Page 11 of Bronco

She nods solemnly, tears in her eyes.

“Say it.” I hold my pinkie toward her; at least that renders a smile.

“I promise.” She links her pinkie with mine and I think I’ve helped lighten the mood as she settles back onto the chair. The stencil is ready, and I place it on her shoulder blade, over the existing monumental mess she’s currently sporting. Cara takes deep breaths as if she’s about to give birth.

My shop is fucking epic. It’s been a long time coming, but Iron & Ink has been a long dream of mine. Thanks to the club’s help, I was able to secure a great location downtown and finally start working for myself. I still help around at the clubhouse, but doing what I wanna do has been a life changing event.

I really hope she’s not a crier, but as I start the needle, she tenses and I may have to go and get Josie, one of my artists, to come and hold her hand. Why she didn’t bring a gaggle of friends, I’ll never know. Usually, that’s what girls her age do.

“I can stop at any time,” I tell her. “Just let me know, okay? It’s gonna feel a lot different than when you were drunk.” I’ve used numbing cream, and I think she may have had a shot of liquid courage before she got here, but if this chick wants anormal life — or to wear a strapless sundress again — she needs this covering.

She nods. “Okay, thanks Bronco, you’ve been really sweet.”

I get this a lot, but I’ve always been a good listener. It’s the one thing my mama taught me in life, especially when it comes to women, and it’s served me well. I want her to feel good about herself, and that’s why I’m here. To help people.

“Sweet’s my middle name,” I joke. “Just relax, and when you need a break, you just let me know.”

“It’s gonna hurt, right?”

God, how passed out was she that night? “Uh, yep, it’ll sting a little.”

The appointment runs overtime because I have to keep stopping and starting so many times. She’s a trooper though, and we get the session finished; something I wasn’t sure I could do in one sitting. It looks fucking epic. The red of the roses drips, while the golden dragon roars through the middle, bright bursts of yellow and orange in his wake. It’s a work of art. Sometimes I really don’t give myself enough credit for what I do. To think she had fucking Butthead tattooed there hours ago.

I help her up once I’m done cleaning her skin, then pass her a handheld mirror as I guide her to the huge hanging mirror across the room. “What do you think?”

She gasps, tears falling down her cheeks. “Oh, my God!” She jumps up and down, and I’m still unsure if she’s happy or madder than before, but then she reaches for me and starts hugging the crap out of me as I laugh. For a little thing, she sure has a mean grip.

“Okay, you like it? Phew.” I swipe my forehead with the back of my hand. “For a second there I got a little worried.”

“This is fucking amazing!” She bounces up and down on her toes, releasing me as she has another look. “I love it!”

I laugh. “Fantastic. I’ll give you some care instructions?—”

She palms the side of my face. “I can give you some instructions with what I’d like to do with that big dick energy of yours.”

Big dick energy? Am I really giving off BDE?

I open my mouth and close it again. I want to peel her hands off me, but she hasn’t paid me in full yet, and I don’t wanna piss her off. But I’m not sleeping with her. For one, she’s a client, she’s also not my type, and she’s far too young.

“Honey, I don’t mix business with pleasure, but you are really sweet. I’m glad you like it.” I try my softest voice that usually works on most of the women in my life.

As if I didn’t get the memo, she blurts, “Likeit? I love it! I could suck your dick for how fucking epic this looks!” She’s back to checking herself out again in the mirror. Her smile is a mile wide.

I chuckle. “Let me get those after-care instructions as I need to go over them, okay? It’s really important.”

She’s nodding again, taking in every word as I guide her back to the chair so I can wrap the tattoo properly and let the healing begin. I know she’s a bit of an airhead, so I make sure that I tell her she needs to take off the saran wrap after 24 hours.

“So you’re gonna take this off tomorrow and wash it with soapy water, we don’t want any bacteria or an infection settin’ in,” I tell her. “The swelling and tenderness will go down in a week or so, and healing is between two and four weeks. You need to keep it clean, dry and I don’t recommend re-wrapping it. If you want it re-wrapped over the next day or so, then come back into the shop anytime and we’ll do it for you. The skin will need to breathe, regenerate and heal itself.”

“Okay, I mean, I can show it off to my friends, though, right?”

I smile. “Of course, just don’t take this off until tomorrow night, and don’t leave it on any longer.”

“Got it.”

I hand her the booklet with the care instructions and her little takeaway bag with some of our merch and social media paraphernalia; courtesy of Jett’s ol’ lady, Summer, who helped me get it all together. Jett is Club’s Treasurer, and Deanna, our club Prez’s ol’ lady, is an interior designer who did an awesome job of making the shop look like a high-end tattoo parlor.

We went with a deep burgundy on the walls with gold and black accents; a chandelier hangs in the main foyer with dark, original floorboards that we had sanded back and refinished. There’s motorcycle memorabilia all around the shop and a vintage Harley in the window; my own little tribute to the club that has become my family.

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