Whitney laughed. “Alright, I’ll leave. Sabrina, wanna come walk around with me some more?”
“Sure, babe.”
The two women left, leaving Dustin sitting on his own on the far side of the booth, and Max and Patrick in the corner.
“What made you want a tattoo?”
“Like my daughter said, I’ve wanted one for years. She may think it’s because she has them, but I wanted one long before that.”
Max shifted, then reached up and adjusted the arm of the light illuminating his work area. “Lean forward some more, Dr. Bishop.”
“You’re jabbing a needle into my skin. I think you can call me Patrick.”
Max paused for a moment. He called most of his clients by their first name. But for some reason, this request felt intimate. He was almost reluctant to comply. “Alright then, Patrick.” Max got back to work, ignoring the way he felt as he said the doc’s first name. “You don’t mind Whitney having tattoos?”
“No. It’s her money and how she chooses to spend it is up to her. I just ask that she keep them below the neck. She loves me enough that she’ll give me that.”
“That’s fair. I’ve never heard her complain about the restriction.”
“That’s one thing her mother and I did right, raising her to be a good person while being who she wants to be.”
Max swiveled away to dip for more ink. “That includes doing what she wants with her hair? She’s had it buzzed ever since I’ve known her.”
Patrick laughed. “I tease her that she’d better let it grow back soon if she wants to enjoy the natural color before she has to start dying it. If she’s anything like me, she’ll go gray early.”
Max didn’t ask what his natural color was. From the trail he’d seen disappearing into his slacks, he guessed it was dark. “I didn’t think you were that old.”
“I’m only forty two. My wife and I had Whitney when we were young, and I started graying when I was in my late twenties.”
Max looked at the doc’s hair. It was more silver than gray. And it was thick, shiny and healthy. The kind of gray hair that very few men were lucky enough to have. “Your wife gonna be okay with you having a tattoo?”
“I’m not married anymore.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Max said over the buzzing of the tattoo machine.
“Don’t be. We separated amicably and we’re still friends. And of course, we’ve always agreed to do what was best for Whitney. It was just hard to be married to each other, seeing as how we both like sleeping with men.”
The buzzing stopped.
The doc shifted in his chair. “That doesn’t bother you, does it? That I’m gay?” He glanced over his shoulder as he waited for a response.
Max looked right into those blue eyes. The way the doc watched him was dangerous. Max recognized attraction when he saw it. He was going to have to be careful. He cleared his throat. “Nope. Don’t believe in any kind of discrimination. People love who they love. Besides, I have friends who are gay.”
“There’s a joke in there somewhere, I’m sure,” Patrick said in a dry voice.
A smile tugging at his lips, Max shrugged and got the machine going again.
Their session went smoothly, Patrick remaining still and steady in the chair. He talked quietly, explaining his practice and asking Max questions about the tattoo business and culture. Surprisingly, Max found himself talking more than usual as he responded to the doc’s questions. He followed him easily in conversation, rather than sitting back silently like he normally did.
“I’m guessing I’m not the only sci-fi aficionado here.”
“Yeah, lots of people around here are into sci-fi.”
“I imagine so. But I was talking about you. I noticed the tattoo on your inner forearm. The Terminator one.”
Max glanced down at the tattoo Patrick was referring to. The inside of his forearm was worked to look like the skin was being ripped away, revealing the metal skeleton of a Terminator beneath. “Busted. I should have been able to keep my local Blockbuster in business with the amount of sci-fi movies I rented.”
“I can say the same,” the doc replied with a husky laugh. “My Saturday nights are usually me at home alone with a steak and whatever crazy flick is on the SyFy Channel.”
“Sounds like a lot of my nights.”
“So we have that in common.” He was quiet for a moment, the sound of the tattoo machine filling the space in their conversation. “It’d be a shame to keep spending nights alone when there’s a fellow sci-fi aficionado I could share them with.”
Max fought to keep from showing any reaction. He didn’t know what to say to that. Thankfully, he was saved from answering by a group of people stopping by the booth to see what he was working on. Max talked about technique as he worked, answering questions from the small crowd that started to build. There was a mix of fellow artists, those who had tattoos, and those who wanted tattoos. Dustin handed out flyers with the shop’s information and a discount code on it. The doc was great, patiently getting up to show off the work being done when people asked for a closer look. Eventually, everyone drifted away and Max got going again.
Max blotted a run of ink from the doc’s smooth, firm skin. He hadn’t had to shave the area he was tattooing before he got started. He wondered if the doc manscaped or was naturally hairless there.
“You’ve got good skin.”
The compliment rolled out without thought. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. He often said that to his clients who had good, healthy skin. But his voice didn’t sound casual. And neither was the small smile the doc gave him.
“Thank you.”
Max clenched his jaw and looked away. What the hell was wrong with him? He was coming pretty fucking close to flirting with a man who knew people he associated with, and in his fucking place of work at that. He snuck a glance over at Dustin. He was flipping through a magazine, not paying any attention to their quiet conversation.
