Lukas

by Carian Cole

  I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Well?” I urge, raising my eyebrows up at him. “What happens if you make a mistake? Is there some kind of like eraser thing?”

  He looks at me sideways and winks. “I don’t make mistakes. And if I did? I’d do it so well you wouldn’t even realize it happened.”

  “I see,” I say, admiring his confidence.

  “Some things in life, you just can’t do over. They’re meant to be permanent, whether they’re what we expected or not. Doesn’t mean they’re a mistake.”

  I blink at him, allowing his words to sink in. “Very wise words, Lukas. Impressive.”

  “Yeah, I’m like a walking fortune cookie. It’s from reading too much.”

  “You can never read too much. How does that saying go? He who reads lives a thousand lives?”

  He nods and gives me his crooked yet very charming and still hauntingly familiar grin.

  “So much truth in words, Ivy.”

  Looking me over, he nods his head to the music and scoots closer. “Okay . . . why don’t you lay on your left side . . . the chair reclines back like a bed.” He flips a lever, leaning the chair back, then puts his hand on me and guides my leg slightly. “Is that comfortable for you, for now?” he asks.

  I nod, a little flustered at his hand on my thigh. “Yes, it should be.”

  “Alrighty, you let me know if you start to feel uncomfortable or woozy or any stuff like that, okay? I brought you a bottle of water, too, in case you get thirsty.”

  “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful.” I rest my head against my bent-up arm and bite my lip nervously, eyeing him and all his apparatus. I feel like I’m at a strange doctor’s appointment.

  As he brings the gun to my flesh, I clench my teeth, bracing myself for the unknown.

  The first few seconds, I want to scream and kick him in the face. It burns. It’s noisy. And holy shit, it hurts. How the hell do people do this? WHY do people do this? I try not to move my leg, and wonder how safe this is. It feels like he is literally digging a hole straight through my leg.

  He stops and looks up at me, peeking out from under the hair that has fallen across his face, and once again, I’m overcome by that bizarre feeling. My heart just seems to freeze . . . and then jolts back to its rhythm again. I blink at him, trying to bring myself back to normalcy.

  “Ivy . . . you doing okay there, doll?” Laying the gun down, he hands me the water bottle, eyeing me with concern. I take it from him and drink slowly. He called me doll. I should be offended, but I’m not. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. Jesus. “You’re all tensed up.” A gentle squeeze of my leg meant to comfort me sends a jolt of heat straight up my thighs. “You’re doing great. I know it feels kinda strange, kinda like a bee is attacking you non-stop, but just try to relax, okay? It’s really not as bad as it feels, and it’s not as deep as it feels either.”

  I laugh nervously and sip the water again. “I guess I wasn’t sure what to expect. It does hurt.” I look at the first part of the vine that he’s started. Even this tiny bit looks really great, and the excitement of seeing it helps distract me from the pain.

  “You have to just put your mind elsewhere,” he says. “Separate yourself.”

  “I’m sorry,” I reply. “I know you’re probably not used to older women in here being all scared and jumpy.” I ease my body back down, giving him the ‘go-ahead’ to continue.

  He picks up his gun and starts again, but it feels like he is being gentler and lighter now. “Old?” he repeats with narrowed eyes, wiping at my leg with a paper towel. “You’re not old.”

  “I’m pretty sure I am not your average customer.”

  “I have no average customers. How old are you, thirty? That’s not old.”

  “Try thirty-six.”

  He scoffs and re-positions my leg. “Shit, that’s not old either, and you look great. I see some young girls in here that look awful from doing drugs, abusing their bodies, baking in the sun. Hell, most of them have fake body parts. I don’t know what I’m touching half the time, and what might break off or pop.” He smiles up at me. “You have a really sweet natural beauty.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks again, and I quickly look away from him and focus on the far wall. “Thank you for saying that. I guess I’m just starting to feel old. My daughter is almost eighteen, I’m recently separated, and I feel like all the women I see around me are young and thin, with these amazing bodies, looking like they just stepped off the runway.”

