Page 53 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

My station is neat and organized, with a cabinet positioned against the wall that stores all of my supplies, a stool for me to work on, and a leather chair that reclines.

I set up two additional folding chairs while Reese walks around the outer perimeter, admiring the sample art on the walls. While I have a selection of flash designs available, I prefer to sketch custom designs for my clients. Many of them view tattoos as a form of catharsis and a way to heal from a traumatic experience. Creating something that holds special meaning is oftentimes part of that process.

“You have a gift,” Reese says over her shoulder.

“So do you.” I motion to her white sneakers decorated with sunflowers. “I’ve noticed you have quite the collection.”

A blush spreads across her cheeks. “In seventh grade, my grandpa took me shoe shopping, and I saw a pair of expensive sneakers with a floral print that I liked. When he found a pair of discounted white ones in my size, he suggested we draw our own designs on them. He said I’d be the coolest kid in school for having a custom pair of sneakers.” She glances down at the pair she’s wearing. “I’ve been adding floral designs to my sneakers ever since.

“You’re a natural, Reese. The flowers are incredible.” I take out the tattoo machine, ink, and a few additional supplies I need for my appointment, arranging them on the tray I’ve set up on the counter.

Reese blushes. “Thank you. What about you? How did you discover your passion for drawing?”

“Growing up in foster care had its challenges, but drawing was my escape. My sketchbook became my voice, a place where I could express the things I couldn’t say out loud.” I sit on my stool, inserting a new needle into the tattoo machine. “As a teenager, I got into some trouble. There were occasions I wasn’t permitted to draw, and it felt like losing a part of myself.” I swallow hard as I push aside the painful memories.

“Have you ever been in prison?” Reese blurts out.

I can’t help but burst out laughing. “Isn’t that a question you should have asked before you slept with me?” I playfully tease.

After all these years, I can’t believe that rumor is still making the rounds.

“Well?” she demands.

“No, Red, I’ve never been to prison. I did a few stints in juvie, though. The first time I was wrongly accused of stealing, but I was guilty for the rest. Colby was my public defender for the last case and was one of the few people who saw a side of me that wasn’t my rap sheet.”

Reese saunters toward me, stepping in between my legs. She winds her hands around my neck, her fingers weaving into my hair. “Why does the fact that you were a rebel make you that much sexier?”

I gaze up at her, a smirk playing on my lips. “I prefer the term misunderstood artist. When we get back to my place, I’ll have to show you how rebellious I still am.” I wrap my arm around her waist, cupping her ass, reveling in the small squeal that escapes her lips when I tug her closer. “Any more questions?”

“Did you ever consider becoming a tattoo artist full-time? Before you were a lawyer?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t start tattooing until after law school, and I don’t charge my tattoo clients for their ink.”

“You don’t charge them?” Reese sounds surprised.

“No. Most of them have scars they want to conceal and are looking to cover up painful memories. Or are ex-convicts wanting a symbol of redemption. It’s rewarding to help others reclaim their power and help them heal from their past experiences.”

For me tattooing is a way to give back to the community and create a positive change in people’s lives who otherwise might not have an outlet for self-expression.

Before Reese can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps has her moving my hands from her ass and taking a step back. I look up just in time to see Christian running into my station.

“Hey, Dawson.” He throws his arms around me.

“Good to see you, kid,” I say, ruffling his hair.

“Christian, honey, give Dawson some space,” Seren says as she steps inside. “It’s good to see you, Dawson.” Seren gives me a grateful smile. “Thanks for giving Christian those Mavericks tickets, that was very generous of you.”

“Of course.”

Reese is standing in the corner of the station, watching our interaction with curiosity. She isn’t accustomed to seeing me interact with the people I’m closest to. She’s only seen me in the office where I’m gruff and demanding with my employees.

“This is Reese.” I tell Christian and Seren.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Seren says, giving her a wave.

“Christian, why don’t you take a seat over there while I work on your mom’s tattoo?” I gesture to one of the folding chairs I set up earlier.

“I’ll hang with you if that’s okay.” Reese smiles.

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