Chapter 6
SIX
MAYA
“Not within San Diego limits, but essentially. I spent my childhood in San Diego. But I grew up in the poor outskirts,” Notch said.
“Did you always want to stay here?” I asked.
“Shit—if I had a reason to, yes.”
“Did being an EMT give you that reason?”
“More or less.”
He tensed underneath the needles. I got it, though.
One of the reasons why I’d never get a shoulder tattoo was because of how much they fucking hurt.
The cuff of the shoulder was always a bitch.
The only people I found who could relatively stand it were those who had muscle stacked there or those who were bigger in stature.
Notch was neither, and I saw him grinding his teeth together.
“Tell me about your other sleeve,” I said.
“What?” he asked, grunting.
“Your other sleeve. The whole of your right arm. How many people did you save to have those tattoos done?”
“Not important.”
“Notch, I need you to—”
“I have one on each of my shoulder blades. They, uh…”
My eyes fluttered over to his, and I noticed him focusing hard on the wall. So, I hopped back down to the bottom of the tattoo. I decided to outline the lake and the reflection of the tree to give him a break.
But his eyes didn’t disconnect from the wall.
“My left shoulder blade is a tattoo I got when I was first on the job. I mean, fresh out of school, essentially. There was a man in an alleyway who had been beaten really badly. Couldn’t recognize his damn face.
I had to employ some pretty rudimentary tactics in order to keep him from bleeding out from his eye sockets,” he said.
“Holy fuck, what happened to him?” I asked.
“A lead pipe happened.”
I cringed at the thought.
“What about your other shoulder blade? The right one?”
“Are you going to answer any of my questions if we keep going like this?” he asked.
I grinned. “You aren’t tossing me any questions, so I’m the one holding this conversation right now.”
“You weren’t too keen on answering them before.”
“That was before I understood how much pain this tattoo was going to actually put you in.”
“So, you’re a sadist with a heart. Got it,” he said.
I giggled. “Tell me about the other shoulder blade.”
“You have a nice giggle there, Maya.”
His words gave me pause.
“Anyway, the other shoulder blade I got a couple years in. Guy got into a fight with a local gang. Had a knife wound to his stomach and his back, plus some lacerations to his thighs. A knife fight, probably three-on-one. That one was more pain management than anything. Though, the knife wound in his back was not even an inch off from his liver. Which would’ve been bad, had it struck,” he said.
“It sounds like they were all lucky to have you,” I said.
“Now, it’s your turn.”
I hopped back up to the top of his tattoo, and he growled.
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
I shivered at the way his words rumbled off his tongue. I mean, I knew he was trying to flirt with me. And I really was flattered.
I also wasn’t used to it. I wasn’t used to being attracted to those who came into my shop and tried their hardest. Especially with how handsome this man was.
“What do you want to know?” I asked.
I manipulated his shoulder around and heard him grunt.
“Where were you born and raised?” he asked.
“China. Tianjin.”
“I’m not gonna lie. I have no clue where that is.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” I said with a slight laugh.
“Is that a poor area?”
“Actually, the complete opposite.”
“Well, lucky you,” he said breathlessly.
“We still see the same amount of death and carnage out that way. It just looks better on marbled floors,” I said.
I finally finished the outline of the shoulder part of this man’s tattoo. And as I began my descent down the side of his bicep, he sighed with relief.
“Is that violence what drove you to the States?” Notch asked.
I shrugged. “The men in the States are nicer too.”
“Nicer looking?”
I grinned. “Possibly, depending on how much pain they can take in my tattoo shop.”
“How am I doing then?”
“Better than most.”
“Above average. I’ll take it. Though, I’ll warn you right now, that status rings true in many aspects of my life.”
I rolled my eyes. “Always with the dick references.”
“I mean, I was talking about my ability to court women. But I see where your mind is now.”
I giggled again as his eyes panned over to me.
“You really have a nice laugh. And smile. You should do them more often,” he said.
My eyes fluttered up to his. “Then give me a reason to.”
He followed my instructions to the letter.
He continued talking throughout the entire tattoo, and I found myself filling things in without giving it a second thought.
Anything to keep him in my chair and keep talking with him.
He continued flirting, and I continued flirting back.
He had this dry and witty sense of humor I came to enjoy.
I didn’t get much humor in my life. Or wittiness, for that matter.
But halfway through filling things in, I watched his skin begin to turn crimson.
My sign to stop.
“All right,” I said.
“You can keep going if you want,” Notch said.
I shook my head. “Blood is rising to the surface and not receding. Your arm needs a rest. You can come back when it’s healed, and we can get it finished. But for tonight? You’re done.”
I rolled away from him and put down my tattooing pen. I picked up some sterilized wipes and wiped away at the excess ink that had risen against his skin. I quickly coated it in Vaseline and wrapped it in saran wrap and then let the man get out of the chair.
As he slid his shirt on over his head, his voice pierced the room.
“Should I make an appointment with you? Or just come back in a month?” Notch asked.
“Actually, I wanted to talk with you about your other sleeve,” I said.
He sighed as he inched his leather jacket back on.
“What about it?” he asked.
I furrowed my brow. “I noticed some of the tattoos are a bit disjointed. You still have a lot of free skin available for something that’s considered a sleeve. I figured, if you wanted, we could come up with a design to connect the tattoos on your right arm. Make it more fluid.”