  “Eh, trust me. Underneath all the makeup and the clothes, they ain’t all that. In fact, they’re pretty fuckin’ boring, too. Most of them can’t even carry a decent conversation, unless it’s about themselves.”

  His soft humming to the music as he works his gun back and forth over my leg distracts and lulls me, putting me more at ease. “So how come you wanted to get a tattoo?”

  I decide to just be honest rather than tell a silly lie. “I’ve always wanted one, but my ex-husband said they were ugly. He wouldn’t let me get one because he thought I would look like a slutty stripper.”

  He wheels closer to his bench and changes something on his gun. “Ugly, huh?” He pushes his hair out of his eyes, his arm muscles flexing and rippling while he does whatever he’s doing, and I have to tear my eyes away before he catches me. “I guess there’s a ton of slutty strippers walking around then. But I don’t see you as one of them.” He wheels back over to me and places his hand on my thigh, once again sending a slight tingle travelling up between my legs. Good Lord! When was the last time I was touched there? Or the last time I felt butterflies?

  His voice interrupts my butterfly moment. “And your body is yours—you can do whatever you want with it. No one should ever tell you what you should think, do, wear, or anything else.”

  “Easier said than done when you’re married.”

  “Well, it sounds like he won’t be inflicting his opinions on you anymore, so now you can spread your wings. Just like this little butterfly right here . . .” He taps my leg, and I follow his gaze to see the beautiful little butterfly he’s etched onto me forever.

  “It’s beautiful,” I exclaim. “It looks so real. How do you do that?”

  “See? That was supposed to be a bird, but I fucked it up and now it’s a butterfly.”

  My mouth falls open until I see the playful grin spread across his lips. “I’m kidding,” he says. “I just wanted to see your face. And it was pretty funny.”

  “Not funny,” I reply, laughing.

  I lay there for two hours while he works, but it feels like an eternity. We talk a little and then fall into a comfortable silence, just listening to the music while I try not to think about the burning, digging feeling. Finally, he backs away and announces that it’s a good place to stop until my next appointment.

  Sitting up and stretching out, I look down at my leg and notice its very red and angry looking around the artwork, but the design itself is beautiful. The vines, flowers, and butterflies look so realistic, almost 3D. I have no idea how he can make something look so realistic and pretty with that tattoo gun.

  “You like?” he asks, gently laying a large white bandage over it and taping it to me.

  “I love it. I can’t wait to see it finished.”

  “Soon enough.” He winks at me and stands up. “You feel all right to walk around?”

  I swing my legs off the chair and stretch out a bit more. “Yup.”

  “You have awesome pale skin, my favorite type to work with. The ink always looks so vivid on it.”

  “Um, thanks . . . I think,” I answer, blinking up at him.

  “Yes, it’s a compliment. . . . you’re beautiful.”

  Is he flirting with me? No, he’s just being nice and polite. He hands me my jeans and shoes, a sweet gesture that feels oddly intimate. “You can go change while I clean up, then we can book your next appointment if you still want to?”

  “Definitely. I’m not backing out now. I need to see this beaut
iful creation of yours finished.”

  He gives me a grateful smile. “Good girl, I’m lookin’ forward to it, too.”

  I head to the bathroom to get dressed and fix up my hair a little while I’m there, because I look like I just woke up. Glancing at my watch, I realize it’s nine-thirty already. I’ve been here for almost three hours. Shoving my shorts in my bag, I join him up front, my leg sore as I walk.

  He’s bent over a large day planner with a lot of scribbling on it, comparing it to his cell phone. I can’t help but smile at how determined yet confused he looks.

  He notices my sympathetic smile. “I’m trying to use this new app to keep track of my appointments, but I still rely on this paper mess,” he tells me. “Old habits die hard.”

  “I know what you mean. We’ve just had all new software installed where I work, and I still don’t trust it completely.”

  “What do you do for work?”

  “I’m a Human Resources manager.”

  “Wow. That’s really cool. Do you get to fire people?”

