Blurred Lines Read Online Free PDF Page A

be tender,” he said.
    “Okay,” I responded.
    As he wiped across the freshly tattooed area, I winced. The predictable pain from the needle piercing my skin turned to a dull throb covering my entire right shoulder. Again he wiped the cold paper towel across my shoulder, causing me to close my eyes and shrug my shoulders from the pain.
    “Take a look at that,” he said as he slid his stool in front of me.
    I stood from my seat and immediately felt lightheaded. Blake was right, although I was mentally eager to continue with another tattoo, I was far from being physically ready for another session. I walked to the mirror, turned around, and pulled the neck of my shirt down.
    My shoulder was swollen, but the detail, color, and quality of his artistry were apparent. The orange koi was highlighted with a few white and black specs, surrounded with blue water, deeper blue and waves that faded into purple, and the entire tattooed area was speckled with a few pink cherry blossoms. As a symbol of my rebirth or simply as a tattoo of an orange fish, it was beautiful.
    “I love it. Can I uhhm. Can I take off my shirt? I have a sports bra on. I mean, people jog in them and stuff,” I said as I continued to admire the tattoo in the mirror.
    “Sure. Let me help you,” he responded.
    He stood from his seat, removed his gloves, and stepped in front of me. As he reached for the waist of my shirt, he nodded his head toward the other side of the shop.
    “Grab the back of her shirt and help me out,” he said.
    I reached down and grabbed the waist of my shirt.
    Blake shook his head. “No, you stand still. You stretch that tattoo out and it’ll be painful. Sorry, I was thinking Tyler was still here, but he must have slipped out. I’ll get it.”
    He turned his head to the side and leaned forward, almost touching his chest to mine. As he shifted his hands to the sides of my shirt, he lifted carefully, pulling it rearward, and away from the tattoo. I closed my eyes and inhaled a shallow breath through my nose, hoping to catch a hint of something memorable about his scent. All I got was a faint smell of my own perfume.
    “Raise your arms,” he said.
    Once again, his breath against my neck caused goosebumps to rise along my upper arms. As I felt the shirt being pulled over my head, I opened my eyes and turned toward the mirror.
    “Much better,” I said.
    “I agree,” he responded.
    “Excuse me?” I asked.
    He shrugged his shoulders as he hung my shirt over the back of the chair I had been sitting in. “I didn’t say anything.”
    After stretching plastic wrap over the tattooed area, taping it into place, and going over the required aftercare with me, I realized it was time for me to pay for the tattoo and leave. I didn’t mind paying, but the leaving wasn’t something I was really prepared to do, at least not just yet.
    “How much do I owe you?” I asked.
    “Six hours at one-thirty an hour would normally be seven-eighty. Let’s call it six hundred,” he responded.
    “Are tips customary?” I asked.
    “If you’re pleased.”
    I was pleased. Even though I realized he needed to concentrate on his work, I did talk to him quite a bit during the beginning of the session. He reluctantly responded to each question, offering quick explanations to my tattoo related ignorance, and was rather polite throughout the entire procedure.
    The last few hours of the tattoo had been rather quiet, my having obviously fallen into a state of semi-hypnosis attributing to at least a portion of my silence. I did, however, learn a little about Blake during the first few hours.
    He was single, he owned the tattoo shop, and he rode a motorcycle even when it was raining outside.
    In short, I was interested in knowing much more about him.
    “Here’s my card for the six hundred, and here’s two hundred for a tip,” I said as I handed him two one hundred dollar bills and my debit card.
    “Damn, you sure?” he asked as he accepted the money.
    I