CHAPTER TWO

MACK

The design is coming together nicely. I’d been willing to do an eight-hour session to knock this out, but my client’s pain tolerance is low. We’re booked for two hours today, and I think that’s even pushing things as I watch him wince and grit his teeth as sweat beads on his face.

“Need a break?” I offer.

He shakes his head, sending droplets of sweat flying. “Nah, man, I’m good.”

Hey, if he’s willing to power on, so am I.

The steady vibration of the tattoo machine is as familiar to me as is breathing. I fall back into my work, watching my client’s vision come to life one drop of ink at a time. It’s a spiderweb, a pretty common tat, but with a great twist. He wants his kids as spiders and his soon to be ex as a black widow. It’s taking a grim divorce and turning it into healing through ink.

Something I’m all about. I love that aspect of my job, being able to help people deal with some really heavy things. Child loss hits me hard, and I have to pace those memorial tattoos. It’s not something I can handle on a weekly basis. This job brings me so much satisfaction, yet it’s also physically and sometimes mentally draining.

Repeat clients become so much more. A lot of the time they become friends, and it gets personal going through these journeys with them. It’s something that you don’t think about when you first consider becoming a tattoo artist.

At least for me, I didn’t.

Caught up in the idea of taking my passion for art and earning a living from it, I didn’t take into account the personal connection. It was only during my apprenticeship that I saw the real side of things.

Then again, what fresh out-of-school kid fully understands what they’re getting into when they pursue a career?

A harsh, shuddering exhale leaves my client. He’s done whether he will admit it or not.

Realizing I’ve stopped, he looks at me before glancing down at his arm. “Damn, this looks good!” he exclaims with a grin, all his discomfort forgotten.

“Good place to stop for today, don’t you think?” I say, giving him the perfect out.

“Shading and color next time?”

I highly doubt he’ll make it through the shading in one session. I keep that to myself, though. “Sure thing. Everything look good?”

At his nod, I carefully clean the area and apply some ointment. While I’m bandaging him, I go over aftercare and then hand him the care pamphlet that lists everything I just told him.

Discarding my gloves, I accept a hearty handshake before he heads upfront to pay and schedule his next session.

Once he’s at the front desk, I start taking apart my station and cleaning up everything. The wrap comes off the chair easily and I dispose of the used needles in a sharps container before I move on to taking down the rest of my used materials. Slapping on a new pair of gloves, I spray everything down with a hospital-grade disinfectant and then peel those gloves off and sling them into the nearby trashcan.

Letting the disinfectant work its magic, I head toward the back room, nodding at Terry, another tattoo artist working in the shop today, on my way.

“Mack!”

At my name, I jerk to a stop and turn, almost bumping into our grinning receptionist.

Giggling, Kitty takes a step back. “Man, you were in another world! I called your name a few times.”

Shit. I hadn’t heard her at all.

“Yeah, a million miles away, I guess. Sorry about that.”

“No worries, there’s a call for you. A lady named Yvonne. She says it’s not about an appointment and doesn’t want to leave a message.” She rolls her eyes, her grin growing. “She needed to talk to you. Personally.” Kitty draws the word personally out, practically purring it.

It’s not unusual for us to get hit on at work. Obviously, we strive to keep things professional and not do anything that would warrant complaints. Such as no inappropriate touching or comments about clients’ bodies, smells, etc.. and definitely no PDA out in the open, even if we’re involved with a client. If we are interested in someone it’s on us to meet outside of work and arrange dates. We can do that by passing out our personal cell numbers.

I’ve only done that a single time and the significance of it went unnoticed by the woman I was interested in.

Oh she called me, just not for a date. She wanted to set up a time for another tattoo. In reality, I should have claimed to be completely booked, yet I set up the time for her. In the past few years, I’ve done several tattoos for her and for her friend.

Her friend Yvonne.

My brows pinch together as I wonder if she’s the Yvonne calling and for what reason. She’s never called me before.

“Thanks, Kitty.”

Taking the phone from her, I discreetly turn the volume up before putting it up to my ear. “Mack speaking.”

“Mack, hey! It’s Yvonne, Sadie’s friend.”

My gut tightens at Sadie’s name. “Hey, Yvonne, what can I do for you?”

I continue into the backroom and slump down into one of the soft leather chairs, rolling my neck as I do to ease a bit of the ache in it. Long hours hunched over doing tattoos puts a strain on my back, neck, and hands, and today I’m feeling it. I probably need to get back into yoga again to help keep me stretched out. I’m not getting any younger, but I’ve seen guys in their seventies still putting in eight hour sessions, so no excuses. I want to do my best for my clients, so I need to be at my best. That also means pushing some personal feelings aside.

“More like what I’m going to do for you,” Yvonne says.

My fingers clench on the phone. I never got that vibe from her at all. Though maybe she misinterpreted my interest in Sadie for interest in her.

As much as it hurts, this might be for the best.

I’ll let Yvonne down and she’ll report back to Sadie, as friends do, and I won’t see either of them again.

It’s been two years and if something was going to happen between myself and Sadie it would have happened already. I’m not getting any younger, so no sense hanging on to what ifs.

Tilting my head, I glare up at the ceiling and steel myself for an uncomfortable conversation. “Oh, and what’s that Yvonne?”

“A date with Sadie.”

Pain shoots through my neck as my head snaps down. Thinking I misheard her, that’s been happening a lot lately, I tread carefully. “A date?”

“Yes, a date with Sadie. You are interested in her, aren’t you?”

Does interest cover my conflicted feelings for Sadie?

I feel hopelessly awkward when she’s around, unable to come up with anything to say. Her presence fills a room and just being around her, I’m in awe. She’s beautiful, fun and upbeat, and her smile makes me happy. I could listen to her talk forever and never be bored, just content to be near her. It’s like a crush combined with obsession and when she’s gone, I swear everything gets grayer.

It’s probably unhealthy to feel this way. I’ve beaten myself up for it, especially when I gave her my number and she ignored the meaning behind it.

“Yes,” I croak out. “I’m interested.”

“Great! Are you available on Thursday?”

Even if I’m not, I’ll clear my schedule for her. “I am.”

“Any place in particular you want to meet?”

My mind goes blank. “Uhh... why doesn’t she pick? I’m fine taking her wherever she wants.”

“Hey, I always wanted to know. Is Mack your real name?”

The abrupt switch in subjects throws me but reactivates my brain. “Nickname. My first name is Malcolm.”

Yvonne laughs. “I knew your parents couldn’t have named you after a truck. Okay, Mack, five on Thursday at the Briar Park Animal Sanctuary.”

Swallowing hard, I nod, realizing belatedly that I’m on the phone when Yvonne asks, “You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. Thanks Yvonne. Can I ask why you’re calling me and not Sadie?”

“It’s a favor. Don’t worry, she’s really looking forward to this.”

A surge of warmth fills my chest. “Me too. Thanks again, Yvonne.”

“Absolutely. Bye Mack.”

Crazy how you can go into something thinking one thing and be completely wrong. In the very best of ways. A date with Sadie. I don’t know why it’s happening now, but I’m not about to question my good fortune. I’m just thrilled I’m finally going to get a chance to spend time with her away from the shop and hopefully be able to connect with her on a deeper level.

I’m getting way ahead of myself here. Haven’t even gotten past the first date yet. Still, even getting to this point is something that felt like some far-off improbability only a few minutes ago.

And I’m not a man that lets golden opportunities go to waste.