Chapter 14 Milton
Milton
Creature Tattoo was only a few miles away, but traffic into the city was always bad around this time. Well, it was bad all the time, but splitting lanes with my motorcycle helped cut some time when I needed to be somewhere.
I left early just to be sure, wanting to hit the gym first. After I got in a quick chest workout, I rinsed off in the locker room shower, picked up a smoothie from my favorite new spot nearby, and pulled into a parking spot on the street in front of the tattoo shop with fifteen minutes to spare.
Holding the door open for a couple who walked out right as I was heading in, I felt the air-conditioning hit my skin and sighed with relief.
“Scorcher today, isn’t it?” The man behind the counter lifted his head from his tablet as the door shut behind me and gave me a welcoming nod.
“And not a cloud in the sky to block that sun.” I chuckled in agreement, then quickly admired the waiting room area. It had an edgy, gothic, horror vibe, and I fucking loved how unique it was compared to any other tattoo shop I’d been to.
“I’m Nash,” he said, pulling off the hood of his black sweatshirt, which hung loosely from his slender frame. His dark hair had a fresh, clean fade, which emphasized the tattoo peeking out from the back of his neck. “What can I do for you, man?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think I spoke with you on the phone yesterday. I’ve got a consult with Brian. I’m a little early.”
“Oh, right. I remember. Milton, right? Let me see here. You’re a new client, so I’ll need you to fill this form out.” He handed me the tablet. “If you want to have a seat, I’ll go grab Brian for you. I think he’s just finishing up with his last appointment.”
“Thanks, man.” I smiled.
Oil paintings of clowns and scary creatures hung beside vintage horror movie posters, candle sconces, and various masks on the dark green walls.
The wooden floor beneath my footsteps creaked as I made my way over to the black leather couch. Photo albums of artwork from various artists, sealed in cellophane, sat atop the glass coffee table in front of me.
Brian’s book was on top, so I paged through it first. Just like the tattoo the girl at the shelter had, the photographs of his previous work were bright and colorful with perfect lines and shading.
He and the artist I had seen in Northern California had a very similar style, which had me nearly bouncing in my seat with excitement.
It had been too long since I’d had some fresh ink.
Once I finished paging through Brian’s work, I picked up the others.
There was a book with the name Vincent on it that had some crazy photorealistic pieces in it.
That kind of work always astonished me. I was decently talented with some of my drawings, but to be able to take a picture of someone’s loved one or pet and get the shading and proportions just right with a needle on skin was insane.
When I finished going through his stuff, I glanced through some of the loose black-and-gray prints sitting on the table.
They were beautifully detailed, every line precise and delicate.
Searching for a name, I flipped it over and then back to the front, catching a signature at the bottom, but all I could make out was the first letter—H.
“Milton?” Nash returned, grabbing my attention. “This is Brian.”
I stood as the middle-aged man came around the corner and joined me in the lobby with an outstretched hand. As soon as I shook it, we locked eyes, and his cheerful grin froze, along with every muscle in his face and body.
“Hey, I’m—”
“Tic,” he answered, matter-of-fact. “From A Quiet fucking Peril.”
“Uh … yeah.” I smiled nervously, still unsure of how to respond to someone knowing who I was before I could introduce myself. “How’s it going? It’s great to meet you, man. This place is sick!”
“No fucking way,” he muttered slowly.
I didn’t want to ask if he was a fan because it would be a little awkward if he said no, but I had no idea what this interaction was. He was sort of smiling. Or was it a grimace? And he had yet to let go of my hand.
Giving me a good, quick squeeze, he finally released me and placed his hands on his hips. “You’re here to see me?” he asked, pointing to himself in confusion.
“You’re Brian, right? Yeah, I’m so glad you could get me in last minute like this. I just adopted this dog, and the girl working at the shelter told me where to find you.”
“Oh, you must’ve met Jordan. That’s a crazy coincidence.” His brows rose in thought. “So, you’ve never been here? Never heard of us or anyone who works here?”
I shifted with unease. “Um, unfortunately, not until last week, no. Super glad I did though! I love your work, and I think it will be a good fit with all the rest of the ones I have!”
He looked me over once, pinching his lips together like he was trying to stop himself from laughing. “Nah, as flattering as that is, Tic, I’m not sure my style is right for what you’re looking for.”
