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She was right to call him a playboy, but I prefer fuckboy. He’s an ass the majority of the time, a guy who believes he’s larger than life and has the good looks and talent to prove it. I always enjoy knocking him down a few pegs.

He eyes Daisy with interest, but I know it’s just to piss me off. Maybe as payback for not coming to visit more or ignoring his last few phone calls. Poor guy had a tough time with that, I’d bet.

“Do you have a vagina in those tight black jeans, Shade?” she asks bluntly, almost sympathetically.

He only looks surprised by her question for half a second before that startling laugh makes another appearance, and Daisy giggles along with him.

“Got it, little devil.” With a wink in my direction, he gestures around the corner of the brick building. “Come in. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

“Looking forward to what exactly?” Daisy asks while we follow him to the front of Into The Shade.

“Bryce’s surprise, of course.”

He opens the door for us and trails in behind me. A soft calmness blankets me at the familiar space.

The smell of burnt coffee, antiseptic, and expensive cologne. Years’ worth of memories come flooding back at the sight of the two leather tables in the open space behind the front desk. A frustrating yearning sensation builds behind my ribs at the reminder that I won’t ever have anything close to this. Not living where I do now.

No station of my own, let alone an entire studio. I’ll never have the life Shade does, and while that didn’t upset me back when I first started tattooing, it does now. The older I get, the harder it becomes to pretend it all doesn’t matter.

Shade steps around me to stand in front of us, an arm propped on the desk.

“Welcome to Into The Shade, Daisy. And welcomeback, Bryce.”

“This is amazing,” Daisy praises.

His grin is pure male satisfaction. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Follow me.”

We do, and I waste no time taking in every inch of the space, from the neon blue sign with Shade’s name hung above the first of the two stations to the wall of backlit mirrors on the opposite wall. The walls are a cool white with grey wood floors and black light fixtures. Three massive art pieces are hung around the studio, all of which are his own creations. They’re similar to the ones I have in my bedroom because I learned how to be proud of my work from this arrogant ass.

The piece closest to his tattoo station is a shot of a woman on the same black felt couch that’s only a few feet from the wall of mirrors. She’s naked besides a black G-string that’s been pulled up high on her hips and has her knees on the cushion with her chest pressed to the back of the couch. The photo was taken of her entire back, showcasing the breathtaking fire-breathing dragon piece that spans the length of it and onto the backs of her arms.

He’s Shade for a reason. There’s nobody out there better than him when it comes to filling in the elaborate pieces that are brought to him. Whether you want colour or straight black, he will create something incomparable.

“This is where the magic happens. It’s also where Bryce here learned everything she knows now,” he says, guiding Daisy to the first leather table.

If she’s noticed the way it’s already prepped and ready to go, she doesn’t let on. But considering she hasn’t been in a tattoo studio before, I’m confident in her not noticing yet.

The headrest has been wrapped, and the same gun I use athome is sitting on the table beside the black and yellow ink I asked for.

“Was she a good student?” Daisy asks, flicking her eyes between us.

Shade folds his arms across his chest and pretends to think about his answer. “She was eager to learn but had the same scowl on her face every day she was here that she does right now. Am I bugging you, Bryce?”

“You always bug me,” I mutter, intensifying my expression.

He moves to stand at the end of the leather table and sets his hands on it. “Yet, here you are, about to give your girlfriend her first tattoo in my studio. Clearly, you don’t hate me too much.”

I could never hate him, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing that. I’m too focused on the shock that travels across Daisy’s flushing features to give a shit about him right now, anyway.

“What? I’m getting a tattoo?” she shrieks, running anxious hands over her hair.

“Not unless you’re okay with it,” I add quickly.

Shade pats the table. “It’s the first thing Bryce told me when she called yesterday.Pleaselet me bring my girlfriend to your studio, Shade. I would never, ever bring her anywhere else for her tattoo.Please, I beg you, Oh Mighty One.”

His attempt at sounding like me is pitiful. It makes Daisy laugh, though, so I let it slide.

She moves toward the table with only a hint of hesitation. Eying the supplies on the table, it’s obvious to tell when she starts putting everything together.