by Zeia Jameson
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Other Books
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Proper Ink
Copyright—2018 Zeia Jameson
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.’
Cover Design by
Alyssa Garcia
www.uplifting-designs.com
Editing by
Bethany Pennypacker
[email protected]
Formatting by
Champagne Book Design
www.champagnebookdesign.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Other Books
Acknowledgements
About the Author
To the inkers and to the inked:
Art is an extension of our souls. We bare our souls to the world for everyone to witness and judge. With bravery and with humility. We should do so with pride, as well, because our souls are all precious and beautiful.
Three Years Ago
“I have one more final and the showcase, and then I will be finished,” I say as I run my fingers over a strand of Mallory’s chestnut hair. She tilts her head and smiles at me. I gaze into her eyes and think of where we’ll be a month from now—Europe. An expansive summerlong tour through multiple countries to explore firsthand the artistic culture of the Old World. It has been my dream for years, and now that I’m graduating from Savannah College of Art and Design, the prestigious art school of the Southeast, and have learned everything I can from a textbook, I can now expand my knowledge of the arts and grow in my career the best way humanly possible.
And to make the journey even better than I could ever imagine, Mallory has agreed to come with me. On our third date, after I regaled her about my plans, she told me how she had similar travel goals. And in the two years we’ve been dating since, we have been planning and saving for our post-graduation journey across the pond. We have mapped out a handful of specific sites and events, but we do plan to keep the trip as spontaneous as possible—to live as the locals do. We’ve taken classes for different languages in our spare time and have become friends with students from Italy, France, and Germany who are stateside studying abroad, to learn more about cultural lifestyles.
And in one month, we’ll be there, living the dream. If we love it as much as I think we will, we may not come back.
I snake my hand around the back of Mallory’s neck and kiss her. I love her so much. She is everything.
I was hesitant to date Mallory back then. Or anyone, for that matter. I wanted to stay focused on school. My parents didn’t want me to attend SCAD. They didn’t think a degree in the arts would count for anything worthy of a future. They wanted an engineer or a scientist. They wanted me to go to Georgia Tech, especially after my dopehead of a brother decided not to go to college at all and go directly into the police academy upon graduating high school. My parents wanted us to be scholars, not a blue-collar enforcer of the law and a head-in-the-clouds arts major.
School had to be my main focus. I had to keep my scholarship and prove that I wasn’t wasting time or money.
Then, Mallory came along. She was persistent. We shared an art history class together, and one afternoon, after class, she asked me out for coffee. I politely declined. A few weeks later, she asked again. I declined once more and apologized. I told her I had a full load of schoolwork and had to focus on that. The next day, during class, she slipped me a note. It read:
I’m swamped too. But it’s just coffee. Not a proposal. PS, you have a great smile.
Reading the note made me smile. I looked over at her, smiling, and nodded. One coffee outing led to another. And then a dinner. We clicked on a lot of levels. She made me feel at ease. Before I knew what had come over me, I found myself thinking about her all of the time. After six months, we moved in together. We were both so inundated with school, we agreed living together would allow us to stay on top of classes and still spend plenty of time together.
Which leads us to today. She’s the love of my life. I cannot imagine my future anymore without her. I’m planning to propose while we’re in Europe. My heart pounds every time I think of her saying yes.
“I have my last final on Thursday,” she says after breaking our kiss. She wraps her arms around me and brings her face into my chest. “I feel like I’ll finally be able to breathe then,” she continues.
“It’ll be over before you know it,” I encourage. “And then we’ll be on a plane heading toward the time of our lives.”
For a second I think I feel her tense up in my arms. It was a flash of brevity, however, and she looks up at me with reassurance in her big crystal-blue eyes. I kiss her again, then trail my lips down to her neck and collarbone.
“Luca,” she whispers. That is all it takes for my blood to begin pumping faster. My heart is racing. The pressure is building in my boxer briefs. Her saying my name, in her sexy, sultry voice has me at attention in zero-point-four seconds flat. My hands dance along the hem of her T-shirt and begin to make their way north.
Before I reach the bottom edge of her bra, her hands cover mine and she pulls away from me. She looks at me, batting her eyes. “I’m sorry, Luca, but I have to go. I have study group at nine.”
I look at the clock on the wall. “It’s only ten-after-eight.” I kiss her neck again, but she pushes at my chest. “I have to, uh, get a book from the library first. I meant to do it last night but completely forgot.”