His beautiful blue eyes found mine, and I watched him smile.
“Well, looks like I’m not the only one with a nice smile,” I said, grinning.
“I’d actually like that. If I get to brainstorm with you,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have suggested anything less. Though, it’s time for me to close up shop. If you want to come back tomorrow, we can start tossing around ideas.”
“Will you not be busy?”
I shrugged. “I won’t be on my lunch break.”
“Already asking me out for lunch, huh?”
“Not quite what I did, but if you want to take it that way to make you feel as if you’re a step ahead of the game, that’s your prerogative.”
“Oh, Maya. You really know how to wound a man’s pride,” he said, feigning pain.
“Only when the man’s pride is bigger than his head,” I said.
“My above average head?”
I threw my head back in laughter at that one.
“What an angelic sound,” Notch said.
I sighed with contentment as I stood up from my stool.
“Let me snap some pictures of that arm, and I can bring some brainstormed ideas to the table. Are you okay with that?” I asked.
“I would’ve been more okay with it had you suggested that before I put my shirt and my jacket back on.”
“I’ll help you out of it. Come here.”
I walked over to him and slowly slipped his arm away from the leather jacket.
It smelled rugged, like ocean water and dust. I pushed the fabric off his shoulder and rolled up his short sleeve, cuffing it at the top.
I pushed it over his shoulder, revealing the tattoos.
They were outlined in black and shaded with all sorts of darker colors.
Reds and greens and blues and rich oranges.
I let my fingertips slide across his skin, taking in all the different designs.
All sorts of flowers and skulls. Piles of dust with dates on them and a beautiful picture of a sunset that wrapped all the way around his entire bicep, spanning its circumference and girth.
I was in awe of it.
“Getting any ideas?” Notch asked.
I cleared my throat and ripped my hand away from his skin.
“A few,” I said.
I tried to shake the lustful thoughts away from my head as I went in search of my camera.
I snapped a few pictures from every angle and then helped him back into his jacket.
His skin was soft, but his muscles were tight.
Toned. Fraught with strength. American men had nothing on the men I’d encountered back in my home country.
They were rough around the edges and not afraid to go after what they wanted.
With them, there wasn’t a set tradition on how to woo a woman.
What to do when taking her out on a date.
With American men, it was something different every single time.
I wondered how different things would be with Notch.
“All right, let’s get you out of here so I can close up shop,” I said.
But when I looked up at Notch, I found him grinning down at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head.
“No, really. What is it?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Nothing is stupid unless you label it as such. Did I do something wrong?”
His eyes connected with mine and I watched an intensity that shivered me to my core bubble behind them.
“You’re beautiful when you focus,” he said.
My gut turned over as I nodded my head. I led him out of my cubicle and back into the waiting room where he paid and tipped me very well.
I gave him his receipt, and he stuck it into his wallet, his movements jagged and tender.
It would be a few weeks before we could touch that tattoo again, but it would be beautiful once it was done.
Beautiful, like the man it was attached to.
“See you around noon?” Notch asked.
He opened up my shop door and I nodded.
“See you then. If you just come in and go through that door, my office is the last door on the left,” I said.
“Then, I’ll come find you,” he said with a smirk.
And after that, he walked out into the night, disappearing from my shop with the promise of a return I was looking forward to.
This isn’t good, Maya.
I stood there for a few seconds, trying to collect myself.
What the fuck had just happened? Did I really just flirt with a customer?
Did I really just touch him the way I had?
Fucking hell, I hoped he didn’t spread that around.
That could be the downfall of my reputation.
One I’d worked hard for in this area in order to keep myself afloat.
I sighed as I went back into the tattooing cubicle I kept for myself and cleaned everything down.
The routine was the same every night. I started with the leather chair and the countertops.
I cleaned up the needles and the ink. I even sprayed down the walls to sterilize them before mopping the floor to clean up any remnants left behind.
Then, it was time to organize the waiting room.
I rearranged chairs so they weren’t cockeyed and in the middle of the floor.
And as I closed my shop down, I couldn’t get my mind off Notch.
Underneath that rugged demeanor was a playful, sweet man.
One who wanted to remember the lengths he went to in order to save lives.
Most people would have called that mood cocky.
Tattooing evidence of a life being saved like an underground Superman.
But I knew what kind of mindset came with that.
Remembering the living came with the added sin of also remembering the dead.
And I was sure those tattoos did both for Notch too.
A remembrance of the living and a reminder to always do better in terms of those he had lost.
I turned off the lights and locked up and then made my way back down the hallway.
I entered through the door that dead-ended into a wall, swinging it open and waiting for it to close.
I locked it tight then started for the stairs in the corner.
I took them up to the only entry door of my studio apartment, letting it fall open of its own accord.
The space itself wasn’t more than a thousand square feet.
Nothing was blocked off except for the toilet and the sink.
Not even the shower, which was in the corner—a clawfoot tub with a shower spout hanging from the ceiling and a curtain that wrapped all the way around.
One bed. One couch. One bookcase. One shower. One toilet.
One person. And it needs to stay that way.
I sighed as I peeled my clothes off, relegating myself to a shower. Because I needed one. A cold one.
One that would make sleeping a bit easier tonight with thoughts of Notch dancing around in my head.