I’ve nearly calmed myself when she starts tapping her foot, sending me off into another fit of giggles. This one is easier to control, luckily, and I manage to catch my breath enough to talk to her.
“I baked the cookies, Becca. The other night when I left your place. I bake when I’m stressed, or need to calm down.”
She throws her hands up in the air. “You bake, too?” she yells. “You are going to make some lucky girl very happy one day, Johnny Donovan.”
Hearing her say I’ll make someone else happy knocks the breath from my lungs. I don’t want to make someone else happy.
I only want to make you happy,I tell her silently.
“Okay, so let’s get to it then, shall we?” she asks, a smile on her lips. “Where am I tattooing you? And what am I doing?”
I stand up and walk past her, motioning her to come with me.
“Allow me to show you to my lair,” I say, walking her past the front desk, to a common space lined with light boxes and other materials the artists use when designing tattoos and making transfers. At the end of the common space is a hallway with three doors on either side. “These are the artists’ rooms,” I say, leading her to the last door on the left. “And this one is mine.”
I open the door and motion for her to go ahead of me.
She steps into my room and spins in a slow circle, studying her surroundings. More framed art lines the walls here, some of it mine, some of it belonging to other artists I’ve worked with over the years.
“This is nice,” she says, sitting on one of two stools in the room. “How often do you come in?”
“Only as often as I’m needed. I only work on a particular type of client, so unless one of them needs me, I stay away.”
Becca laughs. “So when the sexy babes with big titties need tattoos, it’s Johnny to the rescue?”
I choke on a laugh. If only she knew the real story, she’d see that’s pretty much the exact opposite of what I do. “Yeah, something like that.”
I take a step past her and begin setting up my workstation. I’ve had the tattoo I wanted to give Becca mapped out in my head since that first night at her place. I saw so much gorgeous skin available on her left leg, my hands started itching to put my mark on them. It’s not like I’ll write my name or anything, but she and I will both know that I was here. When I went home that I night, and after my marathon baking session, I sketched out several ideas for her to look at. I think I know what she’ll like the best, but there’s always the possibility that she’ll surprise me. She is a surprising woman.
I pass her the packet of papers with the transfers I’ve already prepared. “Here are some ideas that I drew up for you,” I say. “Does anything catch your eye?”
She takes her time flipping through the papers, carefully examining each one before placing it on the convertible chair where my clients sit. Her eyes linger on one drawing in particular, but I notice she’s also set another one off the side.
“Why’d you draw this one?” she asks, holding out the horror themed stencil. “Why this collection of horror movie villains?”
I’d drawn horror movie villains in a similar style to the large Freddy tattoo she has on her right thigh, but instead of each face being complete and distinct they almost flow together, like each villain melts into the ether before transforming into another, more evil villain.
“Oh, yeah,” I snicker. “I didn’t expect you would pick that one. It just didn’t seem fair to me that Freddy got such prime real estate on your thigh and the rest of these guys got nothing. He’s getting so much focus, like there is too much importance placed on him.”
Becca stares at me without blinking for what feels like minutes. My eyes feel sandy from keeping them open to look back at her. I wish I could tell what she’s thinking. I wishshewouldtellme what she’s thinking. But something about this feels personal, private, as though I’m witnessing an internal struggle.
God, this woman is fascinating. I want to know everything about her.
“Okay, yes. This one,” she says, handing me the transfer. “It’s time Freddy shared the spotlight. I can’t let him run the show anymore.”
I exhale a slow breath. “I didn’t even realize until just now that’s what I was hoping you’d say. I’m sort of partial to these guys. This was the first sketch I did for you.”
“I love it,” she says. “Freddy was actually my first tattoo. It’s time for him to relinquish his throne.”
My eyebrows shoot up, surprise colouring my face. “Really? That’s a bold choice for a first tattoo. Not to mention many people find the thigh to be incredibly painful.”
“Don’t remind me,” she laughs. “That piece you’re doing for me can only fit in one spot, you know.” She slaps her left thigh, one of the few remaining spots of ink-free skin she has.
“Well, in that case, let me apologize in advance for causing you pain.” I grin at her, enjoying being in her company, even though it’s just as friends. “And might I suggest you tattoo me first? That way, when we’re done with you, I can take you home so you can relax?”
“Excellent idea,” she says with a gleam in her eyes. “I know just what I’m going to do. The only question is, where is there enough space on your body for it?”
“Oh darling, you’re in for a treat when it comes to that.” I wink at her and laugh, before adding, “But first, let me give you a little lesson in how to do this. Then you can jab me with pointy needles all you like.”
“Muahahaha,” she says, sounding like her own version of an evil villain. “Remember this moment when I bring the pain. You asked for it.” She mimes petting a cat, evil grin raking up residence on her face. “This is the best non-date friend-date I’ve ever been on. None of my past dates ever let me stab them. They’re always all ‘ow, why did you do that?’ and ‘that’s it, I’m calling the police’. You’re so fun to be with.”
My stomach drops. I am fun to be with, and one day, hopefully, I will get to show her that for real. For now, though, stabbing each other on our very first non-date friend-date is the best I can do.
