I gage the paper and clasp my hands in front of my chest. “Looks great. I guess we can get started.” The minute I realize what actually comes next, heat rises to my cheeks, and I know they’re turning the color of the bright red ink I use for my traditional tattoos.
“I just need you to…um.” I wiggle my fingers in the direction of his chest. Thank God he doesn’t make me say it. As if reading my mind, Valen reaches for the bottom hem of his t-shirt and slowly pulls it over his head, revealing the most muscular, corded torso I’ve ever seen. I pride myself on being a professional…but holy shit. I swallow back a wave of desire and pray I can make it through the tattoo without having to change my dripping wet panties.
CHAPTERTWO
VALEN
I’ve seen Anastasia before,but only in passing. When I went to the website and saw she was a tattoo artist here, I knew she was the one to give me my memorial piece. With her fiery red hair and dark blue eyes, it’s undeniable that she’s a total stunner. I’m not usually into women with tattoos, but she wears them well. Not overdone like some female artists, but classy and vibrant. I wonder what kind of ink she’s sporting underneath that cute little vintage dress she’s wearing.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder and uncaps a red sharpie before heading over to where I stand, then licks her bubble gum pink lips before bringing the felt tip against my pec. I shouldn’t be turned on right now, but I can’t help it. Anastasia smells like lemon and coconut, good enough to eat.
When she takes a step back to assess her work, I get to admire her gorgeous curves. Soft in all the right places, thick and sturdy, she’s the kind of woman I’ve always craved. I will myself not to stiffen on the spot. How fucking creepy is that? The woman’s just trying to do her job, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t want her to know how hot she’s making me. It’s instant and unexplainable but I don’t care. After the last few months, I could use a good release, and I’d love to experience that with sweet Anastasia.
“I like this.” She shakes her head, eyes on my chest. “But it’s up to you. Go take a look in the mirror. Tell me what you think.”
The full-length mirror stands a few feet away. She follows me over, standing behind me as I inspect the gorgeous, scrolling font decorating the smooth skin right above my heart. The sight of her name nearly makes me cry, but I hold it together because I refuse to cry in front of anyone…ever.
“It’s perfect, Anastasia.” I lean in a little closer, visualizing how gorgeous it’ll be when it’s done, then turn to face her. Her sparkling eyes meet mine, and again, I’m dumbfounded by her simple beauty. She looks like the kind of girl who grew up next door and then one day stepped into her own and shocked the town by finding herself. She exudes confidence, and to me, that’s the sexiest accessory a woman can wear. “I love it.”
Her face breaks out into a wide smile. “Good!” She clasps her hands in front of her chest, causing her full breasts to bounce. My body tenses as I resist the urge to tell her to forget the tattoo, to come back with me to my place and blow off steam with me. Yeah, sex would be great, but she has no idea how lonely I’ve been. No one does. I’m craving companionship, too.
“Well, Valen, if everything looks good, we can go ahead and get started.” She swings her chair around so that I can sit while she sets up a tray next to it. I watch her work, amazed at how cool it must be to do this for a living. She fills two clear caps with ink, plugs her machine into its power source, and puts on a pair of hot pink rubber gloves. She must catch me staring because she wiggles her fingers. “Pink’s my favorite color. Besides, all the guys here wear black. I like being a little different from everyone else.” She winks at me.
She has no idea how different she is. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s like a breath of fresh air on a hot, stifling day. I feel completely at ease with her, and that’s something that I’m not used to.
“First tattoo?” She asks, buzzing her machine.
“Yep.”
“Nervous?”
“Nope.”
“Good,” she says. “My clients all tell me I have a gentle touch.” I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from her full, kissable lips. “Okay, I’m going in.” She slowly lowers the needle until it touches my skin. It doesn’t hurt; it’s more of a stinging sensation. After a few minutes, I grow used to it, and the area almost feels numb.
“So, Shelly, huh?” She asks, neck craned over her work. “Someone special?”
“Was someone special.”
She stops what she’s doing and meets my eye. “A break-up tattoo? That’s a new one.”
“Not quite,” I say, stuffing my emotions down to the depths of my guts. “Shelly was my mother. She died two weeks ago.”
“Oh my God.” Anastasia’s face falls, and I swear her dark blue eyes grow instantly watery. “I am so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say. It’s anything but. “She was sick.” I open my mouth to speak but change course. “I almost said that she’s in a better place, but the truth is I have no idea where she is. All I know is that she’s not here, and I miss her a lot.”
Another swell of emotion burns my chest, and I rush to conceal it. For the last two weeks I’ve held it together. I kept my cool at both the wake and the funeral, greeting guests and keeping my emotional outbursts behind closed doors. The fact that Anastasia’s bringing up these emotions so easily isn’t lost on me. Although, it might just be part of the trade. What do they say about tattoo artists? Part artist, part shrink, and in this case, it’s definitely true.
“My mother died a few years ago,” she says, bringing the machine back to my chest. “It was the worst year of my life. I still haven’t recovered.” She shakes her head and says under her breath, “I’m not sure I ever will.”
I feel the exact same way. Trapped in a black hole of sadness and guilt for not being there all these years. For living my own life and ignoring hers when she gave up everything for me. As a single mom, she worked her ass off so that I never went without, and how did I repay her? Coming back for the last few months of her life? I’m a horrible son.
“It’s a beautiful tribute.” Anastasia moving the tattoo machine back and forth over a particularly tender spot. When my eyes start to water, I chalk it up to physical pain. It makes things easier that way.
CHAPTERTHREE
ANASTASIA