Page 31 of Spring Break Fling

I started on the coverup. It was more than just covering an old mistake—it was about giving him a piece of art he could be proud of, something that told a new story. I wanted him to lift his sleeve and show off the awesome artwork.

“So, what happened?” I asked, breaking the silence, curious about the story behind the tattoo he so desperately wanted to cover.

He exhaled deeply, the regret evident. “Marie was great at first, you know? Thought she was ‘the one.’ But things changed, people change. She started fucking around on me. I was too stupid to see it. My buddy caught her and told me, and I was still dumb enough to believe her over him.”

“Harsh.” I nodded as I worked, focusing on getting the lines of the phoenix just right. “Tough break, man. But at least you’re taking a step to move on.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching the needle as it traced the new design over the old regrets. “My new girl is going to be happy.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?”

“Sure.”

“Take it from a guy that has done hundreds of cover-ups, don’t get a name,” I said. “I think it’s some kind of curse. Stick to symbols, if you really must. Like choose something that means a lot to both of you but isn’t directly personal like a name.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, now you tell me. How long have you been doing this?”

“Since I was sixteen,” I said.

“Cool.”

As I worked, I found myself getting into the zone. Cover-ups were tricky, but they were also my thing. I loved the challenge of taking something people hated and turning it into something they could be proud of. It wasn’t just about the art; it was about giving them a fresh start, a clean slate.

By the time I was done, the guy was practically giddy, admiring the intricate phoenix I’d woven into the remnants of the old ink.

“This is incredible,” he said, grinning at the mirror like he’d just won the lottery.

“Told you I’d take care of it.”

He paid, thanked me about ten times, and left looking like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

I was feeling pretty good about myself—until the door to the shop swung open, and in walked trouble.

She wasn’t wearing the slinky dress from the nightclub or the casual tourist look from the tattoo session. No, this time Hannah was all business. Heels. Slacks. A blazer. A tight blue blouse that made me wonder if she was trying to kill me. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, which only made me want to take it down and run my hands through it.

She didn’t look sexy. She looked dangerous.

And pissed.

She marched right up to me, no hesitation, and shoved her forearm in my face.

“Fix. My. Tattoo.” Each word was punctuated with anger.

The guy who’d been paying at the counter suddenly decided he didn’t need a receipt and bolted out the door.

I smirked, leaning back just enough to give her a onceover. “Well, hello to you too.”

“Don’t say hello. You know what you did. You branded me!”

“Are you saying I made a mistake?” I asked innocently.

“This was no mistake. You did this on purpose. You made me sign that stupid form so I couldn’t sue your ass and then you went and tagged me like you own me.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. It’s just a few lines. It’s an easy fix.”

“I came here for a simple tattoo, not a lifetime reminder of a mistake.”

I shrugged. “You signed off on the design. You watched me do it. If you were having second thoughts, that was the time to say something.”