“No, it’s aquirkysnail.”
“If you say so.”
“Artwork like this begs to be made into a tattoo.”
“Wow. It’s just an old thing I used to doodle.”
He sets the pad down on the counter. “Want to learn how to do that on a person?”
I gape at him. “Pardon?”
He gestures to the door behind the counter. “Everything in the backroom is still set up. My chair is in there. I was just getting ready to break it down.”
“You want me to tattoo my snail on you?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“What if it’s shit?”
He shrugs. “No one will notice.” He eyes me steadily. “And I don’t think it will be. You’ve a good eye and a steady hand.”
“It helps with the day drinking.”
He laughs. “Well?”
I examine him, and excitement kindles. “Yeah, okay. I’d love to have a go. What about Bernard?”
“Who?”
“My dog.”
“Ah, I don’t want him tattooing me. His paws are a bit big.”
I snort. “Can I bring him where you tattoo?”
“It’s breaking every hygiene law, and I’m a stickler for them, but fuck it, we’re not open, and you’re not charging me, are you?”
“Perish the thought,” I say demurely. My phone rings, and I grin when I see Reuben’s contact picture. “Are you on the way home?” I say as I answer the call. There’s a very long pause, and I cock my head. “Hello?”
“Oh yes. Sorry,” he says hoarsely.
“You okay?”
Another pause. “Never better. Erm, are you ready to be picked up?”
“Not really. I’m about to tattoo someone.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m tattooing a snail on someone.”
“Well, of course you are,” he says slowly, and I laugh. “Well, you certainly move quickly on a day out. Something to remember.”
“You already knew it anyway.”
I’m pretty sure he’s remembering just how fast I do move, and it’s confirmed when I hear his voice say huskily, “So, are you tattooing anyone I know, or just doing forced tattoos on the local residents?”
“It would be hard to reach skin here. Everyone seems to be wearing forty layers of clothes. It’s actually a mate of yours. Rhys.”
