Page 46 of Music City Diaries

“Um, she is LJ,” the guy said, blushing. “She needs to sign the waiver.”

I grabbed it, signed it quickly, and handed it back. Walking over to her, I grabbed her arm, and she led me to a room. “So, I wanted a tattoo, but your piercings are fabulous. So, now, I’m not sure.”

“Why choose?” she said, smiling.

“I like how you think. Yes! Let’s do it.” She giggled, showing me where to sit.

“I’m LJ. What did you have in mind today?” She sat on a stool, scooting closer.

“I want a rose, but like a badass rose.”

“Okay, and where would you like this badass rose.”

“See, I like you. You don’t question it. Hmm?” I tapped my chin. “I’ve been debating, actually. Shoulder blade or my pelvic bone.”

LJ pulled out a pad of paper, beginning to draw as she asked questions. “How big do you want it? Do you want thorns or just the bloom?”

“Just the bloom, and I’m open to suggestions. This is my first. Where did you get yours?”

She paused, looking up. “Oh, well, I don’t have a tattoo yet.”

“What! Okay, there has to be a story there. I’ve got all the time in the world, so how about you tell me.”

“You’re kind of pushy, you know.” She bit her lip, and I braced my head on my hand, giving her my best puppy dog eyes, hoping they worked on girls too. “Fine,” she sighed, smiling. “Last question before I tell you my sordid tale.”

“Oh, now this sounds juicy. And hit me with it, girl.”

“Are you wanting your tattoo for yourself or to show it off to others?”

“Hmm, that’s a good point. I think for myself.”

“Then smaller on your pelvic bone is my suggestion.”

I nodded, agreeing. “I like it. Okay, spill.”

She started to sketch more but started to talk. “It happens to involve a guy.”

“Of course,” I said, nodding. “The best stories always do.”

She smiled, the pen a soothing sound as it brushed against the paper. She flipped it over, showing me. “Okay, that’s perfect. Are you in my mind or something?” LJ shrugged, blushing a little. “So, this boy?”

She giggled, the sound light, and I liked it. “We met as pen pals. He wanted to be a tattoo artist and said he’d give me my first one. He even drew one he designed for me. It was beautiful.”

“I don’t understand. Why don’t you have it then?”

She pulled out her equipment, motioning for me to lay down and unzip my jeans. “He lived on the west coast, and I lived north of here. I was, um, getting serious with someone and told him I couldn’t be his pen pal anymore.”

“Wait, how long did you guys write?”

“Around eight years.”

“Holy shit! Did you have feelings for him?”

“I mean, yeah. I was fifteen when I started writing to him, and I fell in love with him over the years from writing to each other. But in the end, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t who he said he was, and then I lost the only guy I cared about.”

“Whoa, that went dark fast.”

Her shoulder tensed. “That’s just the past few years; that’s not even the past few months,” she mumbled.

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