Page 8 of Challenged By the Ex-Military Tattoo Artist

"Let me --"

"No need," Max cuts me off, brushing past me towards the back room before I can protest further. "I've got it under control."

I trail behind him, a bit miffed at his refusal of assistance but chalking it up to typical male bravado. He deposits the tote on the bare floor with a solid thunk.

"Be right back," is all he utters before heading back outside.

True to his word, Max makes several more trips, hauling in various-sized boxes and cases, never accepting my offers of help. I hover near the doorway, watching him with a slight furrow between my brows.

"You, uh, certainly came prepared," I remark once all his supplies are piled around the room. "Got everything you need in here?"

Max pauses, swiping an arm across his forehead as he looks around appraisingly.

"Just about. A few more smaller items to grab, but all the major equipment is here."

"So...what's next?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

One side of his lips curves upwards as he fixes me with that smirk again.

"Now the real work begins - turning this place into my own personal oasis of ink and artistry."

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," I reply, maybe a bit too quickly. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

Max holds my gaze for a beat longer before giving a slow nod.

"Oh, you can count on that, Maria."

Something tells me Max's particular brand of artistry goes far beyond the tattooing process.

Chapter 4 - Max

I'm still in the midst of unpacking and arranging my workstation when the telltale jingle of the front door signals a customer entering the shop. Glancing up, I see Maria greet an elderly woman, all warmth and politeness.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hutchins! What can I help you find today?"

The older woman smiles, adjusting her cane.

"Well, I could use some more of that lovely lilac embroidery floss you showed me last time. My granddaughter's birthday is coming up."

"Of course! Let me grab that for you."

Maria moves towards the back shelving unit, skirt swishing around her sexy legs with each step. I tear my gaze away, cursing my wandering eyes, but then she stretches up on her tiptoes and that skirt rides even higher.

It's impossible not to sneak glances at the highly pleasing expanse of smooth skin exposed, my throat going dry. When she leans in, and the swell of her breasts presses enticingly against her blouse with the effort, I audibly groan.

Fuck. I must calm down. No sense perving on the woman like some kind of desperate punk kid. Except Maria lets out a soft huff of frustration when her fingertips still can't graze the desired item.

"Oh darn, I can't quite --"

Her eyes lock onto me then, widening momentarily as she registers my presence. A faint flush blooms on those delicately freckled cheeks.

"Do you need a hand there?" I call out before I can think better of it, already moving towards her.

The old woman turns towards me with a toothy grin, giving an approving once-over.

"Oh, hello there, young man. You’re tall! You can definitely help us."

I bite back an amused snort at her frank appraisal.

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