“Hi, Sebastian.” She nodded in greeting, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week. Are you ready for me?”
“Absolutely. Head over to my chair over there.” He smiled, pointing to the tattoo chair in the back of the room. “I just have to grab the design from the printer for you.”
I went back to working on my portfolio while Seb got his client settled in, or trying to work on my portfolio when my mind was racing with anticipation.
While Seb was working on Krista’s tattoo down the back side of her other arm, the door to the shop opened again. I swung my eyes toward the door quickly, only to find David Wheeley, head shaved and covered in ink, tattoos trailing down his arms under his too-loose T-shirt, standing at the door. If I kept turning my head like that, I was going to get a kink, and not the fun kind.
“Hi, Mr. Wheeley, can I help you?” I put my laptop on the sticker-covered table and stood from the couch under the large front windows so I could greet him. Mr. Wheeley wasmy old math teacher turned big-rig truck driver. His small frame and delicate features were in complete contrast to the stereotypical heavily tattooed man.
“Hey, Lydia, it’s just David nowadays,” he laughed. “Do you know if Sebastian takes walk-ins?”
“He does, if he has the time. Unfortunately, he’s with a client right now. It’ll probably be about another hour, maybe less, if you want to wait though.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll just hang out here with you, if you don’t mind.” His cheek twitched in a shy smile. “There are worse ways to spend my time than sitting next to a pretty lady.” Mr. Wheeley—David—was a young teacher back in the day. Probably not even thirty when I was in high school, but I had to physically stop my eyebrows from shooting into my hairline.Was my old math teacher hitting on me?
We sat next to each other on the couch, making small talk about what we had been up to in the past twelve years since he had left teaching. David tried to subtly scooch closer to me every couple of minutes, his arm draped along the back of the couch in an almost unnatural way. I slid back on the couch, putting a little more space between us each time.
“Lydia,” Seb snapped. “Can you come here, please?”
“Excuse me,” I said to David, grabbing my camera and crossing the space to get to Seb and Krista.
“What’s up?”
He hesitated for a second, concentrating on his lines, before he asked quietly, “Everything good over there?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” I shifted my weight from leg to leg. David didn’t give me any creepy vibes, but I still didn’t want him in my personal space. Still, he hadn’t done or said anything out of line.
“Do you want me to ask him to leave?”
“Why would I do that? David’s a potential client. He was hoping you’d have time to squeeze him in after you’re finished here.”
“Oh, I think he wants to squeeze something in alright,” Krista laughed.
Seb did not.
His gaze narrowed, his shoulders suddenly tense.
Krista’s eyes darted between Seb and me, and she chuckled. “Oh, he’s a protective one, isn’t he?”
A wave of emotion swept over me.
Protected. Supported. Safe.
Seb didn’t demand that no man talk to me. He didn’t treat me like his property, his toy that only he could play with.
He kept an eye on me, asking me if I needed him to handle this—because he would, in a heartbeat.
Just then, the front door opened again, and a group of four women, aged early-forties to late-sixties, strolled in. A wide grin stole over my face. “Besides, I’m not sticking around out here. I’ve got company.”
“Back room is all set up. Let me know if you need more chairs or anything.”
“Thank you.” Seb acted like it was nothing, but it wasn’t nothing. He was letting me use his private room to host as many of the mastectomy tattoo clients as were willing to come. The series I had planned was deeply personal and important to me, but Seb knew that already. My family’s tragedy had affected him too, enough to comp the time and work it took to create his art pieces to give these women something that represented their strength and survival. I had the most intense urge to kiss him, but I would never risksomeone’s permanent ink by distracting the artist mid-work. I turned to head toward the front to greet the women when Seb called me back.
He wiped the back of Krista’s arm, then turned to me, manspreading on his stool with lust in his eyes. At least that was the L-word I was using in my mind. The other one felt too big, too soon, to consider. I stepped between his open knees and leaned in, placing a long kiss to his lips, albeit a pretty PG one.
“You and the ladies have fun in there,” he smirked.
I said hello to Lisa and introduced myself to the three women I hadn’t met. Brenda was in her late sixties but looked like she could be in her late fifties, with stylish bangs and white capri pants. Amy was in her fifties. She had bleach-blonde hair and was clearly taking advantage of her new breasts, wearing a low-cut top that showed more cleavage than a nightclub in New York. Lauren was probably in her early forties and was the exact opposite of Amy. Shy and quiet, her glasses and cardigan gave off some serious librarian vibes.