Changing the needle to one for color, Max got focused and dipped into the green for the serpents. The next few times Dr. Bishop spoke to him, he answered with his usual short answers. Eventually, the man gave up trying to carry a conversation and sat quietly for the rest of the session.
****
“Done.”
The doc rolled his shoulders. “Can’t wait to see it.”
Max set the machine down so he could clean his client’s skin of spilled ink and dotted blood. Then he gave him the hand mirror again, nodding towards the full-length mirror Sabrina had set up. “Go ahead.”
The doc stood with his back to the full-length mirror, holding up the small one to look over his shoulder. The smile that came over his face was one Max knew meant he had another satisfied customer.
“This is amazing. With the color added, it’s beyond even what you drew up. I’m glad I put my trust in you.”
“Thanks. Mind if I take a picture to add to my portfolio?”
“Not at all.”
Max got his camera out and took several pictures of the fresh work. He moved closer to get close ups of the wicked looking caduceus. Again, Max caught a whiff of the doc’s cologne. His body was already tingling with awareness, when the doc looked over his shoulder at him.
“What do you think?”
They were too close. Close enough that if they were in private, he could wrap his arms around the doc and pull their bodies together so he could slide deep inside him. Max took a step back.
“I think it looks great.” He put his camera way and went over the directions on caring for the tattoo. While he talked, he bandaged the fresh work to keep it protected. “Keep it covered for two hours. Don’t use Neosporin on it. Use a basic non-scented, oil-free lotion. And don’t scratch or pick at it, even once it starts to scab.” He passed him a card with tattoo after-care information and the contact numbers for the shop. “If you have any questions, you could always ask Whitney. She’s got enough tattoos that she should know this speech by heart.”
&nbs
p; The doc shrugged into his shirt, facing Max as he buttoned it back up. “Or I could call you.”
Max stood there for a moment. He’d never been tempted like this before. But he couldn’t take the risk. He turned away to start cleaning up his station. “The number for the studio is on that card. Anybody who answers can help you out.” There was silence behind him. A bright white business card appeared over his shoulder.
“Here’s my card. If you ever need a doctor for anything give me a call.”
Max took the card without turning around. “Thanks. You can pay with Dustin.”
Dustin finally looked up from his magazine. “What am I, the shop bitch?”
“Shut up and ring him out, Dustin.”
Max listened to the short conversation and sounds of Dr. Bishop paying for his tattoo. Once they were done, the doc addressed him again.
“It was nice to meet you, Max. And thanks again for the beautiful work.”
Not wanting to be rude, Max finally faced him. “You’re welcome.” He could see in Dr. Bishop’s face the hope that he’d say something more. But Max left it at that.
CHAPTER 3
The next night, Max drove to see his mother and grandmother for Sunday dinner. His mother, Kayla Stovall, lived with her mother, Maxine Stovall. She’d returned home a few years ago to stay with his grandmother, not because the woman needed her daughter, but because her daughter needed her. Makayla opened the door when he knocked. She was a small woman with light skin and short hair that she’d dyed dark blonde. Her expression was hard, wrinkles hiding what had once been a pretty face. They made her look older than her forty five years. She opened the aluminum screen door.
“Hey, Max.”
He stepped into the house and she put an arm around his back, leaning into him for a stiff hug. Max returned the awkward embrace with a one armed hug of his own.
“Mom.” After all this time, it still felt strange to refer to her as such. She’d never actually been a mother to him. He gave her the title out of respect for the life she’d given him and to keep the peace in their small family. That was all. His nose picked up on the smell of pot roast wafting down the hall, just as he heard his grandmother’s voice from the kitchen.
“Max! Get in here.”
Smiling, Max followed the delicious smell into the kitchen. “Hey, Grandma.” Coming up behind her, he wrapped both arms around her shoulders in a hug and bent to give her a kiss on the cheek. Maxine Stovall was as short and light as her daughter. But her wrinkles were earned through time rather than the ravages of drugs and living on the street. And regardless of her age, she was still a beautiful woman. Although he somewhat favored his mother and grandmother, Max’s dark skin had come from his father, a man he’d never met and more than likely never would. His height had probably come from him too. Or maybe from his maternal grandfather. He’d passed away from lung cancer before Max had found his family.
“Is pot roast good?”
“Yeah, you know I love your pot roast, Grandma.”
She snorted. “Might as well. I wouldn’t change it. Not even for you.”
“Sure you wouldn’t.” Max winked and gave her another kiss on the cheek. If he were to ask her to change what she was cooking, for him she probably would.
Maxine had only been in his life the past ten years. His mother had taken off when she was fifteen. She’d run with a group that did drugs, stole and committed other petty crimes in the city. When she’d become pregnant with him at that young age, she’d stayed on the streets, still using and skipping pre-natal care. He was damn lucky he wasn’t born with any lasting health problems. When he was born, she signed him over to the state and returned home without mentioning to anyone she’d had a kid. Over the years, she’d taken off over and over again. Meanwhile, he’d grown up in foster and boy’s homes. When he’d turned eighteen, his birth records had been unsealed and he’d learned who his mother was. He had a name but hadn’t checked out his family for a few more years.
