My cock twitches.
“Whatever you say, sugar,” Greer murmurs, closing his eyes as her hands wash his chest off.
After she’s got the picture placed—with a little more rubbing and patting than necessary—she holds up a mirror for him to see it, asking, “That ok?”
“Looks good, sugar,” he confirms.
“It’s Jet,” she snaps at him, making us both raise our eyebrows in shock.
Okay then, the lady doesn’t like pet names. I can work with that. “Jet short for something?” I ask her.
“Nope.” So we’ve pissed her off if the bite in her voice says anything.
“Just Jet?” Greer pushes.
“Yup.” That snap again.
Looking over at him, I can tell he’s pissed with her attitude, so I try and wave him off from saying anything else to her. The woman’s gonna have needles in his skin soon for Christ sakes, so I mouth, don’t piss her off when he looks to me.
He flips me off while she’s attaching her equipment.
Great knowing you, man.
When Greer goes to put his foot in his mouth, I beat him to the punch by asking her, “How long you owned this place for?”
“Three years.”
Ohh… She’s all kinds of bitchy now.
“And you’re how old?” I don’t know why I’m pushing, but I think I like the bite in her tone.
“What the fuck is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”
“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” Greer finally snaps back at her.
Shit.
Back away, Eli, back away.
Jet
The fucking balls of these two. I don’t know whether to kick them or lick them. If they would keep their mouths shut, I’d lick ‘em both. The more they talk, though, the more I want to kick.
They both seem to like putting their foot in it. I’ll let ‘em. It’s kind of amusing watching them give each other these looks that scream shut the fuck up. I doubt they even know I can see it.
I slip on a pair of latex gloves. Something I would have ordinarily done before I even touched the client, but I had to experience the warmth of Greer’s chest first. Grabbing my gun, I dip it in the ink and say to Eli, “Hey, muscleman, turn the radio on.”
“I have a name,” he mumbles while doing as I ask.
“Don’t we all.” I shoot a quick look at Greer, raising my brow because he keeps calling me sugar. If they only knew, I’m the furthest thing from sweet there is.
His smirk is pissing me off, so I decide that instead of bracing him for the needle, I’ll just forge ahead.
“Shit, woman,” he growls when the buzzing needle touches his skin. And what amazing skin it is.
For real, he’s got the ‘V’ that makes anyone with a vagina stupid, and I damn near lost my tongue when he took his shirt off.
With every touch of my needle, his abs ripple and flex, and I’m so tempted to just slide my tongue over them. I know I can’t, but damn, do I wish I could.
Once I’ve got the outline done, I ask him, “Do you need a break?” I almost half hope he does so I can go cool off.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Jet? I’ve never reacted to one man this way before, let alone two. I’m turned on, I’m aware, I’m confused as fuck.
“I’m good, sugar.”
Do not smack him!
Hearing the bell above the front door jingle, I turn my gun off and tell them, “I’ll be right back, guys,” as I remove my gloves and make my way to the front of my shop.
When I bought the building three years ago, I never dreamed of being as successful as I am now. My clients are mostly regulars who bring their friends, and word of mouth seems to have spread far and wide. I admit I was nervous while designing this place because I appear to have a more vintage sense of style.
Luck shined down on me, and I received an apprenticeship under one of the most renowned older artists in Canada. He did my first tattoo, and when I kept going back to him for more with my own designs, he asked about my interest in art. After telling him my life’s journey, he offered me an opportunity to start working for him and to eventually own my own gun and station. I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been happier.
He passed away just after I had opened my own shop. I felt so lost and broken I’d almost quit. Every time I had the thought, though, I would hear his voice in my head telling me not to let my parents win or to give the gossips something to wag their tongues about. So I sharpened my focus, built my clientele, and every now and again, I feel like I can sense his presence around the shop. His pride shining through.
Pinup girls from the forties adorn most of the walls that aren’t adorned by my own work—in remembrance of him. He loved his girls.