Page 76 of Love Me Reckless

“I think it means you’re doing something right.”

Our eyes lock for an instant. “Yeah, I think so.”

Brydeen returns, her high-heeled boots clicking on the hardwoodfloor. “Leif says he can fit in a consult. If it feels right to you, we can proceed.”

After Kirilee pays the consult fee and signs a release form, Brydeen leads us to the back area. There are three tattoo stations partitioned by half walls, each personalized to the artist they belong to. On the far left, a guy is hunched over a client, his tattoo machine making a steady buzz. The middle station is empty, the massage table in the center of the floor looking shiny and bare under the bright lights.

A fit-looking guy with white-blond hair down past his shoulders and matching mustache comes out of the far-right station sipping from a giant cup of ice water. He’s tatted everywhere—arms, neck, backs of his hands.

“Kirilee?” he asks.

“Yes, hi,” she says, offering her hand for a brief shake.

“Have a seat, we can talk for a bit.”

Kirilee lets go of my hand and sits sideways on the table, which is covered by a thick white sheet. She scans the framed pictures of body ink and colorful hand-drawn designs Leif has on his walls with careful admiration. I guess because she’s an artist, she would see it that way.

“Have a look at some of these,” Leif says, sliding a black three-ring binder from the collection lined up against the back wall and setting it on her lap.

While Kirilee browses the pictures of rib tattoos on former clients, Leif opens Kirilee’s folder on the top of half wall and studies each one while sipping more water. He sends occasional glances at Kirilee, like a sculptor sizing up the medium he’s about to carve.

Even though he hasn’t said much yet, I’m getting calm, attentive vibes from him, and the art on the walls screams talent.

I peek over Kirilee’s shoulder at the pictures as she flips. Some show the ink after the healing process, and some are fresh, with the redness and raised welts.

Leif sets his empty cup down and leans his back against the halfwall, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Let me hear your thoughts. What you see in there. What you’re hoping for. Size you’re after, placement, all of it.”

Kirilee shares the images from the book she likes best. Leif nods along, bringing over her chosen design for reference. From my own experience, there’s a bond that forms between client and artist. Both have to trust the other, and be willing to step into the unknown. It lasts only as long as the sitting, but the effects are as permanent as the ink.

“We can do a mockup, make sure it’s what you want.”

Kirilee’s eyes brighten. “Yes, please. I like that.”

“Go ahead and store your things in that cubby,” Leif says, nodding at the empty squares built into the half wall on my side of the station. “I’ll need access. Can that sweater come off?”

I bristle, and Leif shoots me a steady glance, like he can read the protective thoughts running rampant in my head.

“Yes, hang on,” Kirilee says, and takes her coat and purse to the cubby, then slips off her sweater. Underneath, she’s wearing a fitted tank top. No bra. Or maybe itisthe bra. It’s sexy as hell, whatever it is. I avert my eyes while Kirilee settles on the table and curls the tank fabric up.

But once she’s exposed the curve of her left rib cage, I’m drawn to the place about to be marked forever. Is it weird that I want to caress her there, just once?

Instead, I pull up the stool facing her. I take her hand and cradle it between both of mine, which makes the diamond on her finger bite into my palm. But it’s better than staring at it.

Leif takes a picture of Kirilee’s side with an iPad, then uploads her design. He fiddles with it, zooming in, editing, then he sets it in Kirilee’s lap.

She sucks in a gasp. The bird’s wings are spread in easy flight, soaring, with one wing tip at her side and the other following the curve of her rib.

At this point, the design is only a mockup. She could change her mind. Ask for something different. Bail on the idea entirely.

Her eyes turn glassy. “Wow.”

Leif raises an eyebrow. “Is that a good wow or a fuck no wow?”

Kirilee laughs. “A good wow. I love it.”

Leif uses the tip of a pencil to point out how he edited some of her design to fit the curves of her body. Where he’d do heavier line work, what areas work for shading or color if she wanted.

Kirilee nods along but her eyes stay fixed on the screen.

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