Tattered Love (Needle's Kiss)

making a mental note to call Teeny later and kick a round of twenty questions off. Just then the front doorbell sounded, letting us know a customer had arrived, halting my progress. I knew we didn't have any appointments for a while, so it'd have to be a walk-in, no doubt someone coming to get some unimaginative flash piece from the wall charts.
    I’d spun around. As I did, my mouth dropped open, closely followed by what I'm sure was drool and possibly my tongue hanging out. My heart rate kicked up a notch and my skin flushed.
    Holy hot damn!
    Standing in front of me was an older playgirl worthy, hotness-personified version of Trip. He was just slightly taller at what a guess would be around six foot three, meaning even on my four-inch heels, I was craning my neck to look up at him. His broad, muscular frame, that looked as solid and toned as a brick wall, filled the room. Beautiful aqua-blue eyes, in stark contrast to his slightly olive skin, gave a hint at what had to be a Hispanic background. My hands twitched at the thought of rubbing my hands over his jet-black hair that was neatly buzzed close to his head. Dear Lord and the angels above, he looked around about two-hundred-and-twenty pounds of panty wetting, drool-worthy, drop-to-your-knees and thank all that is holy muscled man. I blinked and gave my head a quick shake to pick my thoughts up out of the gutter, cleared my throat, and watched as he dropped a tan-colored duffle bag to the floor by his feet.
    I took a calming breath before I spoke. “Hi, welcome to Needle’s Kiss. Can I help you with anything?”
    A deep rumbling voice that shot straight to my nipples and spread goose bumps along my entire body answered “Lookin’ for Trip.”
    With hottie’s eyes glued to me, I quickly told him to take a seat while I went and got Trip. He ignored my invitation and continued studiously eyeing me in a way that made me want to jump on him and lick him head to toe.
    “Trip!” I called as I walked into the break room on wobbly legs. Wow, I really needed to get laid if I was this affected by one guy, strike that one sexy as fuck guy. “There is one hell of a hot dude that looks kinda like you in the front waiting room.”
    Trip's eyebrows shot up, and he threw the titty magazine he had been reading onto the folding card table that sat in the middle of the room. He moved swiftly to the front of the shop, his boots thumping on the linoleum with each step.
    “WHAT THE FUCK!” I heard Trip yell excitedly, before I caught sight of the two god-like guys moving in for a manly handshake and shoulder-slap type hug. A smile with both dimples played out on Trip's face.
    “Just got in, first stop, little brother, and ink.” Sex God greeted him.
    “It's damn good to see you back.” Trip’s head came up, and he pointed to me. “Scar here is the best artist in the state, for the last three years. She'll do a fuck-of-a-job, what ya want?”
    “Back of the shoulder,” Sex God all but grunted, producing a piece of sketch paper that Trip studied for a moment. He then looked back to his older brother with a pained expression on his face, to which he received a slight head nod and another grunt. Trip walked over to where I was leaning on the front counter, made from a cool piece of black granite and stainless steel edging, handed me the paper and introduced us. “Scar lett, this is my big brother, Mace. My appointment just walked in. You think you can fit him in?”
    That’s why he looked familiar; I’d seen photos of him, but they didn’t do him not one bit of damn justice.
    “Sure, come on back to my station. I'll get this one drawn up and be right with you.” I led him back to my room, turning to my workstation as he took a seat on the bright-red padded state-of-the-art electric tattoo chair in the middle of the room. Pinned to two of the surrounding walls were sketches and ideas, all looking for the right canvas.
    As I was redrawing the image onto special transfer paper, I noted it was a pretty self-explanatory piece. A rifle standing vertically, an army helmet hanging on the top of a pair of boots in front at the base, with the script below reading—'All gave some, some gave all'. I cleared the somber thoughts of what his new ink represented, turned and walked back to my station to get started, conscious all the while of his large body taking up every inch of space in the chair, seeming to suck all the air from the room.
    “Right or left