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“Your pic,” Sawyer said, holding up his copy of her design, “had this bird in the middle of the flowers.”
“Yeah,” she said, feeling a little defensive.
“Why?” he asked, setting the drawing on his desk and snagging a pencil. “Unless the bird means something to you, it serves no purpose,” he explained. “You have to look at it this way: this is a piece of art, and your back is the canvas.” Sawyer drew a pair of curving lines on both sides of the picture. “If we kept your layout, the bird would look disproportionate on your back—unless we lower it to match the curve in your waist,” he added. “But then the claws of the bird are all over your ass, and it doesn’t look as good as you might think. Leave your ass alone.”
Rebecca’s mouth dropped open at the direct way he shared his ideas.
“Listen,” Sawyer answered, reading her expression. “I tattoo shit on people all day. Over and over people bring me their fuckin’ baby feet, infinity symbols, ladybugs and fairies, and all that crap. And, you know, I take their two hundred bucks and send them on their way. You?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You’re talking about a big ass-piece that’s going to take a long time, and cost a bunch to finish. I have no intention of looking at a shitty tat for eight sessions.”
Her mouth pulled closed, and she sucked on her lips while processing his statement. “Thanks,” she muttered finally.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied easily, sitting back in his chair.
“But the flowers seem so large,” she said, pointing at the pictures. “I’m sorry, but I kinda wanted smaller ones.”
“We want detail. Not just blobs of color on your back. The curves,” he said, leaning forward and running his fingers down her back, “of your back need to be accentuated by the flowers… all the way to the top of your ass. It’s sexier that way,” he explained, slicing his hand down her spine to give effect to his explanation.
Rebecca felt her cheeks and neck flush.
“Trust me,” he said, leaning in closer. She could almost see herself reflected in his green eyes. “You’ll thank me later if we do it this way. But you know?” he said abruptly, raising his voice and leaning back in his chair. “It’s really up to you. You tell me what to do, and I ink you for life. Your call.”
Rebecca paused while she gathered her thoughts. She didn’t like being told what to do. It almost made her want to do the exact opposite, and yet he was the professional. She was paying him for his expertise. “I trust you.” The words felt foreign coming from her lips. She couldn’t actually remember telling anyone those words before. “Let’s do it your way,” she went on and nodded, unsure if she really meant it, but certain that she wanted to go forward before she changed her mind.
“And you like this version?” Sawyer verified, as cool and calm as ever.
“Yep,” she said in a small, strained voice. Rebecca bobbed her head and stared at the paper in the artist’s hand.
“Great,” he responded, standing up. “The chair,” he said, gesturing to the tattoo chair against the wall opposite his desk. It looked like an inclined workout bench. “It’s been all cleaned and ready. I’m going to go blow this up. Take off your top, loosen your pants, and sit down with your chest against the pad.”
Heat flushed again over her body as his words sank in. Before she could argue, the man was out of the room and strolling down the hall. Rebecca stood there in a daze for a moment, pulling at the front of her shirt and biting her lip. She had known this part would come. In fact, she had worn her least comfortable bra, knowing that if she was going to have to be in her underwear around a perfect stranger, she was going to look her best. Now that the time was here, however, she was suddenly getting cold feet.
Slowly, she turned her back to the door. Crossing her arms over her front, she gathered the shirt until she had it raised to her breasts.
“You give a girl a moment and she wastes it,” Sawyer muttered, reentering the room.
Rebecca yipped like a small dog and spun to face him.
“Need another moment?” he offered, not bothering to look at her as he moved to the tool cart that held his ink and tattoo machines. “Or are we just going to do this?”
The moment grew heavy upon her mind as she realized that this was a major turning point in her life. She could walk away right then. There was still time to turn around and change her mind if she wanted. The moment he put the needle to her skin, though, there would be no going back. Panic welled and swirled in her nervous stomach. Rebecca knew she needed a change, but was this it? Was this the direction she wanted to go? Would this take her down a path she was ready to travel? Or would this be a huge mistake she’d regret for the rest of her life? This wasn’t some small decoration she could hide whenever she wanted. This was a life devoid of tank tops, swimsuits, camisoles, or nudity around potential lovers if it went wrong. Waves of images drove over her as she stood there, her shirt tucked up to her chest. This could be a terrible mistake, or the greatest blemish of her life.
