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"Yeah?"
"Shouldn't I be listening to your input?"
His smile spreads over his cheeks. "You'll do whatever I ask?"
"It's your tattoo."
"What if I want it to say Chloe Grace Lee has a fantastic ass?"
"That's a little obvious, don't you think? Might as well have it say 'water is wet.'"
His eyes brighten. "How about Chloe Grace Lee is madly in love with me?"
"If you want my name on your body that badly, just ask."
He smirks. "You're right. It's my ink. But some people have bad ideas. Want shit that won't work. It's your job to give them good ink. You have to steer them in the right direction."
"But—"
"You don't know shit yet, yeah. This is lesson one. You have ink."
I nod.
"Right here." His fingers curl around my wrist. He traces the word inked on it. Hope.
I cringe, anticipating his insult.
But he stays serious. "You pick this font?"
"Yeah."
"It's thin. Delicate. Perfect for a small part of your body. The tattoo is long. Not overly so—it's a short word. But long enough it stretches over your skin."
I nod.
"This was the right place for it." He pulls a marker from his back pocket. "But here?" He scribbles the word hope in the middle of my forearm in cursive. "Doesn't look as good."
It doesn't.
"It's too small for that body part. It's swallowed up by all the skin. But this." He measures the tattoo on his shoulder with his fingers then brings it to my forearm. His fingertips tap my skin at my elbow crick and my inner wrist. "Fuck, you're tiny."
"Five one."
"This is too big for your arm. But mine." He holds out his arm. "It would work."
"Where else?"
"Curve of the hip. Lower back." His fingers brush my lower back. Press the cotton fabric of my tank top into my skin.
It's soft. Tender. Like the night he…
I swallow hard.
"I have an appointment at ten. I want you sitting by my side the whole time." He motions to the counter. "Set up. Do the work Ryan assigned you. If you finish early, fix this."
"Do you want it somewhere else or on your shoulder?"
"I need this on my shoulder. I'll die if I don't get it on my shoulder."
