Page 192 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

He grins at me as he leans on the counter. “You could give me your number, beautiful.”

Jenna chuckles as Linc’s voice booms from his station where he’s setting up. “Cut it out, Daniel.” Daniel chuckles and Linc steps forward to look at me. “He’s here for his appointment with me. He thinks he’s a ladies’ man. Just ignore him.”

“Aww, damn. Stomp on a man’s ego, why don’t ya?” He says to Linc with a cheeky grin and a wink at me before greeting my boss with a familiar handshake. They make their way over to Lincoln’s station, leaving Jenna and me alone.

“Hmm, interesting,” Jenna murmurs.

“What’s interesting?”

She glances at me, then across to Lincoln. “He never stopped Daniel from hitting on me when I first started here.”

I wave off her comment. “It’s probably because Linc thinks I’m so young.”—I roll my eyes.—“If you could call twenty-six young.”

She chews her lip. “Nah, I don’t think so. I was only eighteen.” My eyes widen. Oh. She nods, raising a single perfectly shaped brow. “Yeah. Anyway, you can mark Daniel as arrived.” She points to the screen to show me how to do it. “And when he’s finished and you take his payment, the square will turn blue.”

My time with Jenna flies by and she heads out to meet her husband for lunch. After Ken explains how to set up each station and I deal with a phone call, I head over to Linc to watch him work. His focus is locked on his client’s muscular thigh as he shades the scales of an enormous dragon wrapped around Daniel’s leg. Each scale looks as though it’s glistening and I swear if I were to touch it, it would feel cool like a snake. The tiger-slash-woman tattoo on Lincoln’s left forearm shifts with the movement of his muscles as he holds Daniel’s flesh taut, the blue eyes following me as I watch.

“Look at how I maintain three points of contact, Sophie. I anchor my elbow on the table, touch Daniel’s leg with my wrist, and anchor my little finger against the thumb I use to stretch his skin.” I study each point of contact carefully. It looks easy enough, but I bet it takes practice to get it right. “This keeps my hand steady to ensure my lines are always perfectly straight. I use my fingers beneath the gun to float the needle and keep the depth consistent as I work so I don’t go too shallow or too deep.” He returns his focus to his work and I lose myself watching the mesmerizing action as ink that looks almost iridescent fills each scale, one by one. I glance up at Daniel’s face, finding him relaxed to the point of bliss.

Six

Lincoln

Having Sophie sitting so close and her eyes on my work, soaking in every detail, is testing my restraint. She’s eager to learn everything she can and her thoughtful questions show she’s intuitive enough to consider how the artwork will interact with the play of muscles and skin tone. When I glance up from my work, her brown eyes catch mine and it could be pure coincidence, but my heart skitters. Her excitement about something that has become commonplace for me is tangible and I’m feeding off of it, making the scales I’m working on seem almost real.

I always do my best work because the client deserves my best every single time. They have to wear my art and I take pride in making each piece better than the last; but with her eyes on me, I’m pushing myself to the next level.

I blot the final spot and push away from the table, stretching out my back and neck. I need to practice taking regular breaks instead of getting lost in the work for hours on end. I never had a problem with aches and pains when I was younger, but getting older is a bitch now I’m closer to forty than thirty. It even takes me longer to recover from a fight, and that pisses me off because I know my time as a fighter is coming to an end. I’ll have to work out a different way to raise money for the charity I support.

Daniel hops off the table, heads for the mirror, and twists his leg this way and that. “Man, this is fucking awesome.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I explain the aftercare for the new artwork to Sophie as I work. Daniel’s a return customer, so he knows exactly what he needs to do over the next days and weeks.

The bell over the door rings and Sophie heads to the reception desk to greet the next client. While I clean up, she takes Daniel’s payment and guides Natasha to the round table where we meet with clients to discuss their needs. I’m impressed at how well she’s managing the front desk duties without a hitch. She said she was a fast learner and I don’t think she was overselling herself.

“Sophie, how about you bring your sketchpad with you and sit in on our chat? Natasha is here to discuss a new tattoo she’d like. This would be a great opportunity to learn this part of the process and I wouldn’t mind seeing you draw up some sketches.”

Her eyes widen, and she bites her bottom lip. “Really? You think I can do that?”

“We’ll see. But I’m confident you can handle drawing the sketches. Your line work is fantastic.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks pinken and she drops her warm gaze from mine as she grabs her sketchpad to follow me to the table where Natasha is flipping through one of our design books.

I hold out my hand as I reach the table. “Hi, Natasha. I’m Lincoln and this is Sophie. This is Sophie’s first day, so I hope you don’t mind if she sits in.”

She stands, taking my hand with a soft smile. “Hi, Lincoln. Sophie. I don’t mind at all.”

“Hi, Natasha. Thank you,” Sophie says as we all sit.

“Tell us a little about what you’re looking for,” I say and nod toward Sophie’s sketchpad. “We’ll draw up some rough ideas from your thoughts.”

Natasha swallows and licks her lips. “I heard you specialize in tattooing women who have had a mastectomy.”

I nod. “I do. How far post-op are you?”

“Two years. I thought I could live with my new breasts, but every time I look in the mirror, all I see is what I’ve lost. I want to look at my body and love it again.” She twists her fingers together. “It’s affecting me and my marriage.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Do you have anything in mind?”

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