Page 83 of Fire
Until now.
Now, I appreciate the idea of doing something spontaneous, of having this little souvenir from this wild time in my life when I traveled around the world with a bunch of rock stars.
“All done.” The guy working on Hendrix gives his wrist one final wipe down and asks him to look it over before he covers it up. I still can’t believe he had any room left, but right there, below his Creed tattoo, is a bold, five-point star with two interlocking Ms for Manic at Midnight.
He inspects his new ink, and I notice a flash of emotion cross his face before he replaces it with a broad grin. “Looks good, man. Thanks.”
I’m not sure why, but seeing his expression in that moment really solidifies it for me.
My decision is made.
There will be no second-guessing. No regrets.
About ten minutes later, the guy—his name is Dex, I think—has his station wiped down, sanitized, and set up again. He looks up and gives me a wink. He’s probably in his mid-twenties and already covered in tattoos. I thought Hendrix had a lot, but this guy has him beat. “You ready?”
“Um…yep.”
Hendrix hasn’t asked what I’m getting. I think he’s letting it be a surprise, or he’s giving me space to make the choice on my own.
Either way, he gives me an encouraging smile as I walk the few steps to Dex’s space. The studio has an open concept, with six artists evenly spaced out behind a huge counter that separates the lobby. Each artist showcases their own unique style. Some display floor-to-ceiling sketches, while others have plants and photos of their friends and family. This all helps distinguish and divide their spaces. In the back, there are private areas for clients who might need to remove clothing.
Speaking of…
“I, um…” My throat suddenly feels dry. “I was thinking of getting it…here.” I point to my hip.
“Sure,” he nods, not seeming to care in the least. I guess he sees naked body parts all the time. “We’ll probably need to head to the back, though, since you’ll need to lower your jeans.”
I hear a chair scraping against the linoleum as someone stands, and suddenly Hendrix is right behind me. “What now?”
Dex looks over my shoulder, and an amused grin spreads across his face. “This is your girl?”
“She is,” he answers, with absolutely no hesitation.
My stomach flips like I’ve just been asked out to the junior prom.I was never asked out to the junior prom.
“He can come back,” he tells me, before adding with a flirty wink, “If you want him to.” Now, he’s just fucking with him.
Hendrix practically growls behind me, placing a possessive hand on my hip.
“I want him to,” I answer, before tossing a glance over my shoulder.
I find Elena standing next to Zander as he’s finishing up. She looks up at me and gives me two enthusiastic thumbs up and mouths,Good luck!
I might need it.
We both follow Dex behind another curtain to a hallway that has a few closed doors.
“We each have our own private room back here too. Seems kind of redundant, but the owner likes to have us all out front and on display whenever he can.”
“Well, it is Vegas,” I say awkwardly as he ushers us into a small room that resembles his station up front. Several rolling carts line the walls. They’re similar to the ones in my clinic, minus the plethora of stickers. A couple of chairs are scattered around, and the familiar padded table sits in the middle. A bunch of sketches adorn the walls, ranging from old-school pinup tattoos to detailed cartoon characters and gruesome-looking monsters.
He probably thinks my simple design is boring in comparison.
Hendrix must sense my nervousness because his hand slides over mine, and I instantly relax. I’m so glad he’s here with me.
“You ever going to tell me what you’re getting?” Hendrix finally asks. I wondered how long he would last before the suspense finally got to him.
While the guys were busy getting their tattoos, I went to the lobby and chatted with the artist at the counter. She helped me flip through some flash books to find something I liked, and then she was even kind enough to use the design as inspiration to draw something for me on the fly.
