Clipped Wings by Helena Hunting

enough to pass it on to someone equally qualified,” Tenley argued. Quite eloquently.
    “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it,” I replied, leaning in, still more agitated than I should have been.
    “So you’ll work on me?” Tenley mirrored my movements, her face close to mine, calculatedly calm.
    I shouldn’t agree to put a full back tattoo on a girl who had never been inked before and who made my dick ache constantly. But the thought of someone else doing it made me want to hit something. Particularly Chris.
    “Fine,” I huffed.
    “Great.” Tenley’s face broke into the most beautiful smile.
    It spurred the irrational desire to agree to anything she asked. Instead I was my usual douche self. “It won’t be cheap,” I warned.
    “That’s fine, money isn’t an issue.”
    That was interesting. Tuition for Northwestern was astronomical. I heard enough kids complain about it, or brag, as the case might be. If money wasn’t an issue for a tattoo, I had to wonder why she kept a part-time job.
    “It’ll probably take about twenty hours, give or take.” I was banking on it taking more time rather than less.
    “Okay.”
    “We’ll have to spread it out over multiple sessions.”
    “I realize that.” She sounded insulted.
    My dick understood before my brain did that I would be spending hours in a room alone with Tenley topless. While she was under my needle, I would have an uninterrupted expanse of time to get to know her beyond these brief, tense exchanges. If she got comfortable with me, I might be able to find out what had happened to make her want something so insanely dark. I couldn’t believe I was persuading her not to get the tattoo when it worked so well in my favor. I should drag it out if I had the opportunity.
    I stopped trying to dissuade her, even though it felt like the pinnacle of unethical practice. She was already committed to it or she wouldn’t have been arguing for alternative artists and tolerating my jerkoff behavior.
    “Give me a few days to work on translating the design into a tattoo, then you can tell me if you like what I’ve done.”
    “Sure, when do you want me to come in next?”
    “Early next week?”
    “Monday? Oh wait, you don’t usually work Mondays, do you? What about Tuesday?”
    I grinned. She knew I didn’t work on Monday. That meant she was aware of my schedule. Nice. We were both creepers. “I’ll come in Monday for you. How about you stop by after you finish your shift and we can hash out the finer details,” I replied.
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    “I know.”
    “I can wait until Tuesday.”
    “I’m sure you can, but I’ll come in just for you.” She toyed with the frayed edge of the sketchbook. There I was, doing it again, saying things to make her uncomfortable.
    “Okay.” She peeked up at me, her lips pursed like she was fighting a grin. As if I would renege if she happened to show some kind of enthusiasm over the fact I’d given in to her.
    “Excellent. I’ll make a copy of this.” I hauled ass over to the copier.
    Lisa dropped into my chair. “We’re going down the street for a drink when we close up. Do you want to come?” she asked Tenley.
    I tensely awaited her reply. I was fine in here, without booze in my system to destroy my limited control. But put me in a bar with Tenley and add alcohol? I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. Especially if another douchebag put his hands on her.
    “I have some assignments to finish up. Maybe another time, though.” I could have been wrong, but I thought she sounded disappointed. Despite my reservations, so was I.
    Once I made the copy, I led her to the full-length, three-sided mirror, which allowed clients to see their finished piece from every conceivable angle. In order to accommodate the dimensions of the tattoo, I would need to measure her back span and rework the design as required.
    Tenley stood in front of the mirror, rocking on her heels. I towered over her from my place