“I have no idea what I want,” I groaned.
“Except for your ex’s brother,” Caspian teased, offering an out. “Don’t think I missed that tidbit.”
“Wait, I did,” Rory said, switching directions at once. “Shit, is he hot?”
“Tattooed fireman,” I said with a shrug. “I’m not sad.”
Rory’s jaw dropped. “No way. You’re the most chill guy ever. How are you involved in something scandalous like that?”
“Is it?” I asked. “It wasn’t like I broke up with Serena or cheated on her or anything.”
Cas snorted. “Only you, babe.” He took a step away. “Time for me to get back to my stall and catch up on sketch work. Hope your sorry ass knows the place wouldn’t be the same without you. So, if you leave for fucking Florida, I’ll place a hex on your family.”
“Thanks, I think?” I wrinkled my nose.
“August, your client’s here,” Nyx yelled from her stall farther down.
Rory let out a huff as he hopped up from his perch. “Don’t think you’ve heard the end of this from me.”
“I know,” I muttered, cleaning my paintbrushes. I could continue the piece later. Rory giving me hell was only because he cared, and I loved how fierce of a fuck he gave.
Right now, I had a client, the one I’d been waiting for. I hopped up from my stall and went up front to find Ethan sitting on the couch, flipping through one of the art books we had on the coffee table. We were in the middle of a piece for him, so I’d be adding color today, which would be a long session. I loved the mixture of unique fish he wanted in an oceanscape, so different from the normal koi sleeves people got. Seeing him now was kind of jarring after watching him perform, that person entirely different.
He was an attractive guy with black gauges, dark black hair, and pretty blue eyes—just missing the eyeliner. Cas had checked him out,same as Owen, but I was so damn hung up on Drake that nothing else sparked my libido. Clearly, a problem for future me to deal with.
“Hey,” I called out. “Come on back.”
He pushed up from his seat and flashed me a grin. “Sick of seeing me yet?”
“Add one more to the tally,” I said. “I saw you guys play earlier in the week.”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “No way, really? Why didn’t you come up and say hi?”
Heat rushed through me at the memory. Mostly because Drake and I had been desperate to fuck. I squeezed my nape. “My friend had invited me out. He’s looking for talent for a firehouse fundraiser and had his eye on you guys.”
“You told him we’d play, right?” Ethan asked, excitement brimming from him. “I’ve never done a firehouse gig, but I feel like that’d be fun as hell.”
“Don’t you all need to confirm dates and stuff?” I asked, my brow wrinkling.
Ethan let out a bark of laughter. “Right, that. That’s why we have Jesse. I’ll call him and ask, but if you don’t have the fundraiser dates nailed down yet, yeah. We’re in. I’ve got personal reasons for wanting to support the firehouse.”
“Shit, that easy is it?” I teased as I guided him back to my station where I’d be continuing the color work on his arm. Ethan settled into the seat, and I checked over my tray to make sure everything was stocked, from Vaseline to paper towels. “Nothing’s changed on the design front, right?”
Ethan shook his head. “Nah, same as what we discussed last time. I want the watercolor feel to the piece. Can’t wait to see how this turns out.”
Once upon a time, I’d been nervous when clients shared their hopes with me about pieces, wondering if my work or artistic vision would hold up, if they’d be disappointed in the aftermath. However, after a few years in the field, all that remained was the pure joy of getting to create. Of the expression that tattooing allowed. And this place, Owen’s tutelage, had helped me thrive in a way beyond what I could’ve imagined.
Sure, the occasional grump still came through the door, but the more I cultivated a book of regulars, the less frequent that became. Which was something I wouldn’t have if I moved to Florida. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
I went through the usual motions to prep the area, then sat down beside him and got my tattoo gun. The first color we’d start with was blue, since it’d be the predominant color of the piece. I dipped the tip into the ink and turned the machine on. The gun buzzed in my hand, the hum a comfort I craved.
Right here and now, the confusion that had been plaguing me melted away.
“Ready?” I asked as I poised the tip over his skin. “Tell me all about the next gig you’ve got coming up.”
“Next week,” he said. “I can’t wait.”
While he talked about his hopes, dreams, and future, I set the needle to skin and got to work.
