Page 95 of Your Pace or Mine
“Why are you so much more excited than me for this?” Jamie laughed.
Reggie replied, “Probably ’cause I’m not going to be the one getting stabbed with a needle thousands and thousands of times.”
Jamie grimaced. “It’s not that bad,” he said, then grinned. “Maybe YOU should get a tattoo today.”
Reggie ignored Jamie, breezing past him into the shop. “I’m sure they don’t have the time for that. This place books up months in advance, Jamie.”
“He’s not wrong,” a voice interrupted from the front desk.
Jamie turned to see Elle, one of the first friends he’d made after moving to London and his long-time tattoo artist, smirking at him from behind the counter. Her electric-blue hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her tattooed arms rested on the desk as she flipped through an appointment book.
“Except when it’s you,” she added, pointing a pen at Jamie. “I couldn’t resist squeezing you in. Besides, I’ve been dying to hear how the marathon went.”
Jamie beamed. “You’re the best, Elle. Seriously.”
She waved him off, motioning for him to follow her to her station. “Flattery will get you nowhere. C’mon, let’s get this design sorted. Reg said you want a little 26.2?”
“Yep,” Jamie confirmed, lifting the hem of his shirt slightly to indicate his hip. “Right here. Something subtle, but meaningful. You know, classy.”
Elle raised an eyebrow. “Subtle and classy? On you? Alright, miracle worker mode activated.” She flipped open her sketchpad, revealing a few clean, minimalist designs. “Take a look. Any of these catch your eye?”
Jamie studied the sketches, his fingers tapping against his thigh. One design, in particular, caught his attention, the number 26.2 styled in a sleek, sans-serif font, with a faint line underneath, like the curve of a path— styled so it could almost be mistaken for a love heart.
“This one,” he said, pointing to it. “It’s perfect.”
“Good choice,” Elle said, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Alright, hop up on the table and let’s get started.”
Jamie lay back on the padded table, pulling his waistband down to expose his hip. Reggie perched on a stool nearby, watching with barely contained glee.
“You know,” Reggie said, his voice teasing, “you’re officiallyThat Guynow. The one who gets a marathon tattoo. Might as well start signing emails with ‘Sent from a marathon finisher.’”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “It was your idea, dickhead. But you just wait, I’ll be coming for you in those ridiculous 100-mile mountain runs next. How’s training going anyway? Or any progress on the other thing you mentioned?” Jamie asked, trying to hint at Reggie’s proposal plan without actually saying it.
Reggie’s smile faded, but he was saved from responding as Elle interrupted their banter. “Alright, Jamie, hold still. Deep breath in.”
The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the room, and Jamie clenched his teeth as the needle pressed into his skin. The pain was sharp but manageable, familiar.
“You’re doing great,” Elle said without looking up. “Most people find this placement pretty painful.”
“I’m not most people,” Jamie quipped, though his grip on the edge of the table betrayed his bravado.
“Damn right,” Reggie said. “Most people can’t run 26.2 miles.”
“So you’ve said,” Jamie replied with fond exasperation.
The session passed quickly, Elle working with practised precision while Jamie and Reggie kept up their playful banter. When Elle finally sat back and wiped down the fresh ink, she smiled.
“All done. Take a look.”
The tattoo was perfect: clean, simple, and exactly what he’d envisioned.
Once it was bandaged, Jamie swung his legs over the side of the table. He traced his fingers lightly over the bandaged skin and grinned.
“I love it,” he said. “Thanks, Elle. You’re a genius.”
“Damn right I am,” she replied, handing him aftercare instructions. “Now don’t mess it up. No swimming, no sunbathing, and for the love of God, don’t let anything rub against it too much.”
“Or anyone,” Reggie teased.
