Presley whips off her sweatshirt and lays face-down on the padded table while Quinn preps her station. Chance picks up one of the albums on the end table and flips through various tattoos while we wait.
“So, I have to know...why the three circles?” Quinn asks. “I love hearing about the meaning behind everyone’s tattoo choices.”
I push up the sleeve on my forearm, and show her the bracelet. “I got these for us when we were in college.”
“Ah, that’s cute. You guys best friends?”
Chance glances up from the book. “No, we’re together.”
“Cool.”
Affection warms my heart. I’m so proud to see how far he’s come, and how comfortable he is in his skin now.
We lean in as Quinn sets the stencil between Presley’s shoulder blades. It’s so strange to see such a clean slate of skin on her back when her chest, neck, and arms are covered in ink.
After Presley okays it, the buzz of the tattoo gun fills the room. I watch as she closes her eyes and lies peacefully on the table without flinching. It’s like she enjoys the pain of the needle hitting her skin, as if it calms her. Every once in a while, she’ll open her eyes and smile up at me and Chance. The tattoo was her idea, and I love that she wants such an important piece of us on her body forever.
After about fifteen minutes of tattooing and constant wiping, Presley sits up and glances at her reflection in the mirror.
She grins. “I love it. Thank you.”
Quinn sanitizes her station before prepping it again, and I decide to go next. I’d like to consider myself a tough guy; I play professional ice hockey, after all. But none of the hits I’ve taken compare quite the same to the searing pain of the needle. I opted for the spot over my heart, and now I know why Presley winced when I chose it.
She holds my hand from the chair beside the table. “How are you doing, baby?”
My eyes remain squeezed shut as I clench her hand. “This fucking sucks.”
Chance chuckles. “You big baby.”
“If I could move, I’d flip you off.”
Quinn smiles. “You know, men have the worst pain tolerance. Women handle tattoos so much better.”
“See?” I shoot a glare at my boyfriend. “It’s not my fault. It’s science.”
Presley pats my hand. “It’s okay, baby. It’ll be over soon.”
Not soon enough.
Chance gets tattooed last, choosing the spot on the inside of his wrist for his, and by the end of the afternoon, all three of us are walking out to the parking lot with permanent ink linking us together forever.
Chance opens the passenger door for her, and she bounces onto the seat. Then he steps in front of me and swings open the back door before I can get to it.
“So chivalrous.” I lean in and press a kiss to his lips before hopping in the back of his SUV.
While Chance takes us home, my phone beeps with a text from my family’s group chat.
Mom
Stephen, invite Presley and Chance for dinner next week.
Willa
No fair! I want to meet them too.
Chelsea
Guess you shouldn’t have moved four-hundred miles away.
