By the time Steph returned the signed consent form, the current client had left