Page 21 of The Ninth

Her body turned, walking back to her room before I could respond. Before I was ready for him. I heard him stand, walking up beside me. To my 5’9 he was at least 6’1. I took my sunglasses off, placing them on my head. The corner of his lip twitched.

I watched his tongue swipe his lips before he spoke, “I saiddddd you decent as hell.”

“Decent? That’s it?”

He looked at me confused before chuckling, “Oh, you’re a transplant. You’re fine as hell when you walk by. Face to face? Stunning.”

I looked down, blushing. He picked my head up by nudging my chin softly.

“Why does everyone keep calling me a damn transplant?!” I asked, changing the subject.

“It’s just obvious you’re not from Chicago.”

“What, I gotta start saying car like cahh and daddy like deddy?”

We both laughed. He stopped before I did, staring at my mouth. My lip folded in, begging to be bit. But I fought against it.

“What can I do for you?”

A lot. “I moved to Chicago from Indiana to tattoo.”

“Mmmmm. An Indianimal.”

My face dropped, “Don’t piss me off.” He cracked up laughing. I cleared my throat, preparing to finish my pitch, “I went to school for art and have my sketchboo—”

“I would much rather discuss your experience and see your sketches over dinner. On a date, to be clear.”

“Oh, boy. I would much rather speak to my potential boss in a professional setting so it doesn’t feel like I’m willing to eat and fuck for a position.”

“Aye, you funny as hell, folks!” he chuckled. I smirked a little. “Fine. What better setting than an actual tattoo shop? Let me tattoo you.”

It was my turn to laugh. But when I looked at his face, he looked back at me with a small smile. He was dead serious.

“Ummm...”

I’ve had a crazy ass twenty-four hours. The needle will be like therapy. It’s the least crazy thing I’ve gotten into. Fuck it.

“Fine. Okay. This is not a date.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is to me.”

“Well, enjoy your date while I enjoy my business meeting.”

He smiled and shook his head. My heartbeat sped up as his warm hand touched my bare back. He guided me from the front and to the back room. His space was the biggest of everyone’s. It was an office, an area to kick it at, and a sterile area to tattoo.

I folded my arms over my chest as he shut the door. I watched as he cleaned the chair and all his tools, even though you could tell they were already cleaned and unopened.

“You got anything you’ve been wanting? Any projects you haven’t finished? It’s on me, and the time doesn’t matter. The longer the date, the better.”

“I have a garland on my upper thigh. It’s flowers and wraps around the front of my thigh. I just have to finish the back. I’m worried about my outfit getting in the way or having to find a way to keep it up.”

“So, take it off. This is completely normal for a tattoo. You’re only hesitant because you want me to do nasty shit to you.”

“HUH!?” I threw my head back, laughing the loudest I have in maybe years. “Who the hell told you that?”