“Oh. Okay.” I kiss her forehead, then walk over to the dresser. I grab a T-shirt and throw it on. “I’ll walk with you. We can grab some coffee.”
She runs her fingers through her hair and takes a glance at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “No. I’m supposed to meet Felicity at the library. I don’t want to be late.” She walks out of the bedroom and into the living room.
Felicity?
“I don’t think I know Felicity,” I say, following her. She tosses a few things into her messenger bag and throws it diagonally over her shoulder. Then she looks at me and gives me a shrug. “She’s a friend from class.”
Without skipping a beat, she walks toward me and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll be home tonight, probably late. I’ll text you and let you know about dinner.”
I throw up a wave. “Okay. I love you.”
She’s out the door before I get the words out.
It’s just school stress, I tell myself. She’s got a lot on her plate. We are both in a state of chaos with school right now.
Everything will be fine in a few days.
Present Day
“This looks fantastic, Luca.” Ricardo stands sideways by the mirror, admiring the work I’ve just completed on his arm and shoulder. It’s taken me four one-hour sessions to complete the dragon tattoo which spans from his left bicep up his shoulder and down his back to the edge of his shoulder blade. He brought me in a sketch he’d drawn himself about six weeks ago. I drafted my own sketch, modifying details, coloring, and putting my signature touch on it, branding my artwork.
“So everything is to your liking? The shading? The thicker lines here?” I point to the edge of the dragon’s tail, where I emphasized the scarring that Ricardo said was important. It signifies his experiences being in battle somehow. He’s an army veteran. A lot of my customers are members of a motorcycle club that comprises a group of veterans from all branches of service. It surprises me how the group is so fanatical about their two-wheeled hogs as well as their tattoos. They are their main obsessions. But it brings me lucrative business.
“It’s perfect, man. Just like the rest of them. You’ve yet to disappoint. With any of my tats or any of the brothers’ tats. We’re lucky to have found you, Luca.”
The members of the club refer to one another as brothers. They are a brotherhood. They walk around with matching leather biker vests and jackets with insignia patches. At first glance, they look intimidating and murderous. But they are all gentle giants who have a common bond of fighting for our country and surviving it. They’re pretty cool in my book.
“I appreciate your business. It’s always a pleasure,” I say, tidying up the equipment at the booth.
Ricardo shrugs on his flannel shirt and buttons it. “I already have another design in mind for my next one. I just have to save up the dough for it.”
I nod. “Well, when you get a chance, bring by your thoughts on your design, and I’ll let you know how much it might cost. Plus, remember, you get a discount. For not only being a repeat customer, but this would be your fifth tattoo, so there’s an extra ten percent off for you.”
He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll bring something by next week,” he says, giving me a tap on the shoulder and exiting the booth toward the counter. I follow him to the register and give him the total, and he pays up.
“We have a new member. He is interested in getting an old tat covered up. Do you do cover-ups?”
“Depends on what’s already there. I’ve done some cover-up work. But I’d have to take a look at it. And if I don’t think I can do it, I have a great reference for a cover-up guy in Atlanta.”
“Sounds great. I’ll see you next week, and I’ll try to get him to come with me.”
“I look forward to it.” I take the toothpick I have in my mouth, my mechanism to help me concentrate, and point it in his direction.
Ricardo proceeds toward the door and gives me a lazy wave. “See ya around, Luca.”
“See ya later, Ric,” I say, reinserting the toothpick.
The bell above the door chimes as he exits. I check my appointment book to see what I have for tomorrow. Nothing until noon. I only do sessions by appointment. The two artists I employ handle the walk-ins. I gave that up a while back. After the one-thousandth tattoo of Tweety Bird on a girl’s pelvic bone, I had to elevate my services. I specialize in unique, customer-specific designs. I let Darma and Virgil handle the Tweety Birds.
My phone chimes, and I pick it up from the counter to take a look. It’s an Instagram notification. I’m not really into social media, but I do follow a few tattoo artists on Instagram to keep up with their work and to see which trends are staying in the forefront. Right now, superhero logos are a hit. I remind myself to let Darma and Virgil know to offer that up as a suggestion for walk-ins. Maybe get them to do some mock-ups for the portfolio.
I hear a commotion of women outside, but it doesn’t really faze me. There is always a commotion going on outside my door. That is one of the perks of having a shop on River Street. Constant traffic.
