Page 9 of Tears of Glass
I wonder what Sienna thought when he stripped off for her, ready to claim her once again and saw the permanent tag I left on his skin.
May he rue that day forever. The day I trusted him with my past and believed we could be something.
“Hi,” a voice interrupts me, and I look up to find a blonde guy in his late teens watching me at the counter.
“Hi.”
He can’t be eighteen. His face is so smooth, still round with youth. He’s also sunburnt to fuck.
He stares at me expectantly and Dan’s tuneless hum is replaced with a chuckle.
“Can I help?” I prompt. He’s focused on my skin which swirls with patterns and secrets.
“Uh, yeah I want a tattoo.”
I raise an eyebrow and drum the pencil on the counter. “Have you had one before?”
“Uh, no.”
“Do you have a high threshold for pain?” I don’t normally ask this question, but it’s funny to watch him blanch under his sunburn.
“Of course, I’m tough, me.”
A smile to myself. Of course you are, buddy. “Do you know what you want? Big, small? Mummy’s name, that kind of thing.”
He flushes and from the corner of my eye I spot Dan shaking his head. I’m glad him and I can still be like this after our momentary blip last night.
“I want a bulldog.”
My groan nearly makes a verbal appearance. “Really?”
Dan steps up, big and dominating, dwarfing the youngster. The poor guy cringes with Dan’s approach. “Faith, if he wants a bulldog, you should give him one.” Humour sparks in Dan’s gaze.
I shake my head slow. “If it’s what you want, then that’s what I will do.”
Like I haven’t done a hundred of the bloody things over the years. “Can I see some proof of age?”
He hands me a card which tells me he’s just turned eighteen. “Are you sure?” I ask, all jokes dropped. “It lasts forever, right?”
“Yeah, it’s cool, let’s do it.”
“Where do you want it?” I know what he’s going to say before he does.
“On my shoulder.”
“Yep, I figured.”
“It’ll be two hundred.” This should make or break his decision. Really, I could do it for one fifty, but he wants it on his shoulder which makes him a twat, so I’m charging him extra.
His friends are still waiting outside, watching their mate talk to the girl with tats. “Do your friends want to come in?”
He looks almost relieved and turns to wave them in. I wonder which one he will beg to hold his hand in half an hour’s time.
“Come on then, let’s get you settled.”
I guide him to the leather chair and settle him before prepping my work station and then washing my hands and pulling on gloves with a snap.
He almost jumps out of his skin when I wipe his shoulder with a antibac wipe. A flinch jogs my hand when I touch him with my pen. “It’s a biro, calm down. I need to sketch first to make sure you’re happy with the size and position.” I concentrate on the job for a few minutes. “What’s your name?” I ask when I’m nearly done. He’s sweating already and the machine isn’t even on yet.
