Page 5 of Full Tilt
Brent
I wipedown the last chair, set the spray bottle back on the shelf, and let out a slow breath through my nose. It’s been a day. Back-to-back bookings, one walk-in who wanted an entire phoenix up his ribcage today, and a guy who nearly passed out mid-wrist tattoo because he forgot to eat lunch. Classic.
I stretch my arms overhead, tattoos pulling across my skin, and look around the studio—Black Salt Ink. It still doesn’t feel like mine, not entirely. Not yet. The floors are scuffed in places that don’t match the rest of the wear, the back room light flickers when it rains, and Tank’s artwork is everywhere. But I like it here. There’s something steady in the bones of the place. Solid. Like it’s used to people coming in with all their noise and walking out a little quieter.
Tank’s behind the desk, balancing his laptop on one knee and drinking the last of his lukewarm coffee. He looks like the ghost of a rock band roadie—long hair, sleepy eyes, covered in even more ink than I am. He’s got one foot out the door already. Canada calls.
“So,” I say, leaning against the counter, “tell me again why we’re still open after hours?”
Tank glances at me over his mug. “You’re meeting your problem.”
“Excuse me?” I’m pretty sure this is the first time he’s mentioned a “problem” client to me. Sneaky asshole.
“Camden Crawford,” he says, with all the dramatic weight of a soap opera character about to reveal the secret twin. “Prop. Captain. Big deal at Exeter Seagulls.”
“Rugby.” I nod. “The one that’s like American football but with fewer pads and more visible violence.”
Tank chuckles. “That’s the one.”
I’ve lived in the UK long enough to recognise the sound of rugby fans yelling at a pub TV. It’s like a primal chant. A lot of vowels. Some war cries. Camden’s name’s come up once or twice when I’ve been out—usually followed by someone saying, “Oof, he’s a unit,” or, “Wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.”
I smirk. “So, what I’m hearing is: I’m meeting a massive, brooding man with a neck like a bridge support and the personality of a slightly pissed-off cat.”
Tank chuckles again. “More or less. You’ll be fine.”
I twirl the ring through my lip piercing. “What’s he getting?”
“Not sure. That’s between you two. But it won’t be tonight.”
Thank fuck, since it’s late and I’m not sure I have anything left to give this evening.
“He’s just meeting you. I told him you don’t suck.”
I huff out an amused laugh. “That was generous.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
I grin. “Nah, I got this. Oldest of five, remember? Two twin brothers who treated everything like a wrestling match, a younger brother who’s half golden retriever, half human spotlight, and a sister who can murder with a glare. I know how to deal with complicated personalities.”
Tank raises a brow. “This isn’t summer camp, Brent. Camden doesn’t do small talk.”
I wave that off. “Everyone does small talk. You just have to find the right language.”
“Yours being relentless optimism?”
“Exactly. It’s unsettling. Breaks down defences.”
He snorts and closes his laptop. “If he punches you, I’m not covering dental.” He shakes his head. “You know how hard it is getting an NHS dentist these days?”
I roll my eyes, knowing full well that for all its faults, the NHS is a damn lot better than what we have back home in the US. “If he punches me, I’m getting it tattooed.”
Tank just shakes his head. “God help you.”
I walk the floor again, checking needles are boxed, stations clean, lights low but not spooky. The shop’s good at night. It feels calm. Still. Like it knows it’s about to be part of someone’s story, even if just the beginning.
And yeah, I’ve been tattooing long enough to know this matters. For some people, it’s a design. For others, it’s a declaration. A line drawn in ink that says,This is mine. My story. My skin. My control.
Tank’s headed out next week, and this? Tonight? This feels like the big test. I’m leasing the space, taking over the books, and hopefully will keep the clients happy—but Camden’s the one Tank’s most protective of. If I pass this test, I’m golden, and he’s already said in six months, he’ll look at selling the place to me if I’m still interested.
