Page 7 of The Inkslinger

I shit you not. I’ve heard authors complain about having multiple ideas that simply wouldn’t work together, making what they do even harder than it usually is. And that’s what I have been dealing with since the moment I saw Hailey. I want to give her the best artwork possible. Not just because she is a walking advertisement for our little shop, but because it’s an honor to work on her. With her.

And I will be working with her. She is a professional tattoo model. This is her damn job. Thus, I need to make sure this piece is the best work I have ever put out. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise. And I need to get my wayward libido under control before I embarrass myself. The poor woman is probably tired of random assholes hitting on her.

Scattered across my workstation are no less than ten different designs in varying stages of completion. I put my pen down to start one, get halfway, and think of something that would be better suited to the woman.

“You need a break,” Alistair says, leaning his massive frame against the doorjamb sometime after six in the afternoon. “You look like a cartoon character whose head is about to explode.”

“You’re right. But if I leave now this is going to bug me all night and I’ll just end up coming back anyway.” I don’t even look up to answer him.

“True. But at least you’ll have eaten something. We’re headed over to The Hideaway for a beer and a steak.”

Those are the magic words. Yes, the old adage is true. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Or at least mine is. And there is nothing I love more than a perfect medium-rare steak.

“I’ll drive my truck,” I say grabbing my wallet out of the drawer. “I don’t want to be left stranded again when you and Skye get into another fight.”

“We don’t fight,” Alistair grumbles.

“Every time one of you wants to get laid the other gets pissy and you fight. Leaving me stranded.”

I wish the two of them would just admit their damn feelings and get their shit together because this constant bullshit is tiring. But every time I try to say something, I get shut down hard with the same old excuses. My brother’s best friend. My best friend’s sister. On and on and on, like not even a blind man could see the fucking truth.

“I don’t get laid,” Skye says in mock indignation from her spot beside Alistair. “I either make love or get fucked. Getting laid is for pretty boys like you who break out in hives at the thought of a relationship.”

Alistair balks at her words but doesn’t say a single word before leading her away from my space.

“We’ll see you there!” he calls back as they step outside.

I take a couple of minutes to make sure everything is shut down properly before flicking off the lights as I make my way outside and lock the door. House of Ink is our pride and joy. Luke, Alistair, and I built this place from the ground up.

When I was younger and my father passed, I went a little nuts. My mother couldn’t really control me, and I was always seen as “that wild Grey boy.” Getting into all types of trouble and even being arrested for petty shit a time or two.

A lot of people looked down on me and said I would never amount to anything. At some point, Adam, my oldest brother, stepped in and put his foot down. He helped our mother bring me to heel and made sure I got at least a high school education.

Getting a scholarship to an art school in the city was never something I thought of, but it happened, and I haven’t looked back since. Both Alistair and I have enough raw talent to have made a go of this either way, but having the training helps. Luke is the only one to freehand every piece he does but his talent is different from ours.

It’s like my old black pickup truck knows the way to The Hideaway without me even having to put much effort into driving. I’m so lost in memories it takes me a moment to realize I am already parked outside the old building. There are more vehicles than usual parked in the gravel lot for a Tuesday night, and I wonder if Lily is running another bourbon special.

The moment I get inside I know what has everyone flocking to the bar. Hailey fucking Meyer. Slinging drinks behind the bar like an old pro. Wearing a neon-pink tank top and jeans that look like they were spray-painted onto her curves.

Every man within a fifty-mile radius must be here ogling her, and I want to stab out all of their eyes using my tattoo iron. I hate the thought of all these men drooling over her, thinking dirty things just like I was earlier. It’s an irrational thought, and I’m aware of the fact that I’m thinking like a crazy person but it is what it is.

Lily smiles from behind the bar with a wave when she sees me approaching.

“Hey, Laine! What can I get for you?” She is giddy and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Did you see this crowd?”

I smile and shake my head. Lily has made it her life’s mission to get more people into the bar. She is married to my eldest brother and wants to show her support, or whatever. She has been running promos and getting live singers to perform here. I think it may be driving Adam a little crazy, but he loves her, so he won’t say a damn word.

“It’s great, Lily. I’ll take a beer.”

She rushes off to grab me a cold one and slides it across the bar. She helps a different patron before making her way back to me.

“Isn’t Hailey great? I heard you guys have met.”

“She’s awesome. Don’t you think this may make her uncomfortable, though?” I ask, gesturing to everyone crowding the bar.

“What?” she questions with a frown.

“Well, you are basically displaying her assets like she’s a piece of meat, you know?” The moment the words leave my lips I know I’m making a mistake. But it’s done. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that.

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