  I let out a laugh. “Yes, sometimes. I hire them, too. I don’t like firing people. It’s not fun at all.”

  He sighs and goes back to studying his calendar. “So how about the Friday after next, at six-thirty again?” he asks. “Then you’ll be my last appointment again, and I won’t have to rush.”

  I take out my cell phone and check my calendar. I know I have nothing to do, but want to make sure there isn’t anything going on with the kids. There’s nothing in that little square of a day on my calendar. As usual.

  “That works for me. You really shouldn’t be working on a Friday night, though. I could come a different night, or over the weekend if that’s better?”

  He writes my name down on his calendar and then types it into his phone. “I don’t usually have any plans at night. The weekends are pretty booked here for months. That’s when everyone wants to come in.”

  “That makes sense. Thank you then, for seeing me on a Friday night.”

  “No problem.” He hands me a piece of paper. “This is the care sheet. Be sure to put lotion on it twice a day. It will feel a little sore for a few days, and then it will scab up and get itchy. Do not scratch it or pick at it. Wash it gently. If you have any questions at all, just call me. The shop number and my cell are on there.”

  “Okay . . . thank you.” The scab part sounds concerning and kinda gross to me. Lindsay didn’t mention scabs or itching. “How itchy exactly?”

  “Like really itchy. Like an itch you can’t scratch.”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  He grins wickedly at me. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  He comes around the counter and walks toward the parlor door with me. “I’m going to walk you to your car. It’s late.”

  My heart jumps a little at his thoughtful gesture. “You don’t have to do that, Lukas. I’m a big girl.” I smile up at him as I walk under his arm that’s holding the door open.

  “I insist. It’s dark in the parking lot, and you never know what kind of psycho could be creeping around out there, wanting to scratch your itch.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I agree as we walk together down the parlor’s walkway.

  “Were you married for a long time?” he asks, glancing down at me.

  “Eighteen years.”

  “Yikes. You got married young.”

  “Yeah . . . seemed liked a good idea at the time.” I look down at my feet as we walk. It’s surreal to think that half my life was spent with someone who let me go so easily.

  “Can I ask what happened?”

  I breathe out a long sigh. “He met someone else, and that was it. He just left.”

  “Just like that? Really?”

  My car and an older Corvette are the only cars parked in the dark lot, and he leads me right to my car. I turn to him before unlocking my door. “Yeah, pretty much just like that,” I reply. “It was devastating. I never saw it coming. I thought everything was fine.”

  “That really sucks. I’m sorry.”

  I hug myself against the cold chill in the air. “Thanks. I thought we’d be married forever, ya know? I didn’t think I’d be dumped at thirty-six for the first younger, gorgeous girl that gave my husband a little bit of attention. I guess our vows and our family meant more to me than to him.”

  “He’s a fool.”

  “Maybe, or maybe I’m the fool, thinking I’d be living that fairytale of happily ever after.”

  Lukas opens my car door for me. “Nah, don’t give up on that. You know how fairytales go. You gotta kiss some frogs before you find the prince, right?”

  I laugh as I climb into my car. “Hey, I didn’t think guys knew about fairytales,” I tease.

  He grins down at me, holding on to the doorframe. “I’m not like most guys, Ivy. See ya in two weeks.” He pushes my door shut, and I watch him walk across the parking lot back to his shop, when he turns around about halfway and gives me a little wave. Blushing, I wave back at him as I start my car. Hot damn, he’s cute.

  LUKAS

  I’LL BE HONEST, I REMEMBER MOST of my clients by the design I put on them. All their actual names and faces kinda mesh together in my mind. It’s the canvas of their flesh I remember forever. But tonight, Ivy’s coming back, and I’m actually looking forward to seeing her again, which is unlike me because I don’t usually form any attachments to my clients. Of course, I enjoy working with them, but I’m usually so focused on my designs that I’m lucky if I can remember anything else about them at all. Something about Ivy is different, though. The moment I met her, it was like getting struck by lightning, and I haven’t been able to get that chick out of my mind since.