When he had, he’d found his grandmother. She’d been furious at what her daughter had done. She immediately welcomed him to the family, swearing she would have raised him if she’d known of his existence. Max believed her. And that was the only reason he came here nearly every Sunday for dinner.
Within about twenty minutes, they were settled around his grandmother’s heavy, dark wood dining table. She always insisted they eat in the dining room on Sundays, using the good plates and silverware. After saying grace, they served themselves from the platters in the middle of the table. His grandmother tsked after he’d made his plate, and added another slice of pot roast. “You’re too skinny, Max. You need more meat on those bones.”
Max laughed. I’m not skinny, grandma. I’m just in good shape thanks to Nate and his gym.
His grandmother snorted. “How is Nate? He needs to come by for dinner, Gage too.”
“He’s doing alright. He sends his love.” Max often brought his two best friends by for dinner. And his mother and grandmother sometimes came over to his house when he was having one of his more low-key get togethers. His grandmother held a soft spot for the two men; Gage for being there for Max as he’d grown up in that boys home, and Nate for the favor he’d done for him a few years ago.
“How are things going at that tattoo place of yours?”
“Good. Went to a tattoo convention last week. Got lots of people coming by and making appointments from it.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so proud of you, Max. You know I’m not getting any tattoos, but I need some more of your artwork to hang up in the house.”
Kayla cut in. “I’ve got a few friends who want to get some tattoos, Max. Can you hook ‘em up?”
Max fought not to clench his teeth. His mother often tried to get him to give her friends free tattoos. “I’ll see what I can do.” He gave her the same vague answer he’d been giving ever since she came in last year. His offer had been to give her and one friend a free tattoo. She’d come in with several people, expecting freebies for each. Max had obliged out of a sense of familial responsibility. It would have been nice if they’d at least been grateful for the favor, but they’d all treated the sessions like it was no big deal for someone to work for a half an hour for free. And none of them had tipped. Max had paid the artists out of his own pocket and swore to himself not to ink his mother or any of her friends again.
The conversation moved on to his mother’s job while his grandmother cleared the table. Max got up to help her. Together they brought hot peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream back to the dining room. Once they were all seated with scoops of dessert, Max braced himself. He knew what was coming next. No matter the dessert, his grandmother asked the same question every Sunday.
“Are you working on getting me some great grandbabies, Max? I’m not getting any younger you know.”
“You know you’re still a young spring chicken, Grandma. I saw Mr. Hubbard checking you out last week.”
Maxine snorted. “That old fool. He was probably trying to see if I was a woman or a street post as blind as he is.”
Max laughed. The flirtations between his grandmother and Mr. Hubbard had been going on for as long as he’d known her. It was comical the way they both denied any attraction, when he knew they often shared a cup of coffee on the porch. And he’s seen them holding hands over those cups of coffee more than once. His grandmother started talking about how Mr. Hubbard needed to trim back his Oleanders and Max leaned back in his chair with relief at the subject change. If there was anything he hated doing, it was disappointing this woman. But he was pretty sure he’d never be giving her any great grand kids.
CHAPTER 4
Hachoooo! Max wiped his eyes and nose with a tissue before rubbing hand sanitizer between his palms. He was congested, his head so thick he felt like he was hearing everything through a helmet of cotton. His throat was sore and he couldn’t stop sneezing. He looked out the plate glass windows to the street outside. Houston didn’t put on much of a show for lea
f changes. But it always seemed like the pollens in the air went into overdrive to make up for it. He sneezed again. “Every damn fall.”
Sabrina looked up from going through her appointment book. “Why don’t you go to the doctor? You’ve probably got a sinus infection by now. And if you keep sneezing all over the place, you’re gonna have to work with a plastic shield over your face. Nobody wants snot in their tattoo.”
Max gave her a dirty look for planting that disgusting mental image in his head.
Sabrina grinned and shrugged. “Most drug stores have a clinic for small stuff like that you can go to. You want me to look online for the closest one?”
Max thought of the bright white business cared he’d been given last week. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got someone I can call.”
****
Max sat on an exam table, waiting. He’d come to see Dr. Bishop. When he’d called, he’d had to make an appointment for next week. But the next morning, the doctor’s office had called him back, saying they had an opening that afternoon if he could make it in. He didn’t have any appointments until that evening so he went ahead and accepted the change in schedule.
He knew it was probably dumb of him to make an appointment with the doc. The attraction between the two of them had been clear. Max couldn’t risk any involvement with someone in his circle, no matter how far on the outside of it they were. But he had found himself thinking of the doctor often. He figured it couldn’t hurt just to see him in a professional setting.
The door opened and Dr. Bishop came in. He was dressed in a white button down with subtle blue pin stripes. His white lab coat was crisply ironed, with his name embroidered over the breast pocket. A stethoscope was around his neck. His silver hair was neatly combed, shining under the fluorescent lights. He smiled warmly as soon as he saw Max sitting on the exam table.
“Max. It’s good to see you again.” He held his hand out and Max shook it. His palm was warm and gripped his for several seconds before he pulled away. “What brings you in today?”
Bad Boys Need Love Too: Max Page 2
