I was at the front desk saying good-bye to a female client who had wanted some blackbirds inked on her shoulder. As soon as my customer left, Emmy, who had been steering a tight ship of appointments today, said, “Be right back. Going to disinfect the station.”
She took off to the back room and just as I pulled up my remaining schedule, the bell above the door jangled. Jude stepped through with his skateboard slung over his shoulder and our eyes met. He appeared to stumble a little upon seeing me, if it wasn’t my imagination, before the door swung closed behind him.
If he was nervous it was probably my fault for staring at him longer than necessary every time I was in his presence. Either that, or he didn’t exactly enjoy getting tattooed. He had enough ink on him to banish that second thought completely, though.
Still, I knew that the process was uncomfortable, even for me. I hadn’t gotten new ink in a couple of years, not since the one above my heart that was a memorial of sorts to the people in my life that I’d lost.
Jude gazed at me through his thick blond lashes that were entirely too pretty to be framing such a manly face. Our eyes were pinned to each other and it was as if he and I were the only two people in the shop. Dex and Lila were at the front stations, talking over the buzzing of the machines, as they finished up smaller jobs and paid us no attention. Despite my resolve to remain adept, I struggled to even move my lips, which was unusual for me.
Jude’s chest was heaving but he could’ve been winded from pounding the pavement on his board. Or he was uncomfortable around me. That thought propelled me forward. “Hi, Jude.”
As usual, he didn’t say a word and I looked back down at the schedule to give my eyes something to do other than gape at how nicely his cotton T-shirt stretched across his muscled shoulders. “Almost ready for you. Just have a seat and Emmy will send you back.”
He nodded and as I stepped from behind the desk, I could feel his gaze on me. I suddenly wished that I’d thrown on a different pair of jeans or had patted on more cologne or something. But did it matter, really? He was here for a tattoo and I had a job to do, one I’d been performing for years and was pretty damn skilled in.
So what I looked like or how I smelled no longer figured into the equation. Besides, Jude was straight and he’d be royally pissed if I screwed up his ink or wasn’t an utmost professional.
I strode down the hallway as Emmy rounded the space I’d be using with Jude. “All set. Need anything else?”
The tattoo shop had a handful of secluded rooms that were reserved for bigger jobs and more private appointments and the customers seemed to appreciate that option. For lighter or quicker jobs, we used the stations up front.
“Nope.” I looked back once as if Jude could see me. “You can send him back.”
Stepping inside the room, I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.
I got busy prepping my station even though this was only a sketch consult. But if it wasn’t a large job, I could at least get the outline going pretty quickly. If it was a more complicated design, then I could keep our visit to the minimum discussion and I’d be ready for my next client.
Bending down to adjust the cover on the armrest, I sensed Jude behind me and my spine tingled in response. He plopped his bag on the floor and pried open the two Velcro flaps. That black backpack was always a fixture on his shoulders and now I realized that it was specially designed to store skateboards. They must sell them at that shop along with those knee-length shorts and Vans sneakers that he was always wearing.
He stood awkwardly in the center of the floor with his hand at his neck, as if wondering what to do next. He motioned to the door with his thumb as to inquire whether or not to close it.
“That’s up to the customer. Some like the privacy, others think the individual room is discreet enough and choose to leave it open,” I said, using my most practiced voice. “Your call.”
When he shut it without hesitation, I sucked in a breath. So maybe this wasn’t about his comfort level. Or maybe he wanted the tattoo itself to remain private. Fuck, I needed to stop thinking so hard and just get to work.
“So um, hey,” I said, flicking my hand over my shoulder. “Why don’t you have a seat over there.”
He nodded and sat down at the small circular table. I sat across from him and grabbed a sketchpad mostly to keep my fingers busy, but I could feel him watching. When I looked up, his cheeks were ruddy and a splotch of color appeared along his neckline.
I swallowed roughly. “Tell me what kind of ink you want.”
I couldn’t shake the idea that I had Jude all to myself for a little while. We were in this room behind closed doors sharing the same air space. I needed to play it cool, to let him set the pace, and I needed to keep my mouth shut or he was going to run the hell out of this joint and never return. For some reason he trusted me to do this and I needed to honor that.
But he was going to have to actually speak if he expected us to get anywhere. He raised his finger before digging into his front pocket. As he did so my eyes glided down his knees to the fine blond hair on his legs. Some bruises and scars were visible, no doubt from those skating stunts.
I kept my eyes averted from the front of his pants because that would be like asking for trouble. But as he forced the paper out of his pocket, his T-shirt rode up, exposing his abdomen. His skin was smooth and a trail of similar light fuzz ran vertically above the button on his shorts.
I cleared my throat as he unfolded the paper, smoothed it out, and then handed it to me. It was an intricate drawing of an enormous leafless tree. Black and stark, it looked desolate even on paper. The trunk was substantial and the jagged branches darted out haphazardly. The leaves were few and far between—several stragglers clung to the twigs up top. It was pretty cool, stunning really, and I couldn’t help gaping openly at it.