When they turn around, I’m close enough to slip an arm around Gen’s waist. She’s pliant in my hold as I pull her closer, and we share a small peck that lasts a little longer than it should.
“Hi, red,” I greet her when I pull away, gazing down at her magnificent eyes and beautiful face.
“Hi, wombat,” she murmurs in return.
“Do I get the same greeting?” Hana cheekily asks next to us. “Because I’m not opposed to it.”
Gen and I chuckle as we separate, and I give her friend a brief but tight hug. “I’m so glad you two could make it. A tour of the place is long overdue, isn’t it?”
“I guess you two were too busy testing the limits of the human body,” Hana replies.
“I’ll go back to the other clients,” Tina tactfully offers. “Let me know if you need anything from me, Jake.”
“Thanks, Tina.” I turn to Gen and her friend. “So, this is The Gallery by The Parlour. We host artists of all backgrounds, and the exhibit changes every month or two. This one’s a German street artist who isn’t mainstream yet, but we’re confident he’ll blow up soon. Most of his pieces have already sold, and the exhibit opened last week.”
“How do you select your artists?” Gen asks as we move closer to a painting.
“We work on submissions, where an artist sends us their portfolio. Tina has an art degree and a keen eye for it. Jude’s the other one who handles The Gallery, and he’s just as good.”
“I’m better,” Tina chimes in from the other side of the room. “I’m the one who came to you with this guy,” she reminds me, gesturing at the art surrounding us.
“She’s better,” I admit with a whisper. “Don’t tell Jude I said that though. Anyhow, we find our artists that way, and all three of us have to agree on the ones we select. When we’re not entirely sure, we involve Eli because he usually knows what’s trendy and what has the most likelihood of success.”
Gen and Hana nod, absorbed by the fine details of a painting. Greifster—the artist’s pseudonym—paints major cities in a way I’ve never seen before, with vibrant colors and organic shapes. From up close, it looks like a barely organized mess, but with a few steps back, it transforms into Paris, London, Berlin, Milan, New York…
Since they don’t stay as long on the pieces, the two women end up separating. I come closer and rest a hand on Gen’s hip as I bend to whisper in her ear, “Did you enjoy your day of relaxation, my love?”
I can hear her smile when she replies, “The masseuse told me I needed more rest because I kept dozing off.”
“Did you explain your boyfriend’s a greedy simp who can’t get enough of you?”
“Told her I’d rather keep getting dicked down all night, but thank you for the advice.”
I chuckle, knowing she didn’t say that but liking the idea. She takes my hand in hers as she moves on to the next painting, and we intertwine our fingers together. We go around the whole space, and it doesn’t matter if I already know all these pieces. I watch her as she discovers them.
Once they’re done, we move on to the level above. “This is our lobby and waiting room,” I explain when we get there. “I worked closely with an architect to create a space that makes sense, optimizing the natural sunlight on this floor. The wide and tall windows in the red brick are why the parlor is here and not downstairs. Each tattooing booth has its own window. The piercing ones are a little more sterilized and don’t have any.”
“Do you have a lot of clients?” Hana asks as she looks around at the few people there. Four on the couches and three at the reception desk, talking with Zack.
“We’re on a fast climb to becoming one of the city’s most reputable parlors,” I explain. “It’s great for us because we’re very young, so it means a lot that we got people to trust us so quickly. We offer a safe space for all and a judgment-free experience. We do have some ground rules we’re not willing to break, though.”
“Like what?” Gen wonders.
I think about them for a second; I’m a little rusty regarding that topic. “No slurs or hate symbols, no face tattoos that haven’t been thought of for at least six months, no tattoos on drunk people, no tattoos about or for someone you’ve known for less than a year—unless it’s a direct family member. We have a few more, but overall, they’re all common sense that we have to enforce because not everyone has it.”
Hana is distractedly listening, looking at the flash tattoos in an album on the low table. My sexy redhead is still avidly paying attention right by me, though. “That makes sense. Did The Parlour ever get sued over a tattoo?”
“Never, no. We’ve also been experimenting with temporary ink, which fades off in around a year. And I’m in the process of acquiring the proper tools and license, as well as a new employee, so we can open a laser station for tattoo removal. We take the permanency of tattoos seriously, but we’re also aware that people can change their minds with time.”
Gen pulls me in by the hip. “Don’t you dare remove a single tattoo off your skin, Jacob Clarke. Not even Eli’s.”
“That one’s secretly your favorite, isn’t it?”
“Yes, because you trusted an idiot to leave a permanent mark on you, fully aware that he’d make a mess. And it says a lot about the kind of person you are.”
“Then I promise I won’t remove it,” I concede, lowering for a kiss.
As if we’ve summoned him, Eli’s voice resonates in the hall. “Someone get a crowbar to separate those two.”
