“It’s an educated guess,” I tell him, the gun still in my hand. “Everyone knows that the more you complain about it, the more it hurts.”
He turns his head and looks at me, though he’s very careful not to move anything else.
“Did Lainey get that from some study?” he teases. “What are your sources?”
“That one’s folk wisdom, but folk wisdom is usually right,” I admit, sitting back. I grab the light and move it around a little, press my fingers into his arm, double check the lines and the dots and the brand new star that matches the one on my wrist.
“I’d flex for you, but my arm kinda hurts,” he teases.
I roll my eyes at him, still smiling.
“That tattoo must have really hurt,” I say in faux-sympathy.
“Okay, okay,” Seth says. “Point taken.”
I switch the gun off, put it back on the tray, and hold up a mirror so he can check it out a little better.
“Perfect,” he says, and touches his arm with his other hand.
I grab his wrist, still wearing gloves.
“No touching,” I tell him.
“You this handsy with all your clients?” he asks, grinning.
I put the mirror back but don’t let go of Seth’s wrist.
“Most of them know better than to poke a brand new tattoo,” I say.
Seth just grins and pulls his arm away, bringing my hand with it. He’s still in my dentist-style tattoo chair, and when I try to let him go he just grabs my hand himself and keeps pulling.
“Hey,” I protest, but I don’t protest too hard. “We’re not done.”
“You look like you need a break,” he says, very seriously.
“That would be wildly unprofessional of me,” I say, leaning on the arm of the chair.
“I promise not to tell the… Board of Tattoos?” he says, raising one eyebrow.
“Yes, our very real central governing body is notoriously strict,” I deadpan.
I pull my hand free of his, then take my gloves off and toss them on the tray, too, as Seth reaches over and grabs the belt loop of my denim shorts and tugs me toward him. He took his shirt off while I touched up his constellation tattoo, so now he’s reclining half-naked in my chair and giving me a lazy hey there look.
“I don’t usually do this with customers,” I tease, not budging.
That gets a double eyebrow raise.
“Usually?” he says, voice going low, and I grin.
“Hardly ever,” I say.
“C’mere,” he says, and grabs the waistband of my shorts, tugs gently.
I stand, swing my leg over the chair, and straddle him.
“And definitely not with customers who complain as much as you did,” I say, leaning forward.
“I thought maybe I could get some sympathy kisses,” he says, and I laugh. “What?”
“From me?” I tease. “Of all people? Harden the fuck up, Seth.”
“Damn,” he says. “Guess whose Yelp review just got lowered to three stars.”
“Three?” I protest. “You took off two stars for that?”
“Just one,” he says.
I sit back, still on his lap, and put my hands on his knees. My shorts are riding up, garters visible, and I can see him sneaking looks. Apparently, they still haven’t gotten old.
“You would four-star me for a great, free tattoo?” I ask, mock-offended.
“I was gonna offer you the option of earning the fifth star.”
“Let me guess,” I say, tapping a finger against his knee. “By being a great conversationalist? Ooh, or for giving you really clear aftercare instructions?”
“Close,” he says, and grabs the bottom of my tank top, winds the fabric around his fingers.
“For opening the shop on a Sunday, then,” I tease, leaning forward.
“Almost,” he says, sliding his hands over my butt.
I rest my forearms on his chest, lower my face to his.
“Then I don’t know what could possibly earn me that extra star,” I say. “Enlighten me.”
He kisses me, obviously. He cups my ass in his hands and I roll my hips against him and kiss him back, long, slow, lazy kisses. We make out with no ulterior motive, just to make out, because we’ve had the no sex in the tattoo shop discussion before.
Also a no sex in the brewery discussion. Health code, et cetera.
After a few minutes he runs his hand down my arm to my wrist, circles it lightly with his fingers until his thumb is right on my star tattoo. He looks at it, then lifts his arm, looks at his.
“You like it?” I ask.
“I do,” he says, rubbing his thumb over my wrist. “Thanks.”
“I should bandage it,” I point out.
He pulls me in, gives me one more long kiss.
“Love you,” he says.
“Love you too,” I say, then give him a quick kiss on the forehead and stand.
“Last week, someone brought in a beautiful, solid oak hundred-year-old table that had been plastered over with superhero stickers in the seventies,” Charlie says. “And not even real superheroes. Knockoff ones I’ve never heard of, like The Bulk, who’s purple and wears green shorts.”
I laugh, beer in hand, feet up on the deck railing.
“I’ve never heard of The Bulk,” I say.
“I’m sure there’s a reason.”
“Who thought that was a good idea?” asks Caleb, sitting on my other side.
“The table, or The Bulk?”
“Either. Both,” he says.
“Maybe the table was owned by whoever created The Bulk,” I say. “Otherwise, why would they have all those stickers?”
Charlie just sighs.
“I had to do things to that table,” she says, taking a sip of her beer and gazing over the back yard. “Things I’m not proud of.”
I sigh sympathetically.
“It’s all right,” I tell her. “We’ve all had to fuck the furniture now and then.”
To my right, Caleb makes a surprised noise, then starts coughing.
“Dammit, Delilah,” he manages to get out. “I was drinking.”
“Sorry,” I say, as Charlie laughs.
“I was just surprised,” he says, still clearing his throat.
“That she said fuck?” Charlie asks.
“No, I was not surprised that Delilah said fuck,” Caleb says, as if that’s the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. “It was the whole thing. It’s over now. Carry on.”
“I think we should keep talking about fucking the furniture,” Charlie says. “Which piece of your dining room set do you find most erotic, Caleb?”
“I hate this conversation,” he says, but he’s grinning.
“Tables do have those nice… legs,” I say, trying to think of something slightly sexy about tables.
“Sure, that’s a word,” Caleb teases.
“That’s why tablecloths exist,” says June’s voice behind me.
I tilt my head back and there she is, holding a glass of water.
“Because table legs are erotic?” Charlie asks. “This is really making me look at my job from a new angle.”