with a clipboard, pointing to the different paragraphs as she spoke. “It’s basically a standard consent form. You verify you’re not intoxicated, don’t have HIV to your knowledge, the basics.”
“No problem.” I signed on the dotted line, and she took it back then returned to pick up where she’d left off.
“I’m going to shave your arm here,” she said, smoothing two fingers over my forearm. “It won’t be as noticeable since your hair’s pretty fine anyway.” With a gentle, but firm touch, she turned my arm over and ran the razor across my skin.
“How long do you think this will take?”
This girl was not my type at all, but still I hoped she’d say it would take a while. I liked looking at her.
Slim, dark brows pulled together. “An hour? Maybe two?”