I check the clock on my phone. It’s pretty late. Ricardo wasn’t able to get here until almost midnight. I was completely fine with that. I enjoy that I can make my own hours.
But I definitely should lock up before the drunks start trickling in. I’m surprised they haven’t already.
A picture of a Phoenix tattoo grabs my attention on my phone. I zoom in, looking at the detail. Colors I never would have thought would work together. A fantastic piece of work.
I begin writing out a comment on the post, when my bell chimes. Shit.
I look up to see Stella—Padraig’s friend or girlfriend, I’m not sure—and another woman. They are both looking hot as fuck. And maybe a little drunk. I smile and flip the toothpick around in my mouth. “Snake charmer! And you brought a friend! I didn’t know Paddy was into doubling down.” I raise my brows at Stella. Hopefully, she understands I’m being playful.
“What?” she asks.
I point my finger in their direction, move it from one to the other, and then point my thumb to the curtain behind the counter. “You know,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
My comedy is lost on her. She looks over at her friend, with a sour and confused expression on her face.
Her friend chimes in. “He thinks we’re here to have a three way with Padraig,” she says loudly and then begins to giggle. Then she puckers her lips at Stella, making sloppy kissing noises.
I have no idea what that is about.
She looks so familiar to me. Where do I know her from?
“Kerry, please stop,” Stella begs.
Kerry. Kerry. Do I know a Kerry?
“Nope. Sorry, Kerry, not into that,” Padraig says, coming from behind the curtain, which separates the tattoo shop from the small living space he has in the back.
Padraig makes his way toward Stella and places his hand on her face. I swear she’s got some magic in her. I have never seen Padraig act like this.
“We aren’t here to see you, Padraig. We’re here to get tattoos!” The way she yells out tattoos, I know she’s had more than a little too much to drink. I chuckle at her giddiness.
Stella rolls her eyes at Kerry.
“Is that so?” Padraig asks. Stella answers something in a low tone that I can’t make out.
“What’d you ladies have in mind?” I ask.
Kerry approaches me at the counter. “We’re going to get matching tattoos! Jellyfish!”
I belt out a laugh. I think that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It’s never my place to judge a client’s decision, however.
“The fuck?” I hear Padraig say, but my attention gravitates toward Kerry, who is standing on the other side of the counter, flipping through a portfolio book. She’s leaning forward against the counter, and I can’t help but notice how her boobs are about to fall out of her shirt. She’s twirling her hair when she looks up at me. She points to a picture in the book. “Oh my God, did you really put Tweety
Bird on some chick’s crotch?”
I look down at the picture she’s pointing to. I nod. “That’s one of many Tweety Birds I put on some chicks’ crotches. That one was my best one, though. That’s why it made it into the book.”
“Getting a Tweety Bird on your crotch is pretty stupid.”
She slurs the word stupid a little. But it’s not pitiful. It’s kind of adorable. Plus, her boobs are practically resting right there on my countertop. Good God, are they glorious.
“I don’t disagree, but I only do the work. I’m not here to be a moral compass.”
“Ooh, a compass!” She looks at me with wide eyes. “That would be a cool tattoo.”
“It could be.” I slide the book toward me a little and flip to some of the compass tattoos I’ve done. I slide the book back toward her, and she tilts her head one way and then the other to look at the pictures. “A compass would probably be better than, say, a jellyfish, don’t you think?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath and sighs. “If Stella wants a fucking jellyfish, I’m getting a jellyfish too. She’s the best friend anyone could ask for. If she wants a tattoo of a penis on her forehead, I’ll get one to match.” She winks at me and clucks her tongue. “You got any penis tattoos?”
This girl is cracking me up. I wonder if she’s this forward when she’s sober.
“Uh, no. No penis tats,” I answer with a laugh. “About as close as we’ve done to genitalia is a blossoming flower that my guy, Virgil, did on some dude’s bicep. The guy said it looked like his wife’s gorgeous snatch. His words, not mine.”
Kerry throws her head back and laughs. “Please tell me you have a picture of that.”
“I certainly do.”
I reach under the counter to find the binder that has the snapshot of that tattoo, when I hear Paddy say, “I suppose not. But ya won’t be gettin’ them done here.”
I straighten back up before I can find the binder. “Excuse me, Pad. Last time I checked, this is my shop. I think it’s my say whom I will and won’t ink.” I’m just goading him. I’d never sit these ladies down this late at night, in the state they’re in, and give them jellyfish tattoos.
