Skin Deep

Chapter 1

Skin Deep

By J.T. Marie

Mid-November

As Mackenzie Shaw leaned closer to the display of tattoo designs, girlish laughter erupted behind her. “Coach, are you getting a tattoo?”

“What?” Mack took a step back. “Oh no, not me.”

She didn’t get far—two young ladies who played on the college basketball team crowded around her, also ogling the art. Someone shorter might have felt daunted by their presence, but Mack could hold her own against gangly ballers; it hadn’t been that long ago when she was a forward for the Lady Rebels herself. Mack stood six foot tall barefoot, head and shoulders over most of the crowd, and even at thirty-two, she still had the beanpole figure that had earned her a full basketball scholarship to college in the first place. Whenever she was off campus with her players, her curly red hair and freckled face conspired to make her look much younger than her age, and she was often mistaken for one of the team. Few people who saw her off the court with the players ever pegged her as their coach.

Coming to the annual Richmond Tattoo Arts Festival hadn’t been her idea. After practice, two of her players had asked if she wanted to hang out downtown with them. She’d heard the words arts and festival and thought sure, sounds like fun. There always seemed to be a festival going on somewhere in Richmond, and Mack liked art of all types, be it folk art or landscapes, sketches or needlework. She had envisioned a sidewalk fair maybe, or a park set up with canvases and artists showcasing their wares.

Somehow she’d missed the bit about tattoos. Pinup girls and grinning skulls inked onto various body parts weren’t exactly what she called “art.”

The festival was held at the Richmond Convention Center. The open, ballroom-style floor plan was laid out in aisles and booths, and Mack had paused in front of one display table whose colorful images caught her attention. A sign hanging from the table read RVA Tattoo. Mack thought that might be one of the shops close to campus, but wasn’t sure. Richmond had a lot of tattoo parlors—she’d read somewhere it was the third most tattooed city in the whole United States. Sometimes she thought she had to be one of the only people in Richmond without a single tat.

That wasn’t going to change, at least, not today. Mack would look at the designs on display but she wasn’t the least bit interested in getting inked herself. Unfortunately she hadn’t moved away from the booth fast enough; over her shoulder, her players looked at the artwork, too. It wouldn’t be too long before one or both of them decided they wanted a new tattoo. Mack didn’t want to hang around long enough for that to happen.

“I like this one,” point guard Steph Jones said, leaning past Mack to run her finger over a red and black nautical star.

Mack gave her an arched look. “Why? It’s just a star.”

“I like it.” Steph pulled herself up into the defensive pose she often used on the court to intimidate opponents. She’d look down her long, aquiline nose, her caramel-colored skin tinged with rosy indignation, black eyes flashing like flint on steel. The hundreds of microbraids woven into her hair added unneeded height to the already tall, lithe beauty, which she used to her advantage.

But it didn’t work against Mack, who was taller than Steph by a good foot. In fact, no matter how terrifying her players were in the game, they didn’t scare her. “But why would you get that one?” Mack pressed. “If you’re going to ink something into your skin that will last forever, you should probably have a good reason why.”

Steph bristled, but before she could answer, the team’s center Kiki Bronson elbowed them both out of the way.

“Stars are boring!” Kiki announced. “Get something a little more unique.”

She towered over them both, her height enhanced by the two-inch heels she liked to wear. With short finger waves dyed a deep purple to match the colored contacts she wore, and dark skin that shone like polished ebony, Kiki was stunning and she knew it. Everything she said and did was meant to be seen and heard, and underscored her breathtaking appearance.

Mack had no intention of dating any of her players—they were all much too young for her, and Lord knew she’d had her fill of co-ed drama during her own college years, thank you very much. But there was no harm in admiring the view, was there? So she didn’t pull away when Kiki leaned against her to point at the drawing of a Kewpie-style demon.

“Now this…” Kiki said. “How cute is he? I mean, seriously?”

The demon had a cheeky grin plastered on its face and held a pitchfork in one hand. Its back turned, it looked over its shoulder with an expression on its cherubic face somewhere between innocent and naughty. Across its bare, plump buttocks was written the phrase, Red Hot!

“Hmm.” Mack had nothing nice to say about it. The image was mildly offensive in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Who would ever get something like that tattooed anywhere on her body? “You do know tattoos are permanent, right? As in once you get one, you have it for life.”

“You can have them removed,” Steph argued. “Though I hear it’s pretty painful.”

“And getting a tattoo isn’t?” Mack countered.

Steph shrugged. “Not all that much…”

Digging into the back pocket of her low-riding jeans, Kiki announced, “I’m going to get it.”

Mack hooked one arm through Kiki’s, the other through Steph’s, and took a step away from the table. “Neither of you needs fresh ink right now. This season’s just begun, and I can’t afford to have anyone sidelined while waiting for a new tattoo to heal.”

“They don’t take that long,” Kiki protested as she shook her arm free from Mack’s. “A week, tops.”

