"Ow! Jeez!" Stacy winced as the needle continued the relentless journey across her wrist. Squinting her eyes and puckering her lips, she snapped another selfie with her free hand. She squirmed slightly and jumped as she thumbed her phone, trying to caption "No pain no gain xoxo" across her Twitter account. The twenty-two year old's blond pony tail danced side to side as she gritted her teeth from the dull aching pain of the needle. Her long legs encased in skin tight Levi's rubbed the side of the chair as she squeezed her pink glittered cell phone which constantly chimed an annoying cat meow.
"Fuck! Are you done yet? I mean come on!" she squealed in protest. The tattooist gazed at her dully, as he wiped away excess ink with a damp paper towel.
"No." he replied dryly. Derek, the thirty-five year old who was delivering the cruel artistic torture sat still on his black stool. His leather combat boot pressed down once more on the pedal and she tensed up again. She whimpered softly and managed to take another selfie. This time pushing her lips together and frowning. Derek hoped she didn't notice him shaking his head in disgust.
He had done his fair share of lousy tattoos, but tattooing bratty sorority girls was the worst. "My fucking fault for opening a shop across a collage campus," he thought. His thick beard and long hair slicked back behind his ears gave him the persona of a Seattle grunge rocker. Both of his muscular arms were covered in dark colored art, his Black Sabbath t-shirt was ripped at the collar and his jeans were stained with grease. Stacy gazed at him a few times, trying to remember who he looked like, then it finally dawned on her:
"Opie!" she squeaked.
"Huh?" Derek replied wiping her wrist.
"Opie, thats who, from Sons of Anarchy! You look just like him!"
"Oh, thanks?" Derek knew who she was talking about, the actor from the biker gang drama on TV. Derek wasn't in a gang but he did own a Harley, however like most Harley's it was sitting in his garage under a tarp with the engine in pieces on a table.
"Ok, almost finished, just this last part. How you doing?"
"Ugh, it hurts, but I'll be brave for you." She flirted. He grinned and placed his black gloved hand on her forearm as his other hand shaded the rest of the letters. As annoying and prissy as she was, she was drop dead gorgeous. He wondered if she caught him staring at her cleavage flowing over her tank top, or sneaking a peak of backside through the doorway when she bent over outside to snuff out her cigarette.
Sexy as she was, she wasn't easy to tattoo, this one should've taken an hour, tops. He scheduled her last so he could get her tattoo of "Peace and Happiness," tattooed along her wrist with a few small flowers and a heart. He'd get her out the door in no time so he could go back to his apartment, flip on the Flyers game and catch at least the third period with an ice cold beer.
However, her constant stopping for "pain breaks," four phone calls and two smoke breaks later, the game was long over. His part timer left over an hour ago, making sure to flip the outside sign to "CLOSED".
So the two of them where alone, at least until she started up Twitter. Now the whole universe knew she was getting a tattoo at "Sinful Skin by hottie tattoo guy Derek xoxo." Derek couldn't bring himself to rush through the final stages, he never half assed a tattoo, no matter how eager he was to reach the end. He had enough, her squealing and constant squirming was so bad, he started to think about his current career path and wondered if it was even worth it to follow his artistic dream.
"Hallelujah we're done." He thought as he put his machine on the tray.
"Ok, you're all set," Derek wiped the last bits of ink and droplets of blood from her wrist. He poured a few streams of green skin cleaner and patted it dry, "Take a look."
"Oh my God Derek, it looks so awesome! Thank you! Thank you!" She bounced up and down. He caught yet another quick glance of her breasts bobbing up and down along to the rhythm of her ponytail.
"Yup, head up front I'll ring you out in a sec." As he put away his extra small jars of ink, a sigh of a relief escaped his mouth. He stretched his back and cracked his knuckles. "Jeez, about time," he muttered to himself.
"Are fucking kidding me? Oh no, no no no!" Stacy said while rummaging through her small black leather purse. "That fucking asshole! Ugh!"
Derek shut his eyes and started to imagine what the hell the new issue was. His only thought could be she must have forgotten her money. "She couldn't be that irresponsible," he thought to himself.
"I don't have my fucking credit card! My asshole boyfriend never put it back in my purse! Ugh!"
Derek shook his head, "Um, well I don't know what to tell you, it's $200 for that tattoo," He said while drying his hands.