My brow twitched. “I haven’t even told you what I want done.”
“Oh, right! Shit, sorry. Go ahead,” he said, obviously uninterested. He hadn’t even offered to bring me back to his workstation to have a normal consultation.
The song overhead faded out before the next one began, and the brief silence made this interaction even more uncomfortable.
“Sure thing. So, uh, my new dog actually inspired this one.” I rubbed the back of my neck, chuckling.
“He left his paw print on my leg, and I thought it’d be great to make it permanent, you know?
I took a picture of it on my phone, but I also have his print on a piece of paper too,” I told him, pulling it out of my pocket, but he made no effort to look at it.
Brian clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that’s not really in my comfort zone, ya know?”
What the heck is wrong with this guy?
“Really?”
He just shook his head and shrugged.
“Huh, that’s too bad then,” I said, already moving toward the door. “Thanks for your time, I guess.”
He’d recognized me and seemed excited, but maybe I’d misread his reaction. Maybe he didn’t like me or the band’s music and something about me being in here was humorous to him. Whatever it was, I could take a hint.
“Wait!” His face filled with momentary fear.
I looked around again, searching for a hidden camera to justify this bizarre exchange.
“There’s an artist here who I think would do a much better job with something like that than me or anyone else you can find in the city, really.”
“Oh?”
The crease in his forehead smoothed once I faced him again. “I’ll go see if she can squeeze you in quickly if you’re interested?”
“Or I can just come back another time,” I offered, hooking a thumb over my shoulder.
“No!” he nearly shouted.
I narrowed my gaze. “Am I missing something here? Since you came out here, you’ve been very dismissive and acting like you want me to leave. Now you’re stopping me. I’m confused.”
He readjusted his baseball cap and hung his head. “That’s my bad. It’ll all make sense in a minute. Let me just go check in with her, and I’ll take you back.”
He disappeared around the corner before I could reply, leaving Nash and me alone.
He looked just as confused as I was, but at least he had his computer to distract himself.
I knew I could just walk out the door before Brian got back, but my curiosity to see this through kept my feet planted where I stood.
A few moments later, Brian returned with a pep in his step. “Okay, she’s got some time before her next client. Come on back, man,” he said, nodding over his shoulder for me to follow him.
There was something about his smirk that made me uneasy. Like he was waiting for me to get the punch line of the joke he’d just told, only there was no joke.
“Uh, okay,” I replied, shifting my eyes with incertitude as I began following him.
I had a handful of security details in my phone I’d contacted for certain outings in the past that required being extra cautious, but never for a tattoo consultation.
This Brian guy was kind of making me wish I had called up one of them.
I was a big dude and could handle myself, but I also never liked the idea of putting hands on someone or resorting to violence, even if it was necessary to protect myself.
Avery always said I was just a big teddy bear.
She was probably right, but I didn’t mind being labeled soft.
Sure, I might look tough to some on the outside, but I never really liked the idea of being the hard, frightening man who exuded this macho, toughness persona.
My mom had dated plenty of guys with that energy when I was growing up, and I’d hated seeing her put herself back together each time they broke her heart.
There was a short hallway that led past the bathroom and then the piercing room, into a more open space with three-foot separation walls dividing the artists. Each section was decorated differently with stencils and artwork displayed above and around their stations.
The sound of a tattoo gun buzzed to life from a bald dude in the front corner as he worked on a woman’s forearm. Across from him looked to be Brian’s station, the tattoo art matching pieces I had seen up front.
Brian headed toward the corner in the back; whoever was sitting at their table was blocked by his six-foot frame in front of me, but I could see the blonde hair peeking out as I got closer.
He looked back at me before stepping aside, and I pinched my face at his odd amusement once more. And then I met the eyes of the girl behind him.
I inhaled, taking in the familiar green eyes behind thin, round glasses, lighting up at the sight of me.
Every fucking coherent thought in my brain vanished.
You, she mouthed, freezing in place.
The mixture of shock and excitement in her features mirrored my own, making it clear this was all some kind of happenstance.
My smile grew twice in size, my dimples pinching the hell out of my cheeks as the war between whether this was real or a fantasy became clear.