Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Once we reach our stop, we rush up the stairs, taking in the scent of cheesesteaks that floats through the air. I tip my nose up in appreciation, even though I’m still stuffed from eating two whole soft pretzels with Cheese Whiz. Nate laces his fingers between mine and leads me down the busy street until we stop in front of Inkwell. My mouth falls open in shock when I turn to face him.
“What are we doing here?”
He lifts his shoulders. “I have an idea. I thought we could roll with it.”
“Pretty boy Nate is going to get a tattoo,” I shout with laughter in my tone. “Aww man, this I have to see.”
“Shut up, Queen.” He smacks a kiss on my forehead, and then opens the door to Alec’s studio for me.
When we step inside, I feel like I’m home. Seriously. Alec Hartwell is brilliant, the most epic tattoo artist in the country, in my opinion. His studio is like an artist’s wet dream. The ceiling has an industrial loft feel with exposed wooden beams and touches of brick accents between the walls that are covered in Alec’s designs. Alec is a true visionary. He understands how to create magic with ink. Every speck of drywall is splashed with color, creating what feels like one massive comic book as Alec’s characters tell a story.
We stop in front of a black desk, custom shaped into an actual inkwell with a top piece made from Carrara marble. Everything in the studio is designed from scratch, not your typical tattoo parlor.
“Alec,” Clara, the receptionist, yells into an intercom. “King and Queen are here.”
We exchange a few pleasantries, and then Alec opens a door in the back of the shop, dressed in dark jeans, a black graphic tee, and a pair of sneakers that have his designs on them. He has sleeves of colorful tattoos from his neck to his fingers and short, blond hair that he spikes in the front.
Alec greets me with a hug, and then he leads us down the hall to his room in the back. Nate pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his abs that make me drool. I stare like a creepy stalker as he sits on the leather table at the center of the space. Nate pats the open spot next to him with his hand, and I take my place at his side.
“Are you sure you want this?” Alec rolls a stool in front of us and lifts the piece of paper in his hand.
“Yeah,” Nate says without hesitation.
“What are you getting?” I lean forward, resting my elbow on the edge of the table. “I hope it’s not something you will regret later.”
Nate shakes his head and dark hair falls in front of his eyes. I sweep it away with my fingers, and he smiles. “Never.”
“Let me see,” I say to Alec, extending my hand across Nate’s body.
Alec turns the paper over on his knee. “Nope. You’ll have to wait and see when I’m done.”
My gaze flicks between Nate and Alec. “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s a surprise,” Nate says. “Now, would you calm down and let Alec get to work?”
“Hey, Queen,” Alec says with a wicked grin. “I was just as shocked to get Nate’s call. Never thought pretty boy would get ink.”
“I’m not pretty,” Nate shoots back with a groan. “Just shut up. Both of you.”
A roar of laughter fills the air, though Nate doesn’t seem the least bit entertained. Alec clicks a few buttons on his cell phone, and “Anarchy in the U.K.” by Sex Pistols comes through the speakers suspended from the ceiling. I tap my fingers on the table to the beat, bobbing my head as Alec preps Nate for his tattoo. What is so important that Nate wants to ink it on his skin? And why is it a secret?
“Am I not allowed to watch?” I ask Nate.
“Go ahead,” Nate says, wincing when the needle touches his chest. “But I’d rather you wait to see.”
“Okay, fine. Have it your way, King.”
I slide off the table and grab the latest edition of Inked from a table full of books. Alec is on the front cover with a silly expression on his face. His blond hair is even spikier than usual, and he’s wearing a white fitted tee with the Lernaean Hydra he drew to beat me in the competition we entered together years ago.
I sink into a chair by the wall and kick my feet up on the ottoman. Nate makes a few sounds, which he plays off as a cough. He turns his head away from me every time the needle touches his skin. The art on my thigh took Alec four hours to complete, and I almost cried the entire time. Almost. Nate is putting on a good front, but I can tell he’s in pain.