No, it opens up to a fucking full-frontal nude picture where her tits and vagina are on display. What the fuck?
Iimmediately, without a moment’s hesitation, avert my eyes and look to the ceiling.
It’s going to be a long fucking afternoon.
“Oops!” she squeals as if she didn’t know exactly what happened. Clenching my jaw, I’m already at maximum capacity for this bullshit. “Sorry, Ty. Here.” She swipes–for a long fuckingtime I might add–and finally finds one that she can show me. It’s a simple design, just a bubbled design at the edges with a repeated pattern going inward. Thank fuck she wants black and white because I don’t have the patience or the time to do full shading and color.
“Alright, for this exact design, it’s going to run you $250. If you want more personalization or color work, we’re talking at least $350.”
Her facial expression falls just for a moment because she knows I’m not playing the game she started.
“What’s your base price?”
“Any tattoo I do starts at $80. That covers the needles, the time, etc..” A little warning bell goes off in the back of my head at her question.
“Alright. I want this exact tattoo on my shoulder. You can press up as close as you need to.” She winks and my expression does not change.
I stonewall this bitch until uncertainty creeps into her overly-flirty gaze.
“Give me five minutes to set up, draw it out and get my station sanitized.” I hit the counter once and walk over to get to work. I turn my back on her and don’t even acknowledge the look on her face. It’s not going to happen. No matter what she tries.
Asher walks over while I’m wiping down my station, staring at me until I’m forced to look up at him.
“What?” I grumble.
“Do you know her or something?”
“Or something.”
“Oh shit.” His face pales and there’s not an inch of teasing in his tone.
“Yeah,shit.”I keep working, not willing to stop and have this drawn out conversation about what I did when I was drunk and horny.
“She said she wanted you to tattoo her, that she’d wait. I didn’t even think…”
“Goddamn it.Fuck,”I swear in Spanish as my hand goes to my forehead, rubbing right above my eyebrows where I know a headache is going to start forming.
“Do you want me to take her?”
“That’s nice of you, man, but I know you’re completely packed today. Based on the picture, it shouldn’t take me too long.”
“Just get it started, get it done, and get her out of here.”
“Right.” I hold up my fist and he bumps it. “Food should be here,” I start to say and Harriet walks in with the bag of food I ordered. “Now.”
“Harriet!” Asher exclaims excitedly, turning to greet her and take the bag.
“My god, I don’t see you for two weeks and suddenly you’re losing weight. Asher Lee, you know better. Ty Hernandez, have you not fed yourself?” Harriet’s the sweetest soul I’ve ever known. She took us under her wing when we first opened the shop and has made it her life’s mission to keep us fed and happy.
She’s a saint. Especially because anyone else would’ve taken a look at the two of us, young teenagers on our own, trying and sacrificing everything in order to make a better life for ourselves, our tattoos, piercings, all the quintessential things that make the older generation scoff, and turned on us. But no, she saw two kids trying their fucking best and offered us any help she could.
“We do our best, Harriet, you know that.” Asher dives into the order, pulling out containers looking for his.
“You heathen, go put it in the back. And give Roxie whatever she wants from there.”
“Roxie?” Harriet asks, picking up the name I dropped like a bloodhound looking for its prey. “Roxanne? Your…”
I may have also gotten too drunk one time and stumbled into Harriet’s diner to pay for food, blurted my entire bleeding heart to her in the kitchen. She never got mad at me for underaged drinking, she just held me and let me get it all out.
