Chapter 22 #2
Wylie and Flint had nearly finished their sessions with their clients, so Oliver and I went into the break room while they completed their work. We ate, and the one nice thing about working with Oliver was times like this when we could relax together.
“KC’s starting to eat a few things that aren’t on that meal plan he had for football.” Oliver nudged my shoulder with his, his smile small but reassuring. “I have a good feeling about this.”
“Me too.”
It was a long process, but we’d gone to a psych session with KC.
Dr. Griffin gave us a rundown of how our future would look.
He didn’t shy away from the truth, and we’d been prepared for it.
Oliver and I knew we had a long road ahead of us with KC, and we were ready to fight his demons with him.
Support was essential, Dr. Griffin had said.
He’d given KC small tasks—homework if you will.
It was all about changing the brain’s thought processes, and KC seemed determined, especially since he wanted to get off the bench and back into games next season.
Soon Wylie and Flint came in, and the conversation turned to clients and tattoos.
“I had a cover-up this morning.” Wylie winced. “Replacing an ex-girlfriend’s name with his current one.”
“That’s going to turn out well.” Flint shoved his mouth full of sushi and chewed like a madman.
At some point while he’d been working, he’d forced his shoulder-length dark hair up into a manbun.
With all the jostling, a few strands escaped to curl around his face.
I didn’t blame him. We usually didn’t have much time between clients, though this morning was slower because of the snow.
We never knew when we’d have a walk-in, though.
“That’s what I thought.” Wylie chuckled. He ate so much more politely than the Texan sitting beside him. “I give him a few months, and he’ll be back in for another cover-up.”
“With a new girlfriend?” Oliver grinned.
“With the weapon he’s throwing around? Yeah.”
We all looked at Wylie, and he laughed.
“The tat was on his upper thigh, very close to his groin. He wasn’t wearing underwear.”
Oliver’s nose scrunched. “Ew. Why?”
“I could smell his sweaty balls,” Wylie said.
Oliver dropped his chopsticks. “And that’s me done.”
“Get used to it, buttercup.” Flint waggled his eyebrows. “You want to be one of us, we see everything. We’re like docs, but instead of saving lives, we ink people. I’ve seen pussy, cock, and asshole. So many different kinds. You get used to it.”
“Was he hairy?” I asked, more to get a reaction from my feisty kitten.
“Smoother than a Barbie doll.” Wylie made an amused sound as he shoved veggies into his mouth.
“Which is fine, but underwear while getting a tattoo couldn’t hurt.” Oliver shook his head and went to the sink. He threw away his trash in the can. “I’m going to get started.”
He leaned down to give me a kiss, and I grabbed his face, flicking my tongue against his lips, which earned me a slap to the shoulder. He ruffled my hair, messing it up, before huffing and stalking out of the break room.
Wylie watched him go, then spun around to look at me seriously. “Boss, we need to talk.”
I frowned. That wasn’t ominous at all . . . . “What’s up?”
Wylie glanced at Flint, who sighed rather dramatically.
“Okay, listen, we’re gonna say something and we don’t want you to kick our asses, all right?” Flint scratched his jaw. “You know we like Oli.”
“What is it?” My gaze shot between them, jaw tightening. “Spit it out.”
“We don’t think Oli has what it takes to be a tattoo artist,” Flint said, because apparently Wylie was too busy worrying his bottom lip, as though he was afraid to open his mouth despite starting the conversation.
It made sense. Flint was always the one who told me things bluntly.
He didn’t like leaving things lingering between us.
“He hasn’t improved. In the time he’s been here, he should’ve gotten better.
A lot fucking better. He hasn’t. He’s a good artist, but that doesn’t always translate to skin. You know that.”
Of course I did. I’d thought about giving Oliver more time. He’d been going through hell lately, but I knew that had nothing to do with inking. As a tattoo artist, you had to be on at all times, even when you were dealing with personal shit. What you inked on someone’s body was permanent.
“Some people have what it takes, others don’t.
He’s practicing on fake skin, the kind that doesn’t move, and he’s still not getting it.
What would he be like on a real person?” Flint shrugged, mouth twisted in displeasure.
He never enjoyed telling me how it is about these sorts of things, but he did it best.
