Page 100 of Before We Break

“It’s not exactly a walk in the park, but I can use numbing cream, and you’ll hardly feel a thing.”

“Ok.”

I grab my tablet and sketch out a design, each detail taking shape without much thought. Nothing could be more perfect.

When the design is complete, I turn the screen so she can see it. Her breath catches, and her eyes turn glassy. “A penny?”

“So you can stop searching.”

The design is more whimsical than a traditional penny. I opted for florals instead of a portrait, since I had a feeling she might prefer not to have a dead president tattooed on her body.

“Does that say 2010?” she asks.

“Lexi’s birth year. I thought it would be fitting, but we can change it to something else.”

She reaches for me, resting her hand on my forearm. “Noah… it’s perfect.”

“Now all you have to do is figure out where you want it.”

She flips her left hand, palm up, pulling up the sleeve of her orange cable-knit sweater to run the opposite thumb over the inner edge of her wrist. “Right here so I can always see it.”

I take her hand in mine and glide my thumb over the same spot to apply the numbing cream, lingering there longer than necessary. Then I wrap her wrist in plastic wrap to let it set.

While we wait for it to take effect, I set up my station with everything I’ll need. It’s routine at this point in my career, but it feels different knowing it’s Clio in my chair. I take the time to refine the design. I won't be satisfied if it’s anything less than perfect for her. Once everything is set up, we check if the numbing cream is working and apply the stencil, leaving behind a purple blueprint.

“Does it look ok?”

“Mhm. I love it.”

“Good. Sit back for me, princess.” The leather creaks as she shifts positions, and I place her upturned palm on the armrest.

“Ready?”

“I’m ready.”

I put on a playlist to give her something to focus on besides the whirring tattoo machine, and the opening chords to “Wonderwall” fill the silence.

The needle glides over her delicate skin, intricate black linework taking the shape of a circle. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I work, that familiar artistic rush I only experience when I’m in the zone.

When I started tattooing, I felt an immense weight to get it right, and my internal monologue was filled with thoughts about fucking up, but as my confidence grew, that voice started to quiet. It’s there now, in the back of my mind—not because I’m not confident in my craft, but because it’s Clio under my needle, and I need to get it right for her.

The tattoo takes roughly an hour, and Clio is the perfect client. I check in with her a few times, but for the most part she lies there with her eyes closed, listening to the music filtering through the speakers. At one point, I think she might’ve fallen asleep.

“All done, princess. Have a look.”

She sits up slowly, peering down at the newly inked penny on her wrist. Her bottom lip quivers, and she swipes at a stray tear. “Thank you,” she whispers. “It’s perfect. I love it so much.”

Another tear falls, and I capture it with my thumb this time. “Now she’ll always be with you.”

I apply a strip of Saniderm over the fresh ink and give her the usual aftercare speech I give to all of my clients. She hops off the chair and bands her arms around my waist, resting her cheek against my chest. At its core, it’s an innocent gesture, but it’s also a reminder that she’s not just any client. We’ve been teetering on the edge of something real for longer than I care to admit.

I glide my palm up and down her back as I breathe her in. Her chin tips up, my gaze drops to her lips, and the innocent gesture veers into danger faster than I can course correct.

Clio rises onto her tiptoes and plants her lips on mine. The devil on my shoulder perks up as alarm bells ring out. I should put a stop to this before the current drags us under, but fuck if I’m not already drowning.

I growl into the kiss, my conscience washing away with the tide. My hands roam her lush figure, caressing and squeezing whatever parts of her I can reach, loving the way she molds beneath my palms. I sweep my tongue into her mouth, colliding with hers. I swap our positions, walking us backward toward my chair.

She gasps as I break away from the kiss, leaving only a breath between us as my fingers graze the underside of her chin. “We should stop.”