  Right before Ivy’s appointment, I make a last-minute decision to run upstairs to my apartment above the shop to put a clean shirt on and wash my face. Just as I’m coming down the spiral staircase from my place to the back of the shop, the front door cowbell sounds, and I find her in the waiting room, looking at some artwork on the wall, her back to me. She’s short, petite and curvy, with long wavy auburn hair that I suddenly have an urge to take in my hands and feel it sift through my fingers like silk. It looks like she came directly from work this time, because she’s wearing a black pants suit instead of jeans.

  “Hey,” I say, and when she turns and smiles at me, I get that zappy feeling inside like last week when she looked at me.

  “Hey, yourself. This drawing is beautiful. Did you do this?” She gestures to a charcoal drawing of a dragon perched on a mountain that I drew about five years ago.

  “I did.”

  She looks back at it and then at me again. “It’s absolutely beautiful. I wish I could draw.”

  “Thanks. I’ve always loved to draw, even as a little kid,” I tell her. “You want to come on back?”

  She nods and I lead her back to my work area and take the sketch of her artwork out of a big folder on my table.

  “So how’s it looking and feeling?” I ask. “Everything okay?”

  She beams. “I love it. It’s so pretty. I think I spent way too much time looking at it. It was sore for a few days and then got really itchy, just like you said, but I promise I didn’t touch it.”

  I grin at her. “Awesome. Why don’t you go get changed, and I’ll get ready?”

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  When she comes back, I have to smile at how different she looks wearing a faded t-shirt, black cotton shorts, and white socks, compared to the business outfit and high heels she had on a few minutes ago. She’s adorable.

  “What?” she asks, noticing me eyeing her as she’s climbing onto the chair.

  “I love how you went from looking all professional to cute in five minutes flat.”

  Her cheeks redden at my words. “Well, thanks. I had to work late, so I didn’t have time to change first.”

  I gently run my hand over the design on her outer thigh, visually mapping out what I want to do for this appointment. I should have put gloves o
n before I touched her, but I didn’t, because I wanted to feel her, and just as I imagined, her skin is soft and warm. A quick fantasy of me running my hands up her naked thighs flashes through my mind.

  “You could have cancelled if you were having a bad day. I would have understood,” I say, reluctantly pulling my hand away from her porcelain skin.

  “No, I wanted to come. I’ve been looking forward to this. Plus, my son is with his father for the weekend, and my daughter had plans tonight, so I would have just sat home in an empty house anyway.”

  Leaning carefully over her body with the tattoo gun in my hand, I realize how bummed I would have been if she had cancelled. “I’m glad you came,” I admit, glancing up at her. She catches my gaze and then quickly looks away. Her shyness intrigues me even more. “So how have you been?” I ask her, hoping some conversation will help her relax a little. I can feel by how taught her body is that she’s wound up like a top.

  “Good. Crazy busy at work, as always, but I like it because it makes the time go by and keeps my mind busy so I can’t dwell on things. “

  “I like that, too. Things have been really busy here the past few weeks, and I love it. I’m never bored.”

  “Do you work here alone?” she asks.

  “No. My brother, Vandal, works here, too, but he’s also in a band, so sometimes he’s not able to come in for a while if he’s practicing or on tour. I may have to hire someone else to help keep up with all the appointments we have.”

  “That’s great. So many small businesses are struggling right now. It’s a nice change to hear that someone is doing well.”

  “So true. I feel kinda blessed and lucky.” I gently turn her to her side a little bit and bend her knee up so I can get a better angle, and the feeling of my arm leaning against her bare thigh sends a rush of heat to my cock. Fuck me. I never get turned on when I work on a female client. Ever. I shake my hair out of my eyes and peek up at her, but she seems lost in her own thoughts.

  “Speaking of small business, I have to find someone to come and fix the roof on my shed. During the last snow storm, a big icicle pulled a few of the shingles right off,” she says, oblivious to my attraction to her. “Paul was still coming by to do little things like that, but I guess, obviously, he’s not going to keep doing stuff around the house now that he’s shacked up with someone else.”