Page 1 of The Inkslinger

Chapter One

Into The Weirdness

Hailey

“I think I’m lost,” I say to my friend Marcy over the speakerphone connected to the stereo in my car. “How the hell did I get lost in a town that doesn’t even have five thousand people?”

Marcy laughs loudly on the other end. “Girl, you could get lost in the checkout line of a convenience store.”

“Fuck off.” I chuckle. I love Marcy. She is my best friend and my voice of reason. She also knows all of my faults and flows. “Wait, there it is. I’ll talk to you later.”

Leaving her behind hurt, but I knew I had to do it. Once I find a place to settle down, I will invite her to visit me. Until then, thank God for cell phones.

I quickly end the call while maneuvering my blue muscle car into the only available spot in front of the tattoo parlor. I stare at the red brick building on Main Street in Franklinton.

House of Ink.

I have been following the guys who own this place for a while, and their online presence has simply exploded. There are some talented artists inside that nondescript shop. It’s one of the reasons I drove over three hundred miles from Birmingham. I needed some new ink and a change of scenery.

After my last horrible breakup, I just wanted to be away from everything that reminded me of that entire fiasco. So, I packed my bags, jumped in my car, and drove a couple of hundred miles to this little town on the outskirts of New Orleans. It’s basically in the middle of nowhere and the chance that I will know anyone here is slim. That is exactly how I want it.

Stepping out of my car, I adjust my distressed denim miniskirt before letting my stilettos carry me across the cracked pavement and into the store. Pushing open the glass door, I can’t help but smile.

The shop is stunning. They have large pieces of graffiti painted on the walls, framed drawings, and canvas photos of pieces they have done. It showcases their work and gives a sense of wonder. The black leather couches are just the perfect touch to this edgy environment.

The woman behind the counter is short and curvy as fuck with raven black hair. She smiles widely when she sees me.

“Welcome to House of Ink. How can I help you?” she asks.

“Hey.” I smile back. “I don’t have an appointment or anything, but I’m hoping to get some work done.”

Her gaze tracks across the multitude of tattoos I already have on display. “Are you sure there’s any space left?” She laughs.

“There are still a few spots. Wanna see?” I joke and she actually blushes.

“Uh,” she stammers, and I laugh.

“Sorry. I don’t have a filter, and I tend to make people uncomfortable,” I explain. “I was joking.”

She gives me another bright smile before turning back to the old-school appointment book. I can’t remember the last time I saw one of those. Most people have gone fully digital.

“Laine has an hour open today. Maybe you guys could just figure out what you want, and I will book you for Friday?”

“That’s perfect!” I clap my hands in excitement.

I am what is referred to as OTT. For those that don’t know, that means Over. The. Top. My hair is too red, my tattoos are too many, and I am too loud and too brash. I am just ... too ... for some people. Not that I give a shit.

This girl, though, doesn’t miss a damn beat. She starts clapping excitedly with me. A mountain of a man rolls out of a booth in one of those wheeled office chairs, staring at us.

“What are you doing, Skye?” he asks in a deep baritone, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

His hair is shorn short against his scalp and his blue eyes are full of laughter as he stares at the curvy pixie.

“No idea!” She laughs loudly. “I got excited.” She smiles at me again.

The large man rolls his eyes before wheeling his chair back into his station. Strange people. He didn’t seem to mind that his receptionist went nuts, he was more curious as to why.

“Laine should be here in about five minutes,” the woman I now know as Skye says. “You can just take a seat.”

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