When someone comes in to get a portrait tattooed, more times than not it’s because they lost someone close to them. They cry when they come in, and then I have to hear all about it. I don’t mind being a shoulder to cry on, but damn. Fucking sucks.
Some days I feel more like a therapist than a tattoo artist.
If it’s not a person who’s passed away, it’s their boyfriend or girlfriend.
A few times I’ve even turned down requests. Yeah, I lose out on money when that happens, but I’m not going to tattoo a portrait of some chick’s ex on her. Not gonna happen. Once a girl came in, only eighteen years old, wanting to get a profile of her “soulmate” on her shoulder. I asked her how long they'd been together. One month. Yeah, I’m not fucking doing that.
I know where to draw the line.
Not today though. A proud pop wanted his son on his bicep, and I was fucking thrilled to make it happen.
I smile to myself and wave at Tony, the bartender closest to me, for another beer.
Jackson’s sitting next to me enjoying the club atmosphere. This is a normal night for the two of us. Usually we’re surrounded by more of the guys, but tonight the club's packed, and they’re on the prowl. He’s had a cocky grin on his face ever since we got here, and for good reason.
Jackson’s a playboy and every chick knows it, yet they fall right into his lap every night. He’s got a classically handsome thing going for him, and he knows how to let charm and alcohol convince any woman to spread her legs for him. He’s young and stupid, and going to knock up one of these broads one day.
He likes his reputation though. I don’t get it. He’s had more than one woman come up and slap him for fucking her in the back room and then leaving to go make out with someone else. He’s a fucking asshole. Every time, he just takes the hit and smiles. Like I said. Playboy. Asshole.
I’d prefer it if Needles were sitting next to me, but he had shit to do tonight. So I’m left with Jackson.
He drums his fingers on the bartop and looks at me as he asks, “Hard day?” He’s asking 'cause of the shots I’m knocking back, I'm sure. I’m not usually a heavy drinker. And if I’m being honest with myself, these shots aren’t because of the pride I have from today’s work. But I’d rather not think about the shit that’s eating at me. It’s not like I can change it.
Today's been a hard day, but not because of work. And no one here needs to know why. I school my expression and decide to focus on all the good shit going on in my life.
“Nah, fucking fabulous.” He snorts a laugh like he doesn’t believe me. “Not joking. Great day at the shop.”
He nods his head as Tony pushes our beers toward us. Cindy, the other bartender, looks pissed that Tony was the one to give us the beers. I’m not sure if she’s after Jackson’s dick or mine. I couldn’t really give two shits if she’s after me though. I just wanna drink and be distracted enough to forget. I’m not interested in women tonight. I make a mental note to avoid her for the rest of the night.
If it’s Jackson she’s after, she can have him. She knows what she’s getting into.
Jackson turns his back to the bar and faces the dance floor. The lights are dim, but the strobe and spotlights in the center of the room are enough to see all the women shaking their asses and putting on a show.
He stretches out and takes in the view. He does this shit all the time. Like it’s a fucking buffet. He does get all the pussy he wants, but he could at least be modest about it. Shit, I’m way better looking than that motherfucker, and even I don’t brag about tail as much as him. Being a playboy isn’t my thing though. Maybe I’m just pickier.
“Which one tonight?” he says with his typical cocky grin.
The bass drowns out the sounds of all the chatter and clinking of the glasses behind the bar.
And that’s when I see her. She’s fucking stunning.
I notice the pretty little blonde the moment she walks in. She’s curvy in all the right ways, and just my type.
I wasn’t in the mood for a lay tonight, but seeing that gorgeous body, fuck yeah I am now. She could be the distraction I need. I know her body can take a punishing fuck. Thick thighs, and an even thicker ass. Her hips sway a little as she walks.
I find myself mesmerized as she takes a seat at the far end of the bar. I watch her for a minute, waiting for her to look my way. She looks everywhere but at me, and it’s starting to piss me off.
My brow furrows, hating that I can’t get this broad’s attention.
She’s fucking gorgeous and I already know I want her. Tonight. In my bed. I’m definitely taking this sweet little thing home with me. I watch as her clutch slips off the bar top and she lets out a little yelp, nervously looking around to see if anyone noticed.
A short brunette sitting next to her says something I can’t hear, and then belts out a loud laugh and nearly twirls in her seat like the barstool is gonna spin for her.
I hadn’t noticed her friend before; too busy eyeing up that ass. My girl looks embarrassed by her friend but smiles anyway, shaking her head.
I can see the two of them being friends. A sassy over-the-top chick with a trendy bob and a more traditional beauty who’d keep her in line. I bet between the two of 'em, the brunette will be the first on the dance floor. I can only hope her friend lets loose and I can squeeze in to take her spot on the barstool.
Her gorgeous green eyes finally catch mine but she’s quick to look away with an innocent blush. I let a smirk kick up the corner of my lips. She’s fucking cute. And she’s got a pouty mouth and a heart-shaped face that add to the innocent look. I’d love to see those lips wrapped around my cock.
I stifle a groan as my dick hardens in my pants at that last thought. It’s been a while, a long while since I buried myself in some hot pussy.
She looks like a good girl though, and I don’t think it’s an act. That could be a problem. Or maybe it could add to the fun.
I’ve seen girls come in here acting all cute and innocent, but what they really want is some thick gangster cock. Just so they can say they got dirty with a bad boy. A few shots and they’re taking off their tops, letting anyone in here play with their tits.
I take another look at my sexy-as-fuck blonde and she’s still a little stiff as she orders a drink. Right now I wish Tony would let Cindy take over that end of the bar. He’s quick to get their orders and adds a little flourish to the pour of citrus vodka before adding some tonic or some shit to it. A girly drink. Yeah, she’s definitely a good girl.
Her friend orders a Long Island Iced Tea, and I snort. Of course she would. I clench my teeth. That drink could put a wrench in my plans. I’m not sure I want her friend getting wasted. I need Blondie coming home with me, not babysitting her reckless friend.
Blondie cocks her head and her friend holds up one finger. I grin. Good. Well that solves that problem.
The two of them keep chatting, but it’s mostly her friend doing the talking while Blondie just shakes her head and smiles. I can’t hear a damn thing they’re saying over the music.
I wish I could. I’m trying to think of how to cut in and lay on the charm. But I don’t know shit about this broad.
My girl looks like she doesn’t belong here. And she doesn’t. Neither of them do. This is where the Koranav hangout. Everyone knows it in this town. The women in here are dancing to catch our attention. The men are Koranavs or prospects, or maybe associates. They're all men who are in on the business. Everyone knows what this place really is. Cops too, but they can’t prove a damn thing.