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“This is perfect,” she told him, as they walked inside the shop. The floor was lined with alternate grey and black tiles, the color theme extending to the walls and the furniture – with five sleek black leather chairs and shiny chrome and black tables that were covered with magazines and equipment.
On the walls were framed photographs of intricately drawn tattoos. Lydia breathed in, the sterile aroma of cleaning products filling her nostrils, as a man walked out from the door at the back of the shop, his face splitting into a grin when he saw Jackson standing there.
“You must have gunned it to get here so fast,” he said, shaking Jackson’s hand.
“The roads were empty,” Jackson told him. “And I didn’t want to miss our slot. This is Lydia.” He glanced at her. “This is Clay, he owns this place.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Clay said, taking her hand in his. “Any friend of Jackson’s is a friend of mine.”
“How do you two know each other?” Lydia asked, amused at how different they were. Clay’s body was like a canvas, covered in beautiful tattoos up to his neck. His ears were pierced in multiple places, and his head was fully shaved.
“Our website got hacked, and Jackson got it back online within an hour,” Clay told her. “After that, he had a customer for life. He’s a genius.”
He looked genuinely impressed by Jackson, and her heart gave a leap. “So are you,” she told Clay, looking at the framed tattoos on the walls. “Are these all yours?”
“They sure are. Did that dragon a couple of weeks ago. It took four visits. Twelve hours in total. But it came out great.” He brought his gaze back to them. “Speaking of which, do you have any idea what you want? We have a two hour window, so we probably need to crack on.” He looked up at Jackson. “You talked about a compass over the phone. You still up for that? I have a few I can show you.”
Jackson nodded. Lydia looked at him from the corner of her eyes, interested in his choice. “A compass?” she asked. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I thought it would be cool.”
“How about you?” Clay asked Lydia.
She sighed. “I’m still trying to decide.”
“You can take a look through the portfolio while I work on Jackson. That should give you some ideas.” He pointed at the black leather easy chairs. The coffee table in front of them was covered in different colored folders. “The red one’s where you can start.”
“Great.”
“And if you want a water or soda, help yourself,” he said, pointing at the glass door of the refrigerator, next to the front desk. “Okay man, let’s get started with you.” He walked with Jackson to the desk, where he pointed at some sheets. “This one’s cool,” he said, as he slid his finger across a design, “but kind of boring. Personally, I like this one. We can do it in black today, and if you want to add color we can do that in the future, or even extend it into a more detailed design.”
“Yeah. I’ll take that one,” Jackson agreed.
“On your chest?”
“Yep.”
Clay nodded. “Okay. Take your shirt off, and get on the tattoo chair behind the screen, and I’ll go wash up and get everything ready. Lydia can come along with if you’d like.”
Carrying the portfolio, Lydia followed Jackson into the private area. Jackson pulled his shirt over his head, and Lydia tried really hard not to ogle his chest as he dropped onto the chair and stretched his long, jean-clad legs out in front of him. Clay walked out of the backroom with the template, grabbing a wheeled stool and his cart, pulling them next to Jackson. After preparing his needles and ink, he sterilized his hands and put on some black vinyl gloves, shaving Jackson’s chest, and dabbing alcohol cleaner all over the area he was going to tattoo.
When he put the transfer of the tattoo on Jackson’s chest, he asked him to check that it was how he wanted it.
Jackson looked down. “Yeah, that’s good.” He glanced over at Lydia. “What do you think?”
It looked hot. That’s what she thought. “It’s great.”
Clay winked at her. “Okay then.”
She was supposed to be flipping through the portfolio while he tattooed Jackson’s chest, but she found herself too entranced by the process to look at the folder on her lap. She had an idea of what she wanted anyway. If Jackson’s tattoo was going to be about travel, she wanted hers to be the opposite.
To represent home.
“Am I hurting you, man?” Clay asked, as he moved the needle across Jackson’s skin.
“It feels like a scratch,” Jackson said, smiling over at Lydia. She smiled back, and her heart ached, because she wanted this moment to last forever. To have his smile imprinted on her memory, the way the compass would be imprinted on his skin.
“If you didn’t have such tight muscles, it would hurt less.”