“Really.” Mack didn’t see how having a needle shove ink under the skin wouldn’t take a while to heal. “What are you going to do during practice in the meantime? I can’t have you bleeding all over the court—”

“Tattoos don’t bleed.” Steph started rummaging through her purse, looking for her own wallet. “At least, not after the first hour or so.”

Mack wasn’t buying it. “What if it gets infected?” A healing tattoo would distract her two best players from concentrating on the game, plain and simple. She couldn’t afford to lose both Steph and Kiki at the same time. There went almost half her team. The good half.

“It won’t.” Kiki pulled up the sleeve of her shirt to show off an ornate name tattooed on her forearm. The ink had faded a bit, and the script was so flowery, Mack had difficulty reading it. To be honest, she didn’t quite know what it said. Kiki explained, “I got this two days before the final playoff game last year. I bet you didn’t even notice.”

With a shrug, Mack didn’t respond. So she was the only one worried. So what?

Steph laughed as she tightened her arm around Mack’s in a makeshift hug. “Lighten up, Coach. We’re not talking a full sleeve or anything. A little star like that will be healed up in no time. It’ll start crusting up before Monday, even. No worries.”

“Why even come if we aren’t going to get tattooed?” Kiki countered.

Mack sighed. She knew better than to argue with these two—the same stubborn streak that made them a force to be reckoned with in the game was a pain to deal with when it turned her way. On the court, she held some sway as their coach, but she knew her opinion wouldn’t count for much if she started to sound like a nagging mother hen after the game.

How bad would a new tattoo be, really? If it only took a week to heal, it would be better before their next game against City U, which wasn’t until the end of the month. And as long as the tattoo wasn’t somewhere an opponent could injure it, would it be that big a problem?

Maybe Mack could be a little supportive, and not just when it came to basketball.

“All right,” she said, turning back to look over the designs spread out across the table. “You really want one of those stars?” she asked Steph. “Why?”

“Because I’m the Lady Rebels’ all-star player.” Steph tapped the front of her T-shirt right above her right breast. “I’m going to get it here. It’ll say my name and my number in red and black, what do you think?”

Kiki shoved her in the ribs. “I think no one’s going to see it, so why bother getting it there?”

“My guy will see it,” Steph bristled. “No one else matters. At least it isn’t some creepy devil.”

“He is not creepy!” Kiki shot back, glowering at them. “I think he’s cute.”

“And where would you put him?” Steph wanted to know.

Kiki turned around and slapped her left buttock.

“Is that where you’re getting it?” Mack asked, grinned. “Or are you telling her to kiss it?”

“Maybe both.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and who’s going to see a tattoo on your ass? You’re not even dating anyone. At least my boyfriend will see the one on my boob.”

Mack had a more urgent question. “How are you going to sit down?”

Frowning, Kiki studied her backside a moment, then pointed at a spot higher up instead. It was sort of on her hip, but would still be covered by most underwear. Well, hi-cut briefs and granny panties, not the thongs and bikinis the girls on the team favored. “Here then.”

“Still out of sight,” Steph muttered.

“Y’all will see it in the showers,” Kiki replied.

Mack sighed. “How long is this going to take, anyway? There isn’t even anyone here.”

The booth appeared to be abandoned. No one sat on the other side of the table, watching over the artwork or waiting for customers. Drapes at the back of the booth obscured the area behind it, but Mack could hear a buzzing sound like a dentist’s drill and assumed there was someone somewhere out of sight getting inked.

A look around showed nearby booths staffed by heavily tattooed men and women who were selling prints of their designs or handing out business cards to interested clientele. One or two people even had rolled up sleeves, money in hand, waiting in line for tattoos. So some booths were doing tattoos at the festival, most likely behind the drapes. Kiki was right, why bother coming to a tattoo show if you don’t leave with something to prove you were there?

“Maybe we can circle back around,” Mack suggested.

Before Steph or Kiki could argue, a gruff voice behind them called out, “Hey, ladies. Just looking, or you see something you like?”

The three of them turned as one to find a short, buff, barrel-chested man approaching. His blond hair was bottle-brush length, and he had more tattoos and piercings on his neck and face than Mack had seen on anyone before, ever. His appearance was intimidating, to say the least, and Mack was just about to apologize for bothering him when he smiled.

The moment he did, his whole demeanor changed. The tattoos and piercings no longer gave him the look of a bruiser itching for a fight. That smile could draw in the crowds, Mack thought, as he stepped around them to take a seat behind the table. His booth would be just as popular as all the others if only he sat there smiling at everyone who passed.

Still won’t convince me to get a tat, though. The smile might be sunny, but it wasn’t all that.

But Steph and Kiki were sold. They edged Mack aside, each clamoring for the man’s attention.

With a laugh, he held up both hands to stop them. “One at a time! I heard devil. That’s on my flashcard, so which one of you wants to get that?”

As Kiki stepped forward, Mack asked Steph, “What’s a flashcard?”

