“Lisa tells me you have an idea for some ink.” Hayden stopped sorting to focus on me.
I nodded. I had already entertained showing him the design, thanks to Lisa. Since being near him made me feel like I was having heart palpitations, I couldn’t help but be wary. There was intimacy in committing art to skin. I already found Hayden unnervingly enticing for a variety of reasons, not the least of which had to do with his severe brand of beauty. Being around him more wouldn’t lessen that, and the piece I had in mind was no small thing.
“I’d be happy to check it out if you want to stop by the shop later.”
“I’ll think about it.” After a protracted silence I finally asked, “How long have you been a tattoo artist?”
“Close to six years. I started as a piercer when I was eighteen, but it wasn’t for me.”
“Why not?”
Hayden wiped his hands on a fresh cloth and tucked my hair behind my ear, tracing the shell as he did so. The ladder of helix rings clicked dully against each other. “You’d look good with an industrial,” he said softly. I shivered even though I suddenly felt hot.
He motioned to his face and poked at the viper bites with his tongue. “If they were all this kind of thing, it wouldn’t have been an issue.”
“What was the issue?”
“I’m afraid I’m not much of a sadist, and it takes a certain type of person to be able to stick a needle through a dick.”
Fortunately, I wasn’t holding anything breakable. “Okay. Right. I didn’t think about that.”
He laughed at my reaction. “I pierced for a few months before I started apprenticing to be a tattooist. For about a year and a half I had to do both. After a few years I built up a solid client base and a decent reputation in the business, and Chris and Jamie convinced me we should go out on our own.”
“So you opened Inked Armor?”
“We did. I was only twenty-one at the time, but it’s been four years and we’re still doing well.”
“You were so young.” I couldn’t imagine taking on that kind of responsibility at this point in my life.
He shrugged. “I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen, and it seemed like a smart thing to do. Anyway, I haven’t put a hole in anybody’s junk since we opened our shop.”
“So you’re not a fan of piercings from the neck down?” Heat climbed my chest toward my cheeks. I shouldn’t have asked that question, because all sorts of inappropriate images popped into my head.
“I didn’t say that.”
I opened my mouth, searching for words. None came.
“The ones from here down aren’t just decorative.” He ran his hand over his chest, down to his belt buckle.
“You’re not one for holding back, are you?”
He grinned. “It’s not really my style.”
I changed the subject. “So you like it? Being a tattoo artist?”
My curiosity was genuine, as was my long-standing interest in body art and art in general. It had played a significant role in my decision to pursue a master’s in sociology. It gave me a valid reason to focus on what most considered social deviance. After the crash I turned toward what I really loved—art and modification, delving deeper into subcultures and extreme factions. My advisor, whose school of thought was rather antiquated, seemed to have a difference of opinion on the direction my thesis proposal should take.
“I get to be an artist and not starve, so that’s a bonus. Some of the tattoos can be boring, standard shit, but the pieces I get to design? Those are the ones that make the job worth doing. I don’t think there’s anything quite as gratifying as creating art out of someone’s experiences. Well, some things are more gratifying.” He looked me over, his perusal blatant. “Are you hiding any ink under those clothes?”
“No,” I lied. I rooted around in a box to conceal my face lest he press for more information.
“I think you’d look good with my art on your body.” Judging from the rapacious gleam in his eye, his phrasing was purposeful. “Anyway, the offer stands. You should come by again when you have a chance, maybe stay longer than two minutes. I can show you my albums, and you can show me your idea for ink. Maybe I could work on you.”
“Okay, maybe.” I didn’t miss the dig at my boomerang visits, or that he’d noticed them in the first place.
“I’ll take maybe over no.”
I’d been working on a sketch for a long time; even before the crash I’d had several ideas for tattoos. Originally the piece had just been art, but it had changed in the past several months into a symbol of my loss. It would be rather revealing to hand something so personal over to Hayden.
“Did you design any of your own tattoos?”