Shattered Ink

Rush

“This is so sick, man,” my client says as we walk out of my room and into the recep area.

Everyone’s gotta be working because the place is dead.

I pat my guy on the back. “Glad you like it, man.” Dude’s been on my waiting list for eighteen months, and even though I kinda wanted to blow him off today to hang with Addison, I’m not that big of a prick.

Before we hit the front door, he turns and shakes my hand. He’s somewhere in his mid-sixties, and I love the fact that he’s still totally into scoring ink. Especially with the process being a little trickier on older skin. But this badass didn’t have to take a break once in four hours.

“It was so worth the wait,” he tells me. “And the drive from New Mexico.”

“Well, when you’re ready for your next one, you let me know. I’ll get you in. No more of this eighteen months shit.”

“You got it. Thanks, brother.” He tosses me a salute and heads out the door.

Hot damn. All done. Time to grab my keys and get home to my baby. V says he’s gonna lock up, so there’s a fifty percent shot it’ll get done. No worries though. After I drop Ads at the airport I’ll come back and check on things.

“Hey, Rush, man!” Vincent calls from the dungeon. “Come in here.”

For about two seconds, I wonder if I can pretend I didn’t hear him and get the hell out the door and on my way. Shit, Ads and I only have ‘til midnight. I want to taste her grub, then taste her.

“Rush, I know you’re out there,” V calls again. “Get your ass in here.”

Fuck. Fine. Thirty seconds. That’s all he gets. I head for his room. The kid always keeps his door open. It’s policy for him. He tells his clients he’s agoraphobic, but that’s total bullshit. He likes to keep an eye on the door. Who’s walking in. If she’s hot. And if she’s brought another hot chick with her for support.

“What do you want, V?” I say, coming up on his door. “I’m about to take off…”

I nearly hit the doorjamb with my face, because sitting in Vincent’s chair, which incidentally is shaped like an electric chair, complete with restraining straps—the douchebag had the thing custom made—is my baby. Addison.

“What are you doing?” Even as the words come tumbling out of my mouth I have the answer. V’s got his gloves on and Ads has her arm exposed. Holy shit.

“She asked me, man.” Wiping some goo onto the inside of her forearm, V flashes me his pearlies. “And you know, I make it a policy to never say no to chicks who have hot asses.”

“Oh, Vincent, you’re such a charmer,” Addison says dryly, though her eyes are on me. “How Lisa didn’t see that in you, I’ll never understand.”

That shuts him up in a hurry. I gotta remember that trick for next time.

“How long have you been here?” I ask her, but my eyes are already traveling down her arm, over the script V’s just put on her.

“Half hour,” she says. “So…what do you think?”

I scratch my head, staring at it. What do I think? My name on her body. RUSH in black ink. Fuck me hard, it’s what I wanted. It makes my insides all warm and shit, and my mouth hungry to kiss her. But then there’s something else snaking around in there. Down low in my gut.

“Rush?”

I look up. Addison is staring at me, sorta excited and worried all at the same time. “You okay?”

“Hey, ya’ll,” comes a southern singsong from the door. It fuses with that thing snaking around in my belly and puts me in an instant bad mood.

“I wouldn’t normally do this,” she keeps on. “But my client wants to show it off.”

Vincent’s head jerks around so fast I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be dealing with whiplash later. “Who wants to show what off?”

“My sweet little client has just had a clit piercing.”

Vincent makes a noise like air being let out of a balloon. It makes Addison laugh.

“Rush can finish me up, V,” she says, looking up at me. “After all, this part of my skin belongs to him now. And you know, that clit thing sounds like a can’t-miss event.”

“Shit, man,” Vincent says to me, pulling off his gloves and stuffing them in the trash. “You managed to score the coolest chick on the motherfucking planet, you know that?”

“Oh, he knows,” Addison says. “Don’t you, baby?”

It’s pretty useless to try and stop something that’s just fucking inevitable. But I do. For a second, I actually attempt to send Erica a mental email. Message Line: Get the fuck out and don’t say shit to Addison. But you know. Useless. She strolls into the room and comes over to where we’re all hanging out.

“So this is your girlfriend, Rush?” Her eyes are moving over Addison like she’s a freaking painting to be studied, maybe even interpreted.

Fuck. There’s nothing to do, but do. “Erica Day this is Addison Cramer.”

“Hey,” Ads says, offering her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Erica shakes it, but it’s super chill, kinda that up-and-down-once-and-we’re-done thing. “Addison?”

Oh, hell.

Ads nods. “Yeah. And let me say, I think it’s so cool what you do. Maybe when you come back again you could squeeze me in?” She stops and laughs at herself. “Not for the clit thing, probably. You know. I should probably start small. Eyebrow or nose or nipple.”

Addison is being cute as fuck and I just want to grab her out of V’s electric chair and take her home. But Erica has just tasted blood and she’s clearly ready to go all vampire on us.

“Wait,” she starts, turning to me. “Wasn’t that ex-girlfriend from high school, the one who stepped out with some other guy and broke your heart, named Addison?”

I don’t answer her. But I’m pretty sure she sees and understands the death stare I’m throwing her way. We are no longer friends, or colleagues.

“That’s some coincidence,” she adds.

Hearing our history laid bare by a stranger has Addison up out of her chair. Gone is the cute as fuck thing. Her eyes are pinned to Erica. “How do you know about that?”

Erica shrugs innocently. “Rush told me. Back when we were together.”

“Together?” Addison repeats, then looks over at me.

“Yeah,” she said. “It really tore him up. Really affected the way he communicated. Our sex life was—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” I say in the coldest voice imaginable. “Erica, you have a pierced clit waiting on you and a full day of appointments. I suggest you get the fuck on it. And then after that, get the fuck out.”

For a moment, she has the decency to look contrite. “I’m sorry, honey. That was out of line. I just kinda wanted to know.” She shrugs, gives me one last tight smile, then leaves the room.

When I look back, Addison is standing by V’s table and taping up her arm.

I go over to her and reach for her hand. “Let me do that.”

She pulls away from me. “So, is this why you sort of discouraged me from coming in today?”

I’m not about to bullshit her. “Yeah.”

She looks up. “Why?”

“Come on, Ads. She was three years ago. I don’t give a fuck about her. But I do give a fuck about you. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“No. You didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“She’s a pain in the ass. Clearly loves causing trouble. She knew about what happened back in high school and I didn’t want you to hear that.”

“But I did hear about it,” she returns hotly.

“Only because you came here.”

Her mouth drops open an inch.

“Shit.” I growl at my foot-in-mouth assholery. “That’s not what I mean. I’m glad you’re here. I want you here all the damn time. I just didn’t want you to have to deal with that kind of drama.”

She lifts her chin, her nostrils flaring now. She’s super pissed. “I suspect that being with you, I’m going to be exposed to all kinds of drama. I know you haven’t been celibate since high school, and I know what kind of tail comes through that door several times a day. Stop protecting me, and prepare me.”

“What?”

“I could’ve handled that bitch. But you didn’t prepare me.” She tosses the rest of the tape on the table and heads for the door. “I’m out of here.”

I follow. Course I fucking follow. I love her to death. “Addison.”

“I need some time, Rush.” She doesn’t even slow, doesn’t even glance over her shoulder. Just hits the front door of the shop and keeps on going.

Once outside, I stop. She’s already in my car, and she’s right. I fucked up. She deserves some cooling off. Shit. This was not the day I had planned.

Without looking at me, Addison backs up and drives off.

After a minute of staring at her receding taillights, I head back inside. I’m feeling murderous and I’m ready to fire anyone who crosses my path and says something stupid.

Vincent’s behind the desk, taking a credit card from his client. “She gone?” he asks.

I shoot him a warning glare. “What do you think?

“I told you, man,” he says with exactly zero sympathy. “Name tats. Kiss of fucking death.”