Page 58 of The Boyfriend Experience

“Vivi!” I say. “I have a friend who needs some work.”

“I’m just about done, sweets. Be out in a sec!” she calls back.

“So…” Law turns to face me. “Don’t tattoo shops usually have artwork on the walls? There’s nothing here to get ideas.”

“Oh, she’s all custom. You tell her what you want, she draws it out on the spot, then she works her magic. You wanted an artist? She’s the best in Denver. Her family owns the iconic Sick Boyz Ink up in Fort Collins, so she and her sisters come by it naturally.”

“Well, would you look at that?” Law laughs. “I’ve got two real-life examples of women being chips off the old man’s block.”

I laugh too, because I’ve never thought about it that way. But it’s true. Viv and I are two bitches at the top of their game in a world given to us by our fathers.

“But she has a scrapbook of her work over here,” I say, walking over to a coffee table and sitting down on an overstuffed pink-leather couch. “Wanna see some of it?”

He does, because he joins me, and then we sit there, the book in our laps between us, and flip through.

“Jesus,” Law says. “You weren’t kidding. Everyone in here is a living, breathing masterpiece.”

He’s right. Everyone in the book has a well-planned, color-coordinated work of art on their bodies.

“She makes me want more than one.” He laughs. “How’d you ever walk away with only that back piece?”

I shrug. “It’s all I wanted. But yeah, it’s addictive. Especially when Vivi or her sisters do them. You just want to come back as soon as you can and get more to keep it going.”

He flips through the book, stopping to look at a few. One is a Dark Knight back piece done up in blues and blacks. The next is Iron Man done up in deep red and gray. And the third is a Sex Pistols chest piece with a huge anarchy symbol superimposed over a girl with a tall mohawk.

He lingers on that one for several minutes.

“Fancy yourself a Sex Pistols tattoo, Law?”

“No, not exactly. But—”

“OK,” Vivi says, leading a woman out to the counter to pay. “Be with you folks in a sec. Just gotta button up this gig first.”

“No problem,” I say, turning back to Law. “What were you gonna say?”

“Well, chaos, right? I’m looking to control chaos. So the anarchy symbol is a good start. That’s the patch on the back of the jacket I gave you.” Then he points to a few framed comic books on the wall. “But I really like that too.”

“Anarchist superhero theme. Didn’t see that coming.” I laugh. He puts the book down and we stand up to get a closer look at the art on the wall. “Is this a real comic?” I ask. “I’ve never heard of Anarchy Found.”

“Yeah, but it’s very limited-edition stuff. Only three issues and it was mostly an art piece.”

“So you’re familiar with these anarchists?”

“I’ve heard about them back when I was in college. Read bootleg copies online but never seen one in person.”

“Hmmm,” I say. “Well, that sounds a little bit like roots if you ask me.”

“Hey, guys,” Viv says, walking over to us. “Sorry for the wait. What can I do for you, Oaklee?”

So I tell her. I tell her all about my new boyfriend Lawton Ayers and what he’s looking for. He jumps in when appropriate, trying to explain his vision, but having trouble.

“OK,” Viv says, cocking one blonde eyebrow at him. “So you like comic books, and anarchists, and the colors blue and red, and punk rock.”

Lawton makes a face. “Is that what I said?”

“That’s what I heard,” Viv replies.

“I don’t think that’s what I mean. I want something cool. Something that kinda personifies where I came from, but not who I am now. Something that chronicles that journey.”