BEAUTIFUL BROKEN MESS (Broken, Series #2)(72)

It’s amazing how business-like he appears, but under his shirt is this amazing, beautiful artwork. I watch as he pushes up his sleeves and see that the tattoos continue over his shoulders.

“Impressive...” I whisper.

“I can keep going, if you’d like,” he smirks devilishly and reaches for his zipper.

“No, no, keep your pants on, buddy. You’re qualified,” I rush to say. Jace would not be okay with this.

“I think I need to refresh my memory though,” Jinx giggles.

Max ignores her and gestures toward his walled-off section. I walk in and sit in a chair that looks like it belongs in a dentist office. His area is very neat, almost OCD clean, with everything lined up evenly and all labels facing outward. It looks as if there are about five other guys in this shop and all of their areas clearly show their personalities. Pictures and drawings cover their walls, along with various metal band music posters. But Max’s area is a blank canvas. There are no personal belongings in sight, only the tools he needs to do his job.

“Do you have something in mind or do you need time to search through the look books?” he asks.

I pull out a piece of paper and hand it to him. “These are the words I want. I’ll leave it up to you how they’re written.”

He reads over the quote and asks, “Damn, Jim Morrison? I like you even more now.” He flashes me a smile, which showcases two dimples that are way too adorable to be on such a masculine face.

“The only thing I can thankfully say I got from my father was his good taste in music.”

He nods his head in apparent understanding. “Where were you thinking of getting it?” I point to the right side of my rib cage and he smiles in agreement. “Perfect choice, babe. My favorite place to mark a girl up.”

It takes him some time to draw up the stencil perfectly and on paper it looks beautiful. I have to take my bra off, but he lets me keep my shirt on because it’s loose fitting and I can just push it up. After thoroughly sanitizing the area, he transfers the script onto my skin.

“Stand up and check it out in the mirror.”

With my left hand, I continue to hold my shirt up and lift my right arm to view what he’s done so far. I’m mesmerized by the way the curls on each letter flow into the next one, almost resembling a beautiful love letter. I could stare at it for hours. I can’t wait to have it permanently etched into my skin.

He lays the chair down flat and gently drapes my right arm over my head. I stick ear buds from my iPod in and flick through my albums for the perfect, relaxing mix. Before I can hit play, he taps me on the hand and I look at him to let him know that I can still hear him.

“The first few lines are pretty close to...your chest,” he says, almost nervously. “I’ll have to pull some areas tight and lean on you a bit at some point. I swear I’m not feeling you up though!” He raises his hands in genuine innocence and in this moment, I feel completely comfortable with his abilities and professionalism.

“Don’t worry about me, just do what you need to do,” I say, trying to make him feel more at ease.

“Alright then, let’s do this,” he says, while pulling on black latex gloves. “It’s gonna hurt at first, but usually it fades to a dull ache after a few minutes. Everyone is different.”

I shrug my shoulders, push play, and close my eyes. Throughout my years growing up, I’ve taught myself how to anticipate pain. When you know it’s coming, you can prepare yourself and refocus your thoughts elsewhere. I’m an expert at this, thanks to my dad.