Page 79 of Crow

We move away from the window in the hall, back to his room. It’s early and we’re the only ones here. Most of the other artists don’t start until noon. None of them are early risers.

We’ve been here since five this morning. We’ve planned this session ahead of time, to put the finishing touches up on my back, so Connie stayed the night with Tyrant, Lark, and Penny. She’ll always be our dog, but I swear that her favorite person in the whole world is probably that little girl. Penny always gets extra,extratail wags when Connie sees her. If it’s been a few days, Connie’s whole body practically waggles and vibrates with joy. She’s not a dog who gives kisses, but she’ll always save a few for Penny.

I glance at the time on my phone while Crow gets the transparent bandages ready. They’re a terror to take off, but they help so much with the healing. I’ve never known anything different, but that’s what Crow says, and I trust him. He’s told me stories of how he used to use dog pee pads and plastic wrap to bandage himself up when he first started tattooing, practicing mostly on his legs.

It’s just past nine. Time for a coffee. I ate a big breakfast before we came here. For the first few sessions, big ones, I used numbing cream. I thought that was a cop-out, but Crow said that he recommends it to most of his clients for painful areas. It helps them sit longer and it doesn’t feel like he’s torturing people when the cream takes the edge off. Today, because Crow was just finishing up highlights and doing a few touchups from previoussessions, I didn’t numb. My back burns all over like I just fell asleep and sizzled out in the sun for hours, but it’s bearable. The pride in finishing off this massive piece and bearing the art of the man I love, far outweighs the discomfort.

Crow applies the bandages, taking his time to make sure he has a good seal. We’re at it for twenty minutes to cover every spot he worked on, then he gives me a shy smile. “Would you like your surprise?”

“Is it a latte with extra foam and chocolate shake on top?”

“It’s my cock,” he deadpans.

I laugh, but then I see how coy his smile is. “Oh. You’re serious.”

“We have over an hour before you have to be at the barbershop, opening up.”

Cosmetology school was one of the toughest, most intense things I’ve ever done. The pacing was frantic, far from my pre-med classes, even with the dreaded labs. I loved every single second of it. When I finally passed all the bookwork and tests and got onto the floor to work on clients, Crow rounded up all the guys from the club and brought them over. I always thought that I’d want to be a stylist who did updos and colors, styling and cutting and making masterpieces out of hair to my heart’s content, but I surprised myself by deciding to go into barbering.

Since Crow and Raven moved in with me into the small bungalow, he no longer needed the living space above his shop. He and Raven worked tirelessly, along with just about every single one of his club brothers, to help transform the pace into the shop of my dreams. Neither he nor Raven breathed a word about it, and the renovations took months.

“Plus, all you have to do is walk upstairs. Lots of time for coffee.”

“But you have to clean up in here. You have a client today.”

“Not until one, I don’t, which gives me plenty of time to sanitize this room after I debauch you in it.”

“Debauch.” I shove his shoulder playfully. “You haven’t introduced me to the darkness. There’s nothing debauched about you.”

“Me, no.”

“Or Raven either.”

He shoves his tattoo cart to the other side of his large, private room. The walls are full of artwork, some of it vintage, some of it his. The different frames, some black, some a heavy gilt gold, give new meaning to a mosaic wall. There’s not really an inch of wall space to speak of, between artwork and all the sketches he’s pinned up. The counter at the back with the huge toolbox has all his tattooing supplies stored neatly. On the one side of the room is an antique barber’s chair—a match to the three above in my shop—but the other side has a foldable, portable table, the kind that people get massages on.

Since I was getting my back done, I haven’t had the pleasure of getting to sit in that barber chair in here. He did make the bed extremely comfortable for me, with pillows and lots of breaks to stretch out. No one wants to lay on their stomach for endless periods of time.

“We’ll break that bed,” I protest. “And then where will you be? Your client is getting his chest tattooed today. You need it.”

“I’ll order a spare.”

“On short notice?”

“I’ll find one around here.”

“Hmm. I wouldn’t count on it.”

He sighs in mock annoyance. “I guess I’ll just have to take you up against the wall then.”

“Ouch. My back.”

“From behind.”

He strips off his black nitrile gloves and throws them in the trash. He tilts my face up so I can see fully just how starved he is.

“Would you like me to say please?”

“I’d really like you to say please.” I dig my fingers into his short hair.

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