16. Serena
The days leading up to today have been a lesson in patience and anxiety. It’s not that I’m nervous to go to the tattoo shop and see a certain red-headed giant; I’m excited. And that excitement is making me anxious because I know I shouldn’t be excited about it since he has told me, in no uncertain terms, that he is not interested in me and to keep my distance.
I’m sick of looking desperate, and before I even exit my car, I resolve that I will not pay attention to Wolf outside of the normal client-artist relationship. Squaring my shoulders, I slam my car door with a loud squeak and make a note to myself to bring it into the shop to be looked at. Unlike my second visit, I don’t have post-pottery attire on, choosing instead to skip my class and look presentable instead of like a fugitive on the run.
Stepping into the brightly lit shop, I’m immediately greeted by Aubrey and her contagious smile.
“Serena, hey. It’s great to see you. How is everything?” Aubrey rounds the receptionist’s desk and pulls me into a hug like we’re longtime friends and not acquaintances who have met twice.
“Hi, Aubrey. I’m well, how are you?” I reply, returning her embrace.
“I’m great. I know you’re here for a cover-up piece, and though I have no idea what ink you need camouflaged, just know that our team is the best at what they do. I promise you, whatever needs fixing will be fixed.”
“Thanks, Aubrey.”
“Call me ‘Aubs,’ all my friends do.” She pauses, winking at me, before continuing, “Okay, first, give me your coat; I’ll hang it in the employee closet. Wolf is waiting for you with Sloan in his room. You know the one, right? You can just head on back there and give me a yell if you need anything.”
I slip off my jacket and smile at Aubrey’s encouragement and easygoing nature. From what little CeCe has told me, Aubrey is friendly unless you get on her bad side, and I can believe it. I think the power behind her hug squished some of my organs together.
I approach Wolf’s space slowly as though there’s something to fear on the other side of the threshold. Wolf must sense my approach because, suddenly, he’s standing before me with his arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.
“Why are you dragging ass across the shop floor?”
Clearing my throat, I shake my head, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you don’t.”
I swallow against the surge of attraction that bubbles in my stomach at his appearance. In a black Henley with his sleeves rolled up to expose his tattooed arms, black jeans, and heavy black Doc Martens, he looks lethal. I’ve never been into the Dog the Bounty Hunter look before, but there’s a first time for everything, I guess.
Don’t act like a moron, Serena,I remind myself. Mentally slapping my face, I skirt around him and perch myself on one of the wingback chairs next to the bookshelf. “I don’t.”
In the opposite corner of the room, standing next to his drafting table is one of the most badass-looking women I have ever seen. Draped in a black leather jacket, cut-out black jeans, and a backward ball cap, the woman is, I assume, Sloan, and I am immediately intimidated. If Wolf’s presence sends shock waves of lust through my system, this woman looks like she could kick my ass and make me apologize for the inconvenience.
I take in the swirls of black and gray ink on her neck and am mesmerized by the dichotomy of masculinity and femininity that she presents; her makeup is simple, just a swipe of mascara and fire-engine red lipstick, and her hair is silvery blonde. Her chunky boots and black leather cuffs around her wrists look like she took all normative gender ideologies and repurposed them to fit her aesthetic. She looks so cool—an adjective that barely grazes her vibe. Coupled with an obvious confidence that I can only hope to one day obtain, I think I have a girl crush on her.
“Hey, you must be Serena,” she supplies, her voice a deep rasp that further cements her appeal.
“Yes, uhm, hi. You must be Sloan.”
She offers a wide smile and nods, instantly setting me at ease. “I am. Wolf said you have a tattoo that needs some covering up. Do you mind if we take a look?”
“Wolf is right here and can speak for himself,” Wolf grumbles, sounding like a petulant child unused to being cast aside. “I want to make sure that her skin is fully healed first before we start with anything.”
“Sorry, boss. You know I get excited for cover-ups.” She turns to me and winks. “I love getting my hands on pretty skin and making it even hotter.”
“Oh, I, uhm. Right.” I stumble over my words, unsure how to respond.
“Alright, Sloan, calm down. Serena hasn’t agreed to anything just yet.”
Sloan doesn’t answer him, just rolls her eyes. “Anyway, why don’t you lay down on your stomach so we can take a look at what you’ve got going on back there?” She gestures toward the tattoo table, already flat and prepped for my mortification.
I look between Sloan, Wolf, and the table and grimace, knowing that they won’t like what they’re about to find under my shirt. Even though Wolf has seen the tattoo, it’s not pretty, a blemish that showcases my impulse and stupidity and an endless source of embarrassment. Clearing my throat, I look at Sloan before explaining, “Just don’t be alarmed, okay? I know it doesn’t look good, and it’s nowhere near ready for more work, but”—I cut my gaze to Wolf—“it is better than it was, so it’s healing. Slowly, but it’s healing.”
“It’s fine, Serena; I’ve seen it all in my time here. Whatever it is, we’ll help you make it beautiful,” Sloan offers, softening her voice from a sexy rasp to a deep, placating tone. I return her smile and walk to the tattoo bench, easing down until my body is flat. Reaching down, I grip the hem of my shirt and inch it up my body, exposing the skin of my back slowly, like a strip tease, except there’s nothing sexy or alluring about this.
“Oh shit,” Sloan whispers, and I wince.
“Shut up, Sloan.”
“Sorry, boss, but—”
“Enough,” Wolf commands, cutting her off before she can continue verbalizing her thoughts.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will their words not to affect me, continuing to expose my skin until my shirt is bunched under my bra. I refuse to turn my head; instead, I burrow my face into the cool leather of the table and breathe in the antiseptic that lingers in the room. But even though I’m not looking, I can feel their presence behind me and the warmth of their bodies as they approach.
“Your skin is better than it was, but you still have a way to go, Serena.”
“I know,” I mumble into the leather, mentally flipping off Wolf for stating the obvious.
“Did you see a doctor?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
I pause for a moment, considering his question. “Probably not.”
“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, and I can picture him dragging a hand through his buzzed hair, emphasizing his frustration. Though, I’m not sure if he’s frustrated with me, the tattoo, or the slowness of the healing.
Metaphorically pulling up my big girl panties, I turn my face to look at them. Sloan’s expression is, in a word, comical; with her lip between her teeth, she’s smeared her bright red lipstick over her teeth.
Wolf just looks livid. However, he always looks livid.
“Do you mind if I take a picture of your back? It’ll help with the sketch,” Sloan asks as she pulls out her phone.
“No problem.”
I lie still, allowing the click of the phone’s camera to fill the silence of the room.
“Okay, perfect. I’ve gotten what I need. I’m going to head out now. It was great meeting you, Serena. I’m so excited to get started.”
“Me, too. Thank you, Sloan.”
With that, she leaves, softly sliding the door closed behind her, leaving me alone with Wolf.