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He knows it's me—the Vegas innuendos couldn’t have been by accident—and yet he didn’t say a fucking word. Didn't apologize for how he treated me. Didn't bother to be sufficiently embarrassed and humble.
Nope. Instead, he smirked at me, sporting a huge bulge in his pants.
What a disgusting sicko.
At the same time, he's a sicko who’s paying me fifty thousand dollars for a sleeve. It's no problem for me to suck it up and decorate him with my art. It's kinda ironic, actually. I'll put a little piece of myself on his body to make sure he won't ever forget me again.
Meanwhile, I’ll continue to ignore him. Pretend I don't remember.
There’s no time to think about it now, though. I’m running late.
On my way out, I stop for a quick second. Look around. Try to see The Salty Siren through Peter Vander’s eyes.
A sense of pride washes over me. Creating this space was more than opening a business; it was about breaking barriers in a field where female tattoo shop owners are still a rarity. Every detail is my vision come to life—from the white marble flooring to the dark, modern furniture to the paintings I created for the walls.
My goal was to elevate the tattooing experience for my clients and make it feel more like a luxury service, which is why I opted for private spa-like tattooing rooms with ambient lighting. I’ve invested in the most cutting-edge gear available and use only the finest vegan ink to ensure my shop provides the highest quality and longest lasting body art.
The work's paid off. My reputation in the industry is pristine. Kali Nighthawk, Ryuji Takahiro, and Luna Marquez, three of the best artists in the world, have made my shop their permanent home. Others are guest artists for stints between six months and two years.
My shop kicks ass. I wonder if he’s impressed?
No!
You don’t care if he’s impressed.
Annoyed about Peter Vander fucking with my mind, I’m ready to get outta here. My hand is on the doorknob when Merc steps in front of me.
“Not so fast.” He rests his hands on his hips. “Roman-tattoo man was hot. As in young David Beckham hot.”
I roll my eyes and reposition my cross-body bag over my corset. “Meh.”
“Uh…don’t play me, boo-boo. You seemed a bit, uh…tense around him. Maybe it was his ginormous crotch rocket. Is there something I should know about?” Merc’s eyebrow is arched up to the sky.
Crap. Nothing gets past him.
I decide to come clean. “Peter isn't some random client. He’s the guy from Vegas. The one-night stand.”
“No fucking way!” Mercury’s eyes widen in disbelief.
I wince, frustrated and a touch embarrassed. “Yeah…it took me by complete surprise. I can’t believe we were talking about him and he showed up a minute later. Merc…I’m sure he recognized me, but he didn't acknowledge who I was. I’ve thought about a million things I would say if I ever saw him again, but I never thought it would be at my shop. Embarrassingly, rather than telling him off, I wussed out and pretended not to know him.”
“Don't be embarrassed, that's a boss move. JFYI, I had to reprimand that pervert from staring at your ass. And for being hard as a rock.” Merc swooshes his hand in a circle.
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Well, a lot of guys get boners when I tattoo them.”
“What the hell do you put in your ink, girl?” Merc dramatically fans himself.
“Shut up.” I shake my head, laughing. “Seeing him in the flesh has one positive benefit. It cemented my Tryst List plan. He fucked with my self-esteem, Merc. I’m not allowing this Peter guy to get under my skin. No fucking way.”
Merc leans against the wall. “Well, if you ask me, there’s still something there, amiright?” He wiggles his fingers. “The air was thick with sexual tension.”
“Oh, there was tension, but not what you think.” I tap my finger on my chin, trying to explain. “Truthfully it’s more like…resentment. Back then he made me feel like I was something special, only to discard me. Today, he acted like he didn’t know me. He’s a player to the core and I want no part of him.”
Merc boops me on the nose. “Well, my dear. Sounds like you’re playing the game right back.”
“A game?” I shudder. “Ignoring him isn’t a game, it’s protecting my heart.”
Merc cocks his hip. “Tell yourself anything you want, babes.”
