“Deep breath in,” I say.
Micky starts humming the Oscar Mayer wiener theme song. I glance up, and Rhys is shaking his head and fighting off a smile. Her attempt to relax him works.
“Little pinch,” I say, inserting the needle. “Exhale.”
Rhys blows out a breath.
He barely made a peep. Atta boy.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he says.
Micky squeezes his hand, then exhales with relief. I grin. She showed up ready to rock, but I think watching me shove a needle through her husband’s penis had her a bit worried for him. I was mostly worried we weren’t going to be able to fit eight, but his anatomy is quite . . . accommodating.
“You did awesome!” I screw on the barbell and clean up with saline before moving to the next mark.
“Another deep breath.” I insert the needle.
“Ouch.” I’m not surprised, his pain receptors are more awake after the first bar. The last one will probably be the worst.
“Sorry about that. Try to relax a bit, go to your happy place.”
“I can’t go to my happy place, or I’ll end up hard again,” he mutters, making both Micky and me laugh.
“You’re doing great. You’ve only got one more, this one might be the worst, but then you’re all done for the day.”
He nods, and Micky rubs his back in slow circles, and a small band of sweat beads on his forehead.
“Release the tension from your shoulders. Deep breath in . . .”
“Fucking fuck!” he shouts. I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I can’t help it, there’s something about grown men experiencing brief, temporary pain—that they opted for—that will always amuse me. Maybe it’s just because shoving a needle through a man’s penis feels like a fun little consolation prize for putting up with the patriarchy. Thankfully, he doesn’t squirm much, so I’m able to work quickly, sliding the jewelry through and getting him cleaned up.
“You did it! You’re all done!”
He slumps back in the chair and exhales slowly.
“I’m so proud of you!” Mickey says, cupping his face and kissing him.
“Hellcat, I wouldn’t do this for anybody but you.”
They’re sweet. Once he’s all done, I give him the rundown on all the aftercare, and we exit the room.
Anna and Casper are walking down the aisle between the tattoo bays when she stops in her tracks. A soft smile grows on her face. “What are you doing here?” she asks, glancing behind me.
Micky whisper-shouts from behind me, “Your brother just got his di—” Her voice is suddenly muffled, and I spin around to see that Rhys has clapped his palm over his wife’s mouth.
“Consult,” he answers. “I’m getting a tattoo consult.”
“Yeah, let’s go with that.” Anna wrinkles her nose. “I’d rather part my hair with a chain saw than hear the rest of what Micky had to say.”
Thor and I laugh from behind our tattoo station walls, but everyone else remains professional. Logan is working on a guy’s arm a few feet away, but even with his head down, I can tell he’s smiling.
“Wait, what areyoudoing here?” Rhys asks Anna, cocking his head to the side.
“Consult,” she blurts, fidgeting with her cotton-candy-pink hair. I know for a fact she’s past the consultation phase, but that’s none of my business.
Rhys narrows his eyes. “Hm.”
I use the opportunity of silence to usher Rhys and Micky toward the front desk so we can settle up payment and hopefully spare her from any big-brother lecture she was about to receive. I don’t know much about their sibling dynamic, but I’ve heard through the grapevine that Rhys is very protective of his little sister, though she’s clearly in her mid-twenties. I don’t have any biological big brothers, but growing up in Black Rabbit, it sure felt like I did sometimes.