Steph pointed to the artwork spread out on the table. “Designs ready to be tattooed are called flash. The artist doesn’t have to redraw them or anything, you just pick one out you like and it doesn’t take any time at all to get it inked.” Then, as an afterthought, Steph added, “You should get one.”

“I should not,” Mack said.

“You know, it doesn’t feel like a needle,” Steph offered. “If that’s what concerns you. It feels more like…well, to me it feels like rubbing a sensitive area of my skin over the rug, if that makes sense? Like getting rug burn on top of sunburn, maybe.”

Mack stared at her, nonplussed. “And how many times have you done that in your life?”

Shrugging, Steph laughed. “One time over spring break, my guy and I had s*x in the living room of this cabin we rented at the lake after spending the day on a boat. I didn’t realize I was sunburnt until afterwards. Girl, every part of me hurt! I felt like one big ol’ fresh tattoo. There wasn’t enough aloe vera in that whole place to make the sting go away.”

“And so I should do this?” Mack asked, incredulous. “You just told me how much it hurt, and you still think I’d want to do it, too?”

In a small voice, Steph admitted, “It doesn’t hurt that much. Besides, you get a cool design out of it. Not, you know, rug burn on your knees from going at it doggy style on the carpet.”

At that moment, a lull in the noise level around them seemed to make Steph’s words increase in volume. Kiki looked back over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question, while the tattoo artist, too, grinned Steph’s way. Even a few people passing stopped and stared. Steph’s cheeks flushed and she ducked, embarrassed. “What?” she asked, defensive. “Like none of you have ever done it on your hands and knees.”

“Not me.” Kiki smirked at Mack. “And I’m sure the Coach ain’t, either. What girl on girl action I’ve seen has been missionary style.”

The tattoo artist’s gaze flickered to Mack, but when she met his stare, he looked away. Yeah, that’s right, I’m a lesbian, she thought, curious what his reaction would be to such blatant talk about her sexuality. She’d learned long ago there was little that college sports players talked trash about each other on and off the court, and if she didn’t roll with it, then it would roll her over. What would he have to say about it, though?

Apparently nothing—he kept quiet, turning back to some paperwork he was filling out so Kiki could get her tattoo.

Steph, on the other hand, wasn’t about to keep her mouth shut. “b***h, please. What girl on girl action have you seen? Any lesbo pornos you’ve watched were made for a male audience.”

“They got me off,” Kiki replied.

“All right.” Mack stepped between the two, once again in the role of referee. “Enough talk about lesbians. I’m sure no one cares—”

“No, no,” the tattoo artist said with a grin. “Don’t stop on my account. It’s just getting interesting.”

Mack narrowed her eyes his way. “We’ll just get the tattoos and move on. Are you going to do both of them?”

He paused in his paperwork and pointed his pen at her. “You getting one, too?”

“God, no.” Shaking her head a little too quickly, Mack hooked a thumb over at Steph. “She is. This star here. She wants it on her chest.”

“Tit or ass, hmm. Tough choice.” He handed a sheet of paper to Steph. “Fill this out, would you? I need to see your license, too. Make sure you’re eighteen.”

“Oh, I am,” Steph assured him, already digging out her wallet.

Mack caught a quick glance of the paper in passing—it looked like a standard page of terms and conditions, which made sense. There had to be liability up the wazoo when it came to tattoos, and a little CYA would help alleviate that, she was sure. “So you’re going to do both?” she asked again. “How long will this take?”

“I’ll do one of them,” he said, signing Kiki’s paper with a flourish. “Heath will do the other. Heath!”

Mack jumped at the shout and looked around. Who was he yelling at? There wasn’t anyone else in the booth. Unless there was someone behind the drapes she couldn’t see.

The man took a deep breath, readying himself to holler again. Before he did, the buzz Mack had been hearing for the past few minutes stopped. “Big Man, s**t!” someone yelled back. “I’m back here.”

“How much longer you gonna be?” the guy hollered. Mack frowned at him. Big Man? The only thing big about him was his voice.

The drapes parted and a head peeked out. Heart-shaped face, dyed black hair in a pixie cut, boyishly cute. This was the type of woman Mack found attractive. And she looked right at Mack as she said, “Finishing up. I can take you back in a few minutes.”

Mack stuttered to reply, “Oh, I’m not…it isn’t me.”

The woman winked. “Wait ‘til I come out and we’ll see if I can’t change your mind.”

With that, she ducked back behind the drapes. Steph nudged Mack playfully. “Sounds like a date to me.”

“What?” Kiki asked. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Mack assured her. But was it poor form to suddenly wish she were alone instead of with two ball players hanging around, crimping her style, as they liked to say?

Or maybe I can use it to my advantage, she thought. How bad will it look if I follow Steph back to watch the woman work?

All three of them might leave the festival with something now—the players with their tattoos and, if Mack played her cards right, maybe she could get the tattoo artist’s number.

She’d never dated anyone who had a tattoo before, and someone who called herself Heath probably had more than one. Part of the fun would be learning where all of them were.