Cover Up

by L. A. Witt

  She looked over her shoulder. “So you can cover it?”

  “Yep. Definitely.” He straightened up. “Let’s have you sit down, and I’ll trace it on some clear plastic.”

  Once she was seated, he rolled up the back of her shirt and tucked it under her bra strap—with her permission, of course. Then he got to work.

  About halfway through tracing the ugly design, he realized he hadn’t even given Becky a second look. Not that he tried to creep on every client who came in, but she was pretty attractive. Objectively, he could see that. Everything from the curve of her waist to the swell of her hips and butt should’ve at least made him, like, steal a glance.

  But he didn’t. He just methodically traced the tattoo. Was he getting desensitized? Didn’t Pete and Colin tell him that happened eventually?

  Except he’d been the opposite of desensitized very recently. When Nate had come in that first time, Lucas had been damn near tripping over his own feet. Tracing his tattoo had been . . . hell, kind of erotic, if he was honest with himself. And that was an arm tattoo; this one was dangerously low on a hot woman’s back.

  Now he had his hands on Becky’s skin, the sexiest view of her waist and the way her jeans held onto her ass, and his mind was divided between the tracing and the man he’d be seeing later on tonight.

  Well, that was new—being so attracted to someone that no one else registered on his radar. Okay, not entirely new. Erika, his second wife, had had a monopoly on his libido from day one. His first wife hadn’t. That probably should’ve been a clue, but if he’d been perceptive enough to pick up on clues like that, he wouldn’t have gotten married as a teenager in the first place.

  But Erika? She’d been it from the start, and even for a while after they’d split up. It wasn’t like he’d been in love with her right away, either. Things had been purely physical between them for months before they realized they’d fallen for each other.

  So maybe it made sense to be that attracted to Nate. It wasn’t love or even infatuation. Stuff like that might or might not come later if they gave it a chance, but an asteroid could also crash into the Earth and politicians could stop lying. Possible didn’t mean likely.

  That was okay, though. What they had right now? Lust. Pure, unbridled lust that desperately needed another hit of that horny, insatiable man.

  And if nothing else, his attraction to Nate gave him something to think about besides how terrified he was of screwing up Becky’s tattoo.

  * * *

  An hour later, Becky left the shop with Lucas’s card.

  Lucas looked down at the tracing of her awful tattoo. The tracing had gone like any other. He’d covered her ink, gone over it with a Sharpie, and photocopied it onto some paper. Now he had a base for the new design. She still wanted a floral tat, and she particularly liked roses, so that was straightforward enough. And as pale as the underlying design was, it wouldn’t take much to hide it all beneath some rich reds and greens.

  So why was he almost as afraid to start sketching on the paper as he was to start tattooing her skin? Fuck. Where was his confidence?

  “Hey.” Pete appeared beside him. “You okay, kid? You’ve been staring at that design for ten minutes.”

  “Oh, um . . .” Lucas cleared his throat and thumbed the edge of the photocopy. “Just trying to figure out where to start. It’s another cover-up, so . . .”

  “Right up your alley, then.”

  “Yeah.” Lucas’s heart sank. “I guess.”

  “What? Kid, it’s not for nothing we all call you the cover-up wizard.”

  Lucas chewed the inside of his cheek, but didn’t say anything.

  Pete came a little closer and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Listen, we all know you took a hit in the confidence balls. Happens to all of us. But for what it’s worth, even after I thought Colin was crazy for bringing in an apprentice after the couple of incompetent douchewaffles that came before you, I can totally see why he did.”

  Lucas smiled. “Glad he gave me a shot.”

  “Me too. And I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t have, with a portfolio like yours.” Pete shook his head. “In fact, between you, me, and the fence post? You’re wasting your time playing apprentice. You obviously know what you’re doing, and you’d already done two apprenticeships worth of tattoos by the time you started here.” He squeezed Lucas’s shoulder again. “Only thing you’re low on is confidence.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Lucas’s smile fell. “After that one I fucked up, I’m thinking it wouldn’t hurt to keep playing apprentice a little longer.”

  Pete waved a hand. “Nah. Fuckups happen. This shit?” He tapped a finger on Lucas’s sketchbook. “You’re ready, man. More than ready.”

  “Well . . .” Lucas gazed down at the tracing of the tattoo he was expected to cover. “We’ll see. But I, uh, should get to work on this.”

  Though Pete didn’t press the issue, Lucas’s mind kept circling back to it. It did seem kind of ridiculous, still apprenticing when he’d already done so many tattoos, and even found his specialized niche. But that confidence thing . . . yeah, it was a problem. Someday he might look back and regret leaving the training wheels on for so long.

  Right now, as frustrated as he was with himself over it, he liked the safety of working under a mentor, and he was grateful as hell he’d found this particular shop to do it. All three of the Skin Deep guys had given him a ton of useful information, too. Colin had been giving him pointers on his shading that bordered on magic. Pete had helped him develop an eye for adjusting tints to skin tones so the ink would look as good on skin as it did on paper. Just recently, Matt had shown him a couple of techniques for making animal eyes look almost lifelike. So, it wasn’t as if he was wasting his time here.

  Still, sooner or later, he’d have to go out on his own. Even if he kept working in this shop, he wouldn’t have the title of “apprentice” to fall back on if he fucked up. He’d get paid more, but there’d be more pressure. Besides, Colin had said himself that this was good for him, too. Something to hold his focus while his boyfriend was away.

  So, no need to rush out of the apprenticeship.

  Eventually, he told himself. Just . . . not yet.

  * * *

  This was it. Go time. D-day.

  Two weeks after Becky had come in to discuss her cover-up, two months after Lucas had royally botched a tattoo, his first custom cover-up was here and ready for her ink. The design was finished. The stencils were printed. The client was excited and nervous and really, really seemed to like the roses and vines he’d drawn for her.

  Yeah, he was nervous. Seriously nervous. Like, nauseated and wound up even though he was exhausted from a miserably sleepless night. That kind of nervous.

  This wasn’t the first tattoo he’d done since the screw-up. Most of those had been fairly basic, though. Tribal designs. Text. Flowers, which any artist who’d been at this for a while could do in their sleep. Excluding the artist who’d done Becky’s tattoo, anyway.

  It was his first cover-up and his first custom since his disaster. And it was big. So, no pressure or anything. Not a very forgiving design, either—there were fine details that had to be absolutely precise in order to both mask the shoddy ink underneath and not look like ass.

  After he had Becky situated with her shirt pulled up in the back, Lucas cleared his throat. “You mind if I get a picture of it? For the before-and-after?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Great. Thanks.” He snapped a couple of shots with his phone, then went to work.

  The stencil took four tries, which was enough to rattle Lucas’s already shaky confidence. Had he scaled it right? Was this going to work? What the hell was wrong?

  But finally, the fourth try lined up the way it was supposed to. He took another picture and showed it to her, and she approved.

  So, now there was nothing left to do but . . .

  Lucas gulped.

  Ink. Time to lay down some ink. Fuck.

&n
bsp; Eyeing the stenciled-over tattoo, he reminded himself that every cover-up looked like garbage at this stage. With the stencil over the top of the existing tattoo, it was basically like someone had tried to print out a line drawing, and the paper in the tray already had a full-color design on it. It looked awful.

  He took a deep breath. He could do this. He’d done it before. He’d fucked up once, but gotten it right plenty of times. There was absolutely no reason to believe he’d botch this one like he had—

  “Looks great.” Colin’s voice startled him, and he looked over his shoulder to see his boss poking his head into the side room. Their eyes met, and Colin gave him an encouraging nod and a thumbs-up. Then he adjusted his gym bag on his shoulder and gestured toward the front of the shop. “I’ll be next door for the next hour and a half or so. Matt’s still here, though.”

  “Okay.”

  Colin smiled at him, and Lucas’s stomach settled a little. There was no way his boss and mentor would humor him at this point; if there were something wonky with the stencil or the design, Colin would definitely say something before needle met skin.

  I’ve got this. I can do this.

  With his mentor’s approval boosting his confidence, Lucas faced Becky’s back again. He pressed down on the pedal, and as the needle in his hand buzzed to life, his pulse ratcheted up.

  Becky tensed, bracing against the armrest.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She nodded but didn’t speak.

  “Okay.” He put a hand on her back. “Here we go.”

  * * *

  After two hours, Becky pushed out a breath. “That’s enough. I think I need to stop for today.”

  Lucas took his foot off the pedal, and the needle quieted. “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Just . . . don’t think I can handle any more.”

  “That’s okay.” He put the needle on its hanger. “Doesn’t all have to be done in one shot.”

  She exhaled again and turned her head so her face was visible in profile. “How does it look?”

  Lucas inspected his work. It definitely wasn’t done—the old tattoo was still visible, but it was much less conspicuous. And . . . even unfinished, it looked good. Heart fluttering, he smiled to himself. God. Yeah. It did look good. When it was done, this would be one for the portfolio. Hell, this one might end up on the goddamned refrigerator.

  He snapped a photo for Becky and handed her the phone. Then he held his breath, hoping like crazy that she didn’t have a decidedly different opinion of his handiwork.

  After a painfully long moment, she smiled and gave him back his phone. “I love it. It’s going to be awesome when it’s totally done.”

  Lucas didn’t even try to hide his relieved sigh. “Great. Glad you like it.” That was one hell of an understatement. The memory of another client breaking down crying before blowing up at him was still entirely too fresh, and Becky’s approval soothed that relentless sting.

  He quickly bandaged her up and gave her a set of instructions for taking care of the new ink. She paid, scheduled her next appointment, and headed out.

  Becky hadn’t even walked out the door before Matt said, “Hey, do you have time for one more tonight?”

  Lucas turned to see Matt and a young guy—obviously military, going by the haircut—with an open portfolio between them. Lucas shrugged. “I might. What are you thinking of?”

  Matt showed him the design the kid had picked out. It was a large bulldog with the Marine emblem in the background. “This, about five inches across on the back of his left shoulder. I’ve got an appointment coming in, so I was going to put him on the schedule for next week, but if you’ve got time . . . ?”

  Lucas hesitated. That was easily a ninety-minute job, not including prep and cleanup. But it was also money he desperately needed. And for that matter, he finally felt like he had his mojo back. Becky’s cover-up had given his confidence a much-needed surge. Why not ride that momentum?

  He smiled. “Sure. Come in and have a seat.”

  While the guy got situated, Lucas sent Nate a text:

  Just got a walk-in. This one will take a couple of hours.

  And then he got to work.

  Chapter 13

  While he waited for Lucas, Nate kicked back on the couch to make some headway on his Netflix queue.

  A couple of weeks ago, he’d gone through and deleted the handful of shows he and Caleb had been following. It seemed kind of dumb, not being able to watch Chicago Fire or Sense8 on his own, but it hadn’t been all that unusual for him and his ex to talk about the episodes. They’d both been pretty invested in the characters and the stories. The shows were about as appealing now as the thought of sleeping on the sheets that had been on the bed that night in January.

  So, he deleted the shows, and he was disappointed at how cathartic it wasn’t. He didn’t really feel much of anything. Which he supposed shouldn’t have been too surprising. He hadn’t felt a thing the night he’d taken those six-hundred-thread-count sheets into the backyard and watched them burn, cum stains and all, in the fire pit Caleb had built last summer. Well, he’d felt a little aggravation—the sheets’ fire-retardant material had been stubborn about burning, but a generous application of lighter fluid had done the trick. Otherwise, he’d just stood there and numbly watched the fire until it died away, leaving behind ashes and nothing else.

  Little by little, he was nudging the last few scraps of his ex-husband out of his life. Eventually, the house would be gone. He’d change his name back. He’d file his taxes as a single man. The tan line around his left ring finger would fade. And now he was exorcising Caleb from the Netflix queue. He didn’t know if that was petty or not, but it was a step forward—not that it felt like much—and he’d take what he could get.

  Once he’d deleted those shows, he started browsing for new ones. Anything to get his mind off Caleb, since those thoughts could sour his mood in a hurry, and keep him from getting stir crazy while he waited for Lucas.

  Eventually, he found some stand-up comedy specials that sounded promising and put one on. He’d always loved stand-up and relished being able to watch it whenever he wanted now, as opposed to the rare nights when he could persuade Caleb to watch. Or the even rarer times he was able to convince him to come to a comedy club with him. Which never really made sense—Caleb was always enthusiastic and excited about going once they’d bought tickets and made plans. It was just a matter of getting him to that point.

  And why are you in my head tonight? Go. Away.

  The current comedian wasn’t holding his attention, so he clicked out of the special and found another one. He’d seen this performer live before, and she was hilarious, so hopefully she’d be better able to liven up his mood.

  She was. Two jokes in she had Nate in stitches, and when he paused it at twenty minutes to get another soda, he felt a hell of a lot better than he had earlier. So that was what he needed. He’d watch a bunch of stand-up, and when Lucas got here, he’d forget anything and everything existed except sexy, insatiable—

  He shivered so hard he almost dropped his soda. Crap, he could not focus tonight. His mind once again struggled to keep up with the comedian on TV, but not because he was mentally flogging himself with thoughts of his ex-husband. No, this had more to do with his dick being at half-mast in his jeans because he kept thinking about Lucas. About getting him into bed. Getting him naked. Getting him off.

  Nate squirmed on the couch and adjusted himself. He was restless and needy, itching for Lucas to be in his arms so they could wind each other up, but this was a kind of restlessness he could handle. They’d been sleeping together for quite a few weeks now, and he was still excited whenever Lucas was heading his way. He liked that feeling. The anticipation was delicious, and the payoff was even better. The way Lucas’s eyes always lit up when they met his? A man could get drunk off that.

  Assuming, of course, that man didn’t go crazy waiting for him to get here. Lucas was worth the wait, though. He’d be
fine.

  Would I be going this crazy if I were waiting for any other guy?

  Well that was an interesting train of thought. He stared into space as the thought bounced around in his head. It wasn’t just the sex he was looking forward to—it was Lucas. Sex with Lucas, but also . . . Lucas.

  Because he’s the first guy to come along after Caleb. No shit I’m looking forward to him.

  And the sex. Definitely the sex. But also Lucas.

  And the sex.

  Nate settled on that and didn’t give it any further thought. Instead, he adjusted himself again, took a swig of cold soda, and tried to concentrate on the comedian he was watching.

  * * *

  It was almost eleven when Lucas finally texted that he was on his way. If Nate had had any ability to concentrate left—and he had next to none by then—it was gone now. He damn near started pacing just to kill some of this restlessness, which had gone from twitchy to downright crazy as soon as that text had come through.

  Minutes later, headlights arced across the living room through the curtain-veiled windows as a car pulled into the driveway. Then the engine shut off, and Nate shivered.

  God. Yes. You.

  Now the world feels right again.

  He got up and headed for the door. As soon as he’d opened it, Lucas threw his arms around him and kissed him right there on the porch. “Sorry I bailed on you,” he said, talking fast. “It’s just, I was flying so high after that cover-up, and when this walk-in showed up, I wanted to—”

  Nate cut him off with a soft kiss, and smiled. “Relax. It’s okay. I’m just glad to see you excited about your work.”

  Lucas held his gaze, and slowly, he relaxed. “Yeah. It’s good to feel like I’m actually back in the saddle, you know?” They made some steady progress getting into the house, and as Nate toed the door shut behind them, Lucas added, “After that one I fucked up, I’ve just . . . I thought I’d lost my touch or something.”