“If you still want that piercing, we’ll do it before we leave at the end of the day.”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
Walking into my workspace, I shoved my purse into a cabinet before taking a seat on a stool. I had framed examples of tattoos I’d done up on the wall, as well as a book of basic designs sitting on the counter. It had everything from butterflies to skulls and was useful for people that came in without a concrete idea of what they wanted, which wasn’t common.
“Nice of you to show up,” Piper said from the workstation beside me. There was a man in her chair, staring at his phone while she tattooed a panther on his shoulder.
“It’s Jason’s fault. He gave me my car back with a damn nail in the tire. I had to change it out this morning.”
“Why did he borrow your car, anyway?” she asked without looking up.
“Because all he has is a bike, and it was raining yesterday. I don’t know where he needed to go, but he just kept whining about getting soaked until I gave in.”
“You softie.”
I chuckled. That might be the first time I was ever called that.
Picking up my trash can, I spit out the gum, which had already lost its flavor. I only chewed it as a deterrent, anyway, trying to kick my stress-induced smoking habit. I knew that cigarettes were terrible for my health, but it was a bad habit that I had picked up as a teenager. I usually only had one or two a day, but I had been attempting to quit for the last month. No more smelling like an ashtray for me.
Brie brought back my first client, a woman I had been working with for the last couple of days. She had come to me to design a massive piece for her entire back. It was a flowering tree, its roots stretched along the base of her spine while the top branches spanned her shoulder blades. Yesterday, I had spent hours outlining the tattoo. Today, we were adding color.
As the client settled into place on my chair with her shirt off, I adjusted the height on my stool until I was comfortable and got to work. The buzzing of my tattoo gun was the only sound in my ears as I lost myself in the work.
I loved when the rest of the world fell away, and I could just create another masterpiece. Some people might not be too impressed with my profession, but I was happy. I considered myself an artist. My canvas was the human body, and my art lasted nearly forever.
My client was a champ, lying still and not even asking for a break. The only time I got a reaction out of her at all was when I was coloring in green leaves along her ribs. She tensed ever so slightly and sucked in a sharp breath.
I couldn’t blame her for that. I had a tattoo along the front of my right ribcage—the wordsOne Life To Live—so I knew that it was one of the more painful areas to have tattooed.
After three hours, her tattoo was finished, and I snapped a picture of it for my portfolio. I had heard Piper take a couple of Gary’s clients while I was working, so I knew that I was going to have to do the same. Taking a break before Brie had a chance to bring someone back for me to work on, I stepped out the back door and popped another piece of gum in my mouth. Pulling out my phone, I fired off a quick text to my brother.
Hey, asshole. You owe me a new tire.
I smirked as I sent it, knowing full well that he was going to try to squirm out of buying it.
Ten minutes passed quickly, and it was time to get back to work. Sure enough, when I stepped inside, Brie was waiting for me with a skinny man that I’d never seen before. I had to try to squeeze him in before my one o’clock appointment. I hated being under pressure like that.
Brie had better find a replacement for Gary soon.
At the end of the day, which was an hour later than usual, I was more than ready for it to be over. I put the finishing touches on a pink hibiscus flower, wiping the ankle tattoo clean as the woman shook with tears in her eyes.
Some people just couldn’t handle any amount of pain. They really had no business getting tattoos, but that wasn’t my problem. The ones with low pain tolerances had money that was just as green as everyone else’s. The only time it bothered me was when the customer kept asking for breaks, and the appointment ran too long.
Putting down my gun, I massaged my aching hand, flexing my fingers.
“Hell of a day, huh?” Piper had already cleaned her tattoo gun and was now sweeping the floor.
“Yeah. I could use a drink. You want to come?” I asked, starting my own cleaning process.
“Where do you want to go?”
I shrugged. “Anywhere but The Pit.”
“Come on,” Piper whined, leaning against the half wall that separated us. “Xander will be there.”
“Yeah, along with all the other Las Balas members. Including my dad.”
I didnotparty with my old man. We weren’t that close, but I didn’t want him to see me tossing back tequila shots or shaking my ass on the dancefloor. It would be weird. My dad was at The Pit nearly every night since it was the hangout of his motorcycle club. Xander was a part of the club, too, and nearly ten years older than Piper. I didn’t get the attraction, but I was never into older men. I wasn’t going to be a twenty-three-year-old trophy wife. If I ever settled down at all, it would be with someone that was young enough to have some fun and keep up with me in the bedroom.
