Heart of a Tattooist: Dark Romance MC Club Alpha Bad Boy Obsession (Tattooist Series Book 3) by Lexy Timms Page B
Authors: Lexy Timms
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day to make a music video?”
“Sometimes it takes a couple of days. It depends. Lots of people go all out, make what amounts to little mini-movies. I prefer to let the song do the talking, but everyone’s different.”
“I think I’ll pass on doing another one.” She dug into her food with a real appetite. “That was awful.”
He nodded. “There’re plenty of things about the business I can do without. The promoting and the music videos and the constant interviews, I hate them all.”
She looked up at him. Her eyes were steady as she asked, “But you love to sing.”
“Man, do I ever.” He took a long sip of his wine. “It’s what drives me, I guess. I love it in a way I can’t even explain. It’s…it’s not something I do because I wanted to be rich or famous. I wanted to sing. I wanted to write songs. I wanted to play guitar and see people singing my words back.”
“You don’t have to explain. I get it. That is exactly how I feel about tattooing. It’s what fuels me. It’s what I love and what I always wanted to do. I don’t know who I would even be if I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“I get that. It scares me. Especially now.”
“Why now?”
He set his fork down and said, “I have writer’s block for real. It’s like, whatever I used to write is gone.”
“Can’t…I mean, don’t a lot of musicians let other people write for them?”
He nodded. “Yes, but that was never me. I don’t mind writing a song with someone, but what I love is putting my own words, thoughts, and feelings into the world and seeing them strike a chord with people. I write songs for other folks all the time and there have been plenty of times when a song I wrote for my own album didn’t make the last cut and went to someone else.” He smiled at her and shrugged. “I know it isn’t terrible. I just don’t want to do it. I feel like I have more to prove now. Maybe more than ever I did before. Even when I was first starting out I didn’t feel like I had so much to prove.”
She set her plate aside and leaned forward. “Is it because you went to L.A., got into acting?”
He nodded. “Yeah, in a way I feel like I betrayed my own roots. I can’t explain it any better than that. I feel like I somehow cheated the people who counted on me by being someone else, even if it was just because it was a job and I did that job well, and I am not ashamed of the work I put in. I just really regret ever having done it at all.”
“I get it.”
He surveyed her face. “Do you?”
“When I first hit Key West I was too scared to tat, so I took a job doing henna tattoos on the beach.”
He pulled a face. “Ouch.”
She picked her wineglass. “Yeah.”
“So you do get it.”
She took a sip of wine and savored it for a moment. “Yeah, I do on so many different levels. It feels like you just betrayed what makes you you.”
“Exactly.” She had hit the nail right on the head. That was exactly how he had felt. He had had misgivings from the start, but the money had been an almost indecent sum, and he had wanted something, he just hadn’t been sure what it was.
Acting, as it turned out, had not been it.
Nor had smoggy, sprawling L.A. He knew plenty of country musicians who had houses out there and who preferred living there to living in Nashville. He wasn’t mad at them. People lived wherever they felt at home, that was all, and L.A. had never felt right to him or for him either.
A thought occurred to him and he asked, “Do you miss it?”
“Henna?”
He chuckled. “No. L.A.”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t even when I first left it. I thought I might. That I would be homesick or whatever, but I never was.”
“You went to New York, right?”
She nodded and toyed with the stem of her glass. “Yeah, and when I left I thought I would miss it too. But I didn’t. I liked Memphis; it was pretty cool, but I definitely don’t miss it. Maybe I just haven’t found the right place yet.”
His
“Sometimes it takes a couple of days. It depends. Lots of people go all out, make what amounts to little mini-movies. I prefer to let the song do the talking, but everyone’s different.”
“I think I’ll pass on doing another one.” She dug into her food with a real appetite. “That was awful.”
He nodded. “There’re plenty of things about the business I can do without. The promoting and the music videos and the constant interviews, I hate them all.”
She looked up at him. Her eyes were steady as she asked, “But you love to sing.”
“Man, do I ever.” He took a long sip of his wine. “It’s what drives me, I guess. I love it in a way I can’t even explain. It’s…it’s not something I do because I wanted to be rich or famous. I wanted to sing. I wanted to write songs. I wanted to play guitar and see people singing my words back.”
“You don’t have to explain. I get it. That is exactly how I feel about tattooing. It’s what fuels me. It’s what I love and what I always wanted to do. I don’t know who I would even be if I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“I get that. It scares me. Especially now.”
“Why now?”
He set his fork down and said, “I have writer’s block for real. It’s like, whatever I used to write is gone.”
“Can’t…I mean, don’t a lot of musicians let other people write for them?”
He nodded. “Yes, but that was never me. I don’t mind writing a song with someone, but what I love is putting my own words, thoughts, and feelings into the world and seeing them strike a chord with people. I write songs for other folks all the time and there have been plenty of times when a song I wrote for my own album didn’t make the last cut and went to someone else.” He smiled at her and shrugged. “I know it isn’t terrible. I just don’t want to do it. I feel like I have more to prove now. Maybe more than ever I did before. Even when I was first starting out I didn’t feel like I had so much to prove.”
She set her plate aside and leaned forward. “Is it because you went to L.A., got into acting?”
He nodded. “Yeah, in a way I feel like I betrayed my own roots. I can’t explain it any better than that. I feel like I somehow cheated the people who counted on me by being someone else, even if it was just because it was a job and I did that job well, and I am not ashamed of the work I put in. I just really regret ever having done it at all.”
“I get it.”
He surveyed her face. “Do you?”
“When I first hit Key West I was too scared to tat, so I took a job doing henna tattoos on the beach.”
He pulled a face. “Ouch.”
She picked her wineglass. “Yeah.”
“So you do get it.”
She took a sip of wine and savored it for a moment. “Yeah, I do on so many different levels. It feels like you just betrayed what makes you you.”
“Exactly.” She had hit the nail right on the head. That was exactly how he had felt. He had had misgivings from the start, but the money had been an almost indecent sum, and he had wanted something, he just hadn’t been sure what it was.
Acting, as it turned out, had not been it.
Nor had smoggy, sprawling L.A. He knew plenty of country musicians who had houses out there and who preferred living there to living in Nashville. He wasn’t mad at them. People lived wherever they felt at home, that was all, and L.A. had never felt right to him or for him either.
A thought occurred to him and he asked, “Do you miss it?”
“Henna?”
He chuckled. “No. L.A.”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t even when I first left it. I thought I might. That I would be homesick or whatever, but I never was.”
“You went to New York, right?”
She nodded and toyed with the stem of her glass. “Yeah, and when I left I thought I would miss it too. But I didn’t. I liked Memphis; it was pretty cool, but I definitely don’t miss it. Maybe I just haven’t found the right place yet.”
His
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