“Go,” she waves him off. “I need a few minutes.”
We have a private room at the back of the shop for piercings and tattoos in sensitive areas that require more privacy. A lot of customers don’t care and they’d get inked or pierced right on the main floor, but being on a busy Main Street with people streaming by all day long, we have to take that into consideration. When Eddie’s client came out of that room, I knew just by looking at her face that she’d just had her nipple pierced. There’s a kind of shell-shocked look that a lot of customers get, like they’d expected it to hurt but notthatmuch.
“Bets on whether she goes back in for the second one?” Maya says, quiet enough that the woman can’t hear.
“No chance,” Sean says. “She’s leaving with just the one.”
“Agreed,” Maya says.
We look at Eddie, who’s already double-fisting pizza. “Just one,” he mumbles around a mouthful.
Frankie rises from her seat and slaps her hand down on the counter. “Women are fucking superheroes who can handle growing brand-new humans, birthing them into the world and then caring for them while they recover from it,” she says, her voice low but adamant. “She’s going back in.”
“Okay, fair point,” Sean concedes. “But not all –”
“She has two kids,” Frankie cuts in. “She might need a minute, but she’s going back in.”
Everyone looks at me, waiting for my verdict. “I know better than to bet against Frankie,” I tell them. “She’ll get the second one.”
“And this is why you’re my favorite,” Frankie says sweetly. “Have some pizza.” She slides a box closer to me on the counter but isquickly distracted when Sean comes up behind her and grabs her around the middle.
“Your favorite, huh?” he says into her neck. He bites her playfully, then soothes it with a kiss in the same spot. Frankie rolls her eyes, but she practically melts into him.
“Hey, we should see if Elsie and Noah want some pizza,” Maya suggests. “We’ll never eat all of this.”
“Speak for yourself,” Eddie tells her, already reaching for another.
“Good idea,” Sean says. Frankie extracts herself from his arms and goes over to the big window, knocking on it to get their attention. Elsie’s arranging something at that big table – that fucking table that’s had a supporting role in a number of my fantasies about Elsie – and Noah is talking to a customer near the front of the shop. When they both look up, Frankie waves before heading over to the door and opening it up. She pokes her head through and talks quietly, gesturing behind her to the stack of pizza boxes.
Noah’s face lights up and I can’t see it from this far away, but I’d bet money that Elsie is blushing. I can tell by the way her chin dips down slightly, a stray lock of hair falling just so to cover part of her face.
I wonder if she’s thinking about Sunday and what I said to her.
Frankie closes the door and I watch as Noah leads the customer to the back of the shop to check out.
“They’re going to finish up what they’re doing and they’ll pop over for a few,” Frankie tells us.
While we eat, a customer comes in looking to talk to someone about an idea they have for a neo-traditional tattoo. It’s one of the styles Sean specializes in, so he waves her over to his work station to show her some of the tattoos he’s done in the past.
My next customer isn’t due for another ten minutes, so I grab the other chair next to Frankie and sink into it, stretching my legs outand linking my hands behind my head. Feels good to sit for a bit after hunching over strangers’ body parts all morning. I love my job, wouldn’t trade it for a damn thing, but it’s not easy on my back. Or my shoulders. Hell, even my knees start to ache sometimes from sitting so long.
It’s why I work out most mornings. Not for vanity reasons, but to keep my body feeling good while I do what I love day in and day out. People don’t think of tattooing as being a strenuous job that takes a toll on the body, but there’s a lot of hunching over and holding awkward positions for long periods of time, and you need to have a steady hand. Being in good physical shape is a necessity.
My eyes are closed when she enters the room, but I know she’s there as sure as if I’d watched her arrive. I can feel the weight of her gaze on me, hear her sharp intake of breath.
I peek one eye open and grin when I catch her staring at my chest, her eyes lingering on the way my T-shirt stretches tight across my pecs.
“See something you like?” I tease.
I can’t help myself. Riling her up is too easy. I relish every blush, every glare. Every time her body betrays her, broadcasting clear as day that I have an effect on her.
“I was wondering how you got your big head through the neck hole of your shirt, actually,” she retorts. Everyone except Sean, who’s busy with his client, laughs at my expense. I don’t mind. I’ve got big shoulders.
Besides, I like Elsie with her claws out.
While she makes introductions, and the suit who took my girl on a date shakes everyone’s hand, my eyes are glued to her. Her hair has been loose down her back every time I’ve seen her today, but now it’s pulled up into one of those crazy claw clips. I feel like a man from another era, during a time when mere glimpses of a woman’s flesh —completely innocuous places like a wrist or an ankle — were something to sweat over. I find myself transfixed by the curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck where the little hairs curl above the collar of her shirt.
My hands twitch with the need to see what my inked fingers would look like against the smooth skin of her neck. Would she blush when my hand wraps around her throat, or would she give me some of that fire that comes out when provoked?
