I wear my usual hat and sunglasses, providing me with comfort that people won’t recognize me. The moment we walked into the parlor, Trinity tensed when she saw the man behind the counter. A mixture of black and colorful tattoos covers every single layer of his tan skin. He has arms the size of my fucking head. He’s dressed in all black, which I pull off better, obviously. Multiple piercings—his eyebrow, his nose, lip, and his ears—shine in the faint light coming from a desk lamp. If I didn’t work out five times a week, I’d be scared out of my fucking mind.
I thank Mom in my head for making me take self-defense classes three years ago. She was worried we might encounter crazy people with messed up minds when our fame escalated quickly. I took the stupid classes to make her feel more at ease. What can I say? I’m a mommy’s boy.
“Would you like to search through the pamphlet for any ideas?” He hands her the book once she’s filled out a piece of paper.
Trinity respectfully shakes her head. “I already know what I want.”
I raise an eyebrow in surprise. She didn’t tell me she had something in mind.
The guy nods his head and claps his hands together. “Let’s go in the back. I’ll draw up the idea before I ink you.”
She nods her head, shifting from one foot to the other as her hands slightly shake. You wouldn’t notice unless you were looking closely.
I grip her hand, steadying it in mine, and squeeze. “You don’t have to do this. You can back out now.”
“I want this.” Her voice is filled with determination. Squaring her shoulders, she looks me straight in the eyes. “I can do this.”
“Okay, love.” I kiss the tip of her nose before we walk toward the back, where the tattoo artist waits for Trinity.
I sit in the corner on a chair as Trinity explains what she wants in a hushed voice. My eyes stay on the tattoo artist the entire time, making sure he does everything she could ever want and more.
I watch as he shows her the final drawing. Smiling brightly, she gives him a thumbs-up. I try peeking over, but she slaps me away and scolds.
She wants it to be a surprise. I hate surprises.
I nearly let out a scream when she tells the tattoo artist she wants it right under her boob. That’s hot. I can’t wait to kiss it when she’s all sweaty under my sheets, breathing out my name.
Stop thinking of your girl naked. Getting a boner here is the last thing you need.
However, I hate that another man will touch my girl’s goodies. My jaw clenches.
Trinity gives me a nervous smile as she lies down on the chair, extending her hand out to me. I grip it tightly and kiss her knuckles. When the tattoo artist first glides the needle across her skin, she stills and lets out a painful breath. Her eyes water as she grits her teeth.
“Shit, this hurts. How come you didn’t warn me?” she rushes out, pressing her eyes shut tightly.
Gliding my thumb across her knuckles, I urge, “I thought that was obvious information you already knew yourself.”
“I hate how smart you are sometimes,” she jokes over the light buzzing. “How did you get all those?” she says, nodding down to my hands and arms.
I laugh lowly and glance down at the art on my skin. “Some parts didn’t hurt as much, but others were traumatizing.”
After I almost died from the pills, I went to get ink every Friday for four years. It was a way to cope and deal with my shit. The pain helped my head wander off from the mental pain I was experiencing. Every single one of my tattoos has a meaning behind it. I have tattoos on my back, wrists, forearms, knuckles, chest, and on the side of my ribs.
The only pet peeve I have with tattoos is when they’re in color. I like when they’re black. They’re more dramatic and clean-looking. Tattoos with color look to me like drawings from a child.
“Which ones hurt the most?” Trinity’s gritty voice cuts me out of my thoughts.
I gaze into her eyes. “Definitely the knuckle ones and the one on the side of my rib.”
The guy scoffs and nods while he works. “Those hurt like a motherfucker because they’re right on bones.”
I nod in agreement with him and watch as he continues to work on Trinity.
“Are you done yet?” her soft voice whispers into the silence.
“I just started.” He laughs.
With my thumb, I continue to stroke her hand as she groans.
