Read Blurred Lines for Free Online Page B

a look at that new piece,” he said.
    “It’s doing really good. Got a few comments at the gym. I don’t know how long it usually takes, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. I think it’s healed.”
    “It’s far from healed,” he said with a laugh. “Turn around.”
    I turned around and faced the entrance as he stepped behind me. Although it had only been two days, the tattoo was no longer painful, and seemed to be more colorful than the day he did the work.
    His presence behind me caused me to feel nervous and as if I was in high school again, feeling nervously sick when I was near a boy I felt affectionate about. He lifted my ponytail, held it in his hand, and mumbled to himself as he inspected the tattoo. I stood holding the shirt in my hands, waiting for him to critique my tattoo maintenance procedures. I lowered my head, peered down at my oversized feet, and wished I had worn my other shoes.
    “Just keep it lubricated,” he breathed against the back of my neck.
    My knees all but buckled as I inhaled sharply.
    “Is it okay?” I asked as I turned around.
    “Looks fucking awesome,” he responded.
    He stood in front of me in similar tattered tee shirt to what he was wearing when I met him, rubbing his hands together frantically. The outline of the large cross that hung in the center of his chest was well-defined as the shirt he was wearing fit him all too well. His nervous nature was cute, and I wondered what went through his mind while he was rubbing his palms together, if anything. I believed there was far more to Blake the tattoo artist than what I was seeing, and I wanted to take as much time as necessary to find out everything I could about him.
    “So, not too busy today?” I asked as I looked around the empty shop. 
    “No, Tyler went to get us a sandwich or something. I just got done with my second little piece. You’re my next appointment,” he responded. “Want to just get started now?”
    My previous notions regarding tattooed men was that they were all former military, bikers, or sailors my father’s age or older. I never really considered a man covered in tattoos to be “normal” looking or attractive. Blake was both. His body was attractive, tattooed or not, and his face was handsome yet slightly boyish. His hair was a perfect mess, much longer on top than the sides - and had just the right amount of product in it, assuring that it was always the same amount of messed up.
    In my mind, he was perfect, or at least he appeared to be on the surface.
    I really would have rather stayed, but staying would have meant he would be done with my tattoo at about six o’clock, not at closing time. I really hoped to be there when he closed, and maybe he’d invite me to stay and talk. I had no real intention of doing anything more, and getting to know him would be nice.
    No doubt a luxury I had yet to enjoy.
    I found it quite sad that I was twenty-one years old, and really hadn’t spent any time talking to or getting to know another man. Since my junior year in high school, the only man I ever spoke to was Stephen. It was no wonder I wore my boy shorts to try and entice Blake to talk to me. 
    “No, I need to get home and take a shower. I’ll probably be right on time, four o’clock, right?” I asked, knowing full well what time the appointment was.
    “Yep, four. Well,” he paused and glanced down at my feet.
    He slowly shifted his gaze up and along my body, and grinned when his eyes met mine. Feeling like I was being peeked at through a hole in the girls shower room, I nervously pulled my shirt to my chest and attempted to cover myself as best as I was able.
    “What?” I breathed.
    “Damn shame Tyler isn’t here, he’d have something to say about that outfit,” he said.
    “Think so?” I asked.
    “Know so. That fucking Tyler, he loves boy shorts. Those are boy shorts, right? That’s what you call ‘em?” he asked as he tilted his head downward.
    Slightly embarrassed, but not so much that I