I exhaled. “I know. Fuck.” I tipped my head back and rubbed my palms over my face.
“This job isn’t for everyone,” Wylie finally muttered. “That’s what you tell every apprentice who comes through your doors.”
I did. Some succeeded, others didn’t. Inking was a whole new experience. I’d been holding off on the conversation with Oliver because he wanted this skill so bad, but they were right. He wasn’t improving the way he should be.
“All right. You got any clients this afternoon?”
They both shook their heads.
“I did have one, but he canceled because of the weather,” Flint said.
“Most of mine canceled yesterday or got in earlier to avoid the snow.” Wylie ran a hand through his hair.
“Head home before it gets worse. I’ll talk to Oliver, and then we’ll lock up and go home. I’ll keep an eye on the news, figure out when’s the best time to reopen. We’ll need to keep our clients updated.”
“Yes, Boss,” they both said.
They cleaned up their stations and said their goodbyes to Oliver before heading out.
I watched them go, then my gaze slid to Oliver still practicing on his fake skin.
He always looked so determined, mouth set in a firm line.
He hated giving up, and I loved that about him.
He was the type of person who would do anything to succeed and prove people wrong, so approaching him about this was going to be difficult.
So very difficult, especially when this was personal between us.
I grabbed a rolling stool and dragged it behind him. I took a seat and wrapped my arms around him, hooking my chin over his shoulder.
“Mm. What are you doing?” he whispered.
The tattoo gun in his hand buzzed, the comforting sound working its way into my bones. His lines were jagged, the skin cut in a way that was alarming. He cursed, muttering under his breath.
“You’re too heavy on your hand,” I murmured. “You’re tense and it’s showing through your work.”
“I know.” Frustration thickened in his voice and he tensed farther under me. “You’re making this harder.”
“Shh.” I laid my hand over his and caressed his knuckles. “Loosen your hold, relax your muscles.”
“Are we having a Ghost moment?” He smirked at me.
“Depends. Are we going to have sex after this?” I teased. “And how do you even know that movie?”
He snorted. “I’m not that uncultured. It’s a classic.” His smirk turned wicked. “And Patrick Swayze was hot.”
“So fucking hot,” I agreed.
We stayed silent as I worked on his grip.
Even though he was less tense now, leaning back into me with a relaxed posture, there was something missing in his inking.
His lines lacked passion, and his love for his art didn’t translate from paper to flesh.
The boys were right—this wasn’t Oliver’s calling.
“Kitten . . . .” I smoothed my palms across his wrists and along his arms. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Mm-hmm. Sure.”
“Are you enjoying this?”
He paused immediately and held his breath. The only sound in the shop was the gun buzzing, and finally, he shut it off. He pushed away from me and spun around on his stool. “Why are you asking me that?”
Shit. What the hell was I supposed to say? Sorry, baby, I don’t think you’re cut out for this job, and you don’t have the skills. I was going to break his heart all over again.
“I’m going to say one thing and I want you to think about it, okay? Promise me.”
He pressed his lips tight together but nodded sharply.
“Sometimes, the direction of our life, including our career, isn’t the right direction. There’s nothing wrong with pivoting and changing the course of our future. There’s no shame in it. What we expect and what happens are two separate things.”
He blinked. “Are you saying I’m not good at this?”
“No, I’m not saying that. But what I am saying is that you have no passion for it. Look at this.” I waved my hand at the fake skin, at the choppy artwork and the bleeding ink. “And look at your drawing pad. It’s almost like they’re done by different people. Are you truly enjoying this?”
Attention sliding to the ink, Oliver bit down on his bottom lip.
“You don’t need to make a decision now, Kitten. But think about it.”
I cradled his face between my hands and laid a soft kiss on him.
I resisted the urge to bite his bottom lip.
I’d promised myself I’d be gentler. No hurting him.
Why was this so hard? All I wanted to do was bend him over my knee and spank him, watch his cute asscheeks turn red.
But I wasn’t going to cause him pain again, not after taking his virginity so roughly.
“How about we go home? Looks like we’ll have a few days to relax and KC’s waiting for us.”
He didn’t smile, but he did nod, and I took that as a win. “Yeah, let’s go.”