“Come on, Peys. Don’t be chicken,” Raji said.
Peyton grimaced. There was no way he could sprint into the Northeastern wintry night outside the plate glass windows and escape. She would probably follow him and drag him right back. That little minx was quick when she ran.
Besides, she had convinced the tattoo shop’s owner to take them in after hours and assured Peyton that they were absolutely a vault who wouldn’t tell anyone about Raji and him. Plus, they were in Raji’s old neighborhood in New Jersey, not anywhere near her hospital in California.
Raji smiled at him. “It’ll be fine. You’ll love it.”
Her sweet smile belied the fact that she had just convinced Peyton to let her tattoo artist drill ink into his virgin skin. Who was dominating who, here? He didn’t like this at all.
Peyton frowned at the many pages of sample tattoo pictures clipped into stacks of three-ring binders.
Neon lights running the length of the ceiling blasted blue-white light over the whole storefront of the small New Jersey tattoo shop, striping the plastic page-protectors with their glare and whiting out his unmarked skin. “It seems so permanent.”
“You betcha, it’s permanent. Mark yourself up. Live your life on your skin.”
The smell of bleach stung his nose, but at least the place smelled clean.
He flipped twenty or thirty pages. “I don’t know where to start.”
Raji called, “Gordon! We need a consult!”
A spry, middle-aged person walked out of the back room, wiping their hands on a towel. “Yeah?”
Peyton glanced over, taking in Gordon’s soft, hairless chin, bulging arms covered with writhing ink, and shaved head to show off the delicate inkwork on their scalp, too.
How could Gordon ever understand Peyton’s dilemma of choosing his very first tattoo?
“I’ve been looking at your work,” Peyton said, gesturing to the book. “It’s impressive. Some friends of mine have a lot of tattoos. Your work is great, very subtle, nice artistry.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Gordon said, still wiping their hands.
Raji butted in. “He’s having a problem making a decision.”
Gordon, who only came up to the middle of Peyton’s chest, looked him down and up, frankly evaluating Peyton’s body and his life choices, probably. “Nordic.”
Peyton admitted, “A lot of Norwegian, some German and English, but what tattoo should I get?”
“Nordic design,” Gordon sighed. “Nordic runes and Viking knotwork. Armband. Not all the way around because you obviously aren’t pureblooded Native American, blondie. No saturated areas because you’re a first-timer. If you want to add a sleeve or an armor piece later, it’ll be easy to incorporate.”
Raji nodded wisely, her dark, sultry eyes half-closed.
Well, he couldn’t chicken out in front of Raji.
Peyton shrugged. “Let’s do it.”
Raji smiled at him. “Now you’ll look like a real rock star.” Her smile dropped a little. “Or you will, when you get five or six more of them. Hey, Gordon, could you touch up the raven on my leg? Some parts are a little faded.”
Gordon rolled their eyes. “You first, Raji, so blondie can see how it’s done.”