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“A recommendation from one tattoo junkie to another,” he said, giving her a smile as he wiped the area. “Never get the top of your feet done. You think the wrist is bad? Sheesh.” He shook his head. “I almost passed out on foot number one, and it took me six months to convince myself to finish foot number two.”
He winced at the memory. That had been the bad kind of pain. He rarely reached that level, especially with tattoos. The stinging buzz had always been alluring for him, but the designs on his feet and wrists had been like tiny jackhammers digging into his bones. Not cool.
“Can’t be as bad as childbirth,” she said, shaking her head and grimacing as he made another pass.
“Not from what I’ve heard. I don’t have first-hand experience with that one.” He winked, holding back an eye twitch as his phone buzzed against the tabletop with another incoming text.
“They are pretty persistent,” she said, glancing toward his phone. “New partner or jilted ex?”
He chuckled. “Always looking for the latest gossip.”
Chewing his lip, he filled in another spot, digging deep to darken the blending. She didn’t seem to notice this time, apparently too busy waiting for an answer.
“Neither, I guess. Hopefully the former, but he made it pretty clear it was a one-time thing.” Epically clear—if walking out of his house naked and only checking in to make sure that they were both feeling level counted.
When Scotland had stopped by later, he’d made sure to go without a shirt while munching on a popsicle. Clint hadn’t even looked interested when Scotland had licked his lips and sucked the thing straight into his mouth. Supremely unimpressed was more accurate for the look he’d gotten.
“But he keeps texting you? Sounds like you’ve already hooked him.” She shifted in the chair, a bit of her blonde hair coming loose from its tie. She had four other tattoos by him, but most of them were covered. It seemed to mean that she was familiar enough with him that she wasn’t worried about digging.
Yeah, but— “He’s staying at my cabin right now and he’s been texting questions about the place all day. First, he couldn’t get the stove started again, then the dishwasher and the washing machine. He actually asked about a sewing kit first thing this morning, and now he’s wondering about news channels. He sounds more bored than interested.”
“Or he’s just lonely.” She hissed, her biceps flexing as he made the final pass. “You told me before that it’s pretty quiet at your place. Maybe it’s just too quiet for him.”
“Huh.” He leaned back, grabbing the cooling spray and a fresh paper towel before spraying and wiping her new tattoo. “I never thought of that.” He’d never minded the silence or the chance to be away from people and live in his own head.
“What does he do? Maybe he’s used to the hustle and bustle, and he can’t figure out how to turn that off.”
“He works at a—uh—bar. He’s the owner, actually.” He was not outing his kinky self to a client. Nuh-uh. He’d made that mistake before. “You’re all set. Take a look in the mirror before I wrap it.”
He put on another fresh pair of gloves, wrapping the tattoo and sending his client on her way after she handed him a hefty tip. When he grabbed his phone again and looked at the screen, he winced at the newest message.
Can I feed the donkeys? They look hungry. I forgot to ask their names.
Hitting the call button before he could back out, he brought the phone to his ear.
“And here I thought you were going to ignore me all day,” said Clint. He didn’t sound pissed off. He was maybe a little miffed, if anything.
“Sorry. I was at work.” He brushed one hand against his leg where a bit of ink had pooled. It smeared against the fabric, all but disappearing if not for the sheen. “I just wrapped things up so I’ll be headed your way in five. And I thought I told you their names—Dumb and Dumber.”
Clint chuckled against his ear, a sound that went straight to his gut. If only he could get that noise to come out of Clint’s mouth when they were in the same room. It would be so much better in person.
“I thought you were joking.”
Most people did when he first told them the names. “Nah. They are smart now, but they were two of the silliest colts when they were growing up. Back then, I couldn’t tell them apart very well either, so the names just kinda stuck.”
He shrugged despite being alone, his face flushing as Clint laughed. If he put the pedal to the metal, it was still a good twenty minutes home. Usually, he took his time after a client to clean up and work on a few sketches. Now he just wanted to be back.
Maybe he’d be able to catch a glimpse of naked skin if Clint went without a top again—or that epic ass, which he’d dreamed about. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough time to admire him properly, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he’d rushed things when he should have taken them slower.
Even just Clint himself would be the highlight of his day, which was just strange. Art was his life.
Then again, Clint was art.
“It’s cute. Very mature.” He could almost hear the eye roll. “I won’t bug you if you’re at work. I’ll see you when you get home.”
The line went dead with a click, and Scotland swallowed, even though every bit of saliva had gone dry. Home. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see a day when Clint would say that word and think about the same place as Scotland did.
Fuck, I’m getting soft. It was a crush and just a crush. He’d had dozens in his life. Some, he’d thought were more serious than they were, and others he’d been surprised to see tears when he’d broken up with them. Not a single one of them had ever lived with him, though.
