Surprise covers my features as I grab a pair of spandex gloves, “You like my Dad’s work?”
“I like your Dad period.” He stretches his limbs, and a cracking sound permeates the air. “He’s a great man. Must be a great dad too.”
I place my tablet on the table. “Couldn’t ask for a better one.”
Nodding his head in agreement, he says, “Me neither.”
“Do you want to take the helmet off?” A shield. A mask. A disguise. It’s hot outside even in the morning.
What is he trying to hide? If that’s what he’s doing. It’s either a helmet or a pair of sunglasses and a ball cap.
His fingertips tap against the surface of the table as he responds, “Can’t be seen with you, it’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Can you see the fuck you in my smile?” My lips stay glued as I fake a wide grin.
He gives me a quick glance. “Suits you.”
He is so antagonizing. I don’t know how he does it.
“It’s a part of me, might as well, you know,” he adds.
“So it doesn’t mean you want me to tattoo your face.” My voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Shame.”
He chuckles. “Hard pass.”
“Okay, what would you like me to tattoo and where?” Back to being the professional I am, I fix the equipment around me.
“Ride in peace on my wrist.”
I spend ten minutes playing with different fonts until we find the one he likes the most and when he is ready, my eyes don’t stray from his ringed fingers, and the prominent veins that lead to a couple of bracelets circling his wrists.
I just want to run my fingers over his veins and feel them pop out—just thinking about it gets me excited as I suppress a shiver. God, I hope I don’t smile like an idiot.
Get a hold of yourself horny bitch.
It’s not me, it’s my motherfucking hand kink taking possession of my body.
The bracelets don’t interfere with the stencil placement but they definitely distract me. “Can you take the bracelets off?”
“Sure.” He drags them up slowly. As if on purpose they get stuck mid-way before he extracts them all.
Motherfucker.
I sterilize his hand, prepare everything after I put the stencil, and wait a few minutes. The machine springs to life and I start to line the first word.
I forgot my speaker in my room, music helps me focus, and it is a nice getaway from awkward silence.
“Why are you here?”
“For my dad,” I answer.
“Why did you come here?” he questions, causing me to quark an eyebrow at him.
“A change of scenery.” I press the needle back to his flesh, watching the pain ooze out of his eyes. Yet I’m not sure if it’s from the tattoo or a different kind of pain. The same pain I saw in Dad’s eyes countless times.
He waits until I pull the needle again. “An escape?”
I give him a stern eye.
