I sit in the vacant chair with the tip of a pencil in my mouth as I get in a comfortable position, pulling my legs up so that I can rest the sketchpad against my thighs. I look down at the drawing I started working on this week, deciding what I want to add. Trash has all been emptied, sharps containers aren’t yet full, every station is fully stocked, and everything is orderly within the studio. It’s peaceful, tattoo guns buzzing all over the room.
It’s been two weeks since the night at the warehouse and the amazing table sex that followed. From that point forward things have basically gone back to the way it was before I moved in, with the exception of us sharing a house.
Most mornings, I slip out of the house before his scheduled meeting time. He always has something to say about it when he walks into the shop, but it’s hard to ride with him to work when I want him constantly, and the way I see it, since he doesn’t want to act like we’re a couple then no one should think we are either. This is me backing off.
Some days, when I stay busy, it makes it easier. He’s let me do several transfers to the point that I’ve almost perfected it, I practice tracing on the light table daily, and occasionally, he lets me help tattoo on customers he knows to get the feel for the gun. Sanitize and moisturize have become part of my job skills. I haven’t figured out if he doesn’t like to do it or if he’s just finding some way to include me. Even when he does, you would never think we’ve slept together. He treats me just like he treats everyone else, and that makes me both happy and disappoints me at the same time.
I drag my pencil across the paper, outlining the add-on. Yesterday, I shaded the skull, leaving it in grayscale, which I love so much. It’s my personal preference on ink. I like color in moderation, but to me, too much looks cheesy and low quality on the body with the end result. I’m not fond of blues either, because it reminds me of a really faded tattoo after years and years of wear. Both are definitely personal preferences, because people walk in here all the time with nothing but color from neck to legs.
My hand moves in swift strokes back and forth as I finish the electric guitar he’s holding in his boney hands, giving it sick details like the fire coming from his fingertips as he plays. I’ve found that I love drawing when everyone’s stations are full, because it’s easy to get lost in the buzzing sound and light conversation around the room. Once I’m finished with the guitar, I’ll move on to the wings of the raven I want spread behind him. The feather details will probably take me a while.
My hand stops when I feel hands touch my chair, a body over me. I glance up at Remington hovering over me, his mohawk more noticeable with the way he’s leaning and looking down. “Nice. That’d make a fucking awesome back piece.”
Remington is a little more on the reserved side. He stays pretty booked up, but he talks from time to time when you least expect him to. Usually, when he does, it’s about tattoos, music, or something going on in the city involving one of the two topics.
Honestly, between him and Wesson, he’s the hotter one. The steady lineup of girls trickling in after some concert or something he’s attended tells me he probably stays just as busy touching bodies in his spare time as he does with a needle in hand. And from what I can tell, his type leans more toward Cassie: not punk or dark in the least. He’s probably tattooed more flowers and butterflies than anything else.
I look back at the drawing. “Maybe. I haven’t decided on my thoughts yet.”
He grabs the pad from my lap and stands upright, holding it in front of him. My head rolls backward after glancing at his empty station. “You got rid of the giggly one so soon?”
He smirks at me. “It doesn’t take long to do music notes on watercolor.”
“I’ve never known someone to find getting a tattoo ticklish. I think she just wanted in your pants.”
“Probably so,” he says dramatically, still looking at the drawing. “They usually do want seconds.” I bite back a laugh and roll my eyes. Guys are clueless, but then again, I usually get along with them better than girls. Females are a species I usually don’t understand, and I am one. Too catty and drama-driven for me. Lux and I are just different than the rest; always have been. I’m not sure why he’s so intrigued. It’s not done. “But at least she’s not a screamer. Giggling is so much more pleasant to endure.”
“You’re a pig.” I laugh. “Are you going to give that back?”
“I’m deciding.”
“On?”
“Whether I want it permanently or not.”
“You’d get my drawing tattooed on your body?”
“It’s pretty sick. I like your style, which brings me to my next question. What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“You’re not going to do nothing. It’s Halloween.”
“What should I be doing then?”
“Going to a haunted house with me.”
“Do I seem like a person into scary things?”
He turns the drawing around. “You draw this shit. You should be.”
“She has plans, Remington.”
I turn around at the sound of Kross’ voice. He’s still tattooing a small Buddha sitting among Lotus flowers on the lower back of the girl in his chair, never looking up. “I’m pretty sure she just said nothing,” Remington returns, unfazed at the tone of his voice. I know it. It’s a warning.
“She’s working.”
“It’s fucking Halloween. People like us don’t work on Halloween. It’s like our special holiday that only comes around once a year. It would be a sin to miss it. Let her off early. I’m sure Cassie would be willing to stay for any late appointments. She hates scary shit. I already tried.”
“This is my last appointment,” Wesson says, rubbing the jelly on the top of the foot he’s been putting script on. When did this turn into a community shop discussion? I never said I wanted to go, even though this is my favorite time of year. I love the sculpted pumpkins and spider webs, the ghosts and goblins hanging in yards, and dressing up is the most fun of all. In the past, I’ve always been at the bar and it’s a big deal. If I was off it was always popcorn and beer while I indulged in a marathon of all the scary classics like Halloween.
Joey walks out of the piercing room and sits on Remington’s stool as the girl in front of him starts walking down the stairs. “I heard haunted house. We could close down and all go. I looked at the schedule earlier. Kross’s session is the last to go. It could be fun. I bet we could even get Cassie to tag along if we’re all going and get drinks before.”
Kross finally looks up to load his gun as he wipes the last place he added color. I display a teeth-clenched grin, hoping he’s not angry. I did not start this discussion. I was minding my own business, but they’re also talking about it in front of a customer and I know that’s something he hates. “You want to go?” he asks, surprising me.
“I think it’d be fun for us all to go out together, regardless of what activity it is.”
His eyes never leave mine. “If Remington can get Cassie to participate, I’ll close; otherwise, every fucking one of you can stay for walk-ins until midnight.”
And like a heard of zebras scattering at the sight of a lion, they’re gone, all three of them running down the stairs. I just shake my head, because all three of them are grown-ass men acting like teenage boys. Being with Kross on Halloween . . . Shit, I’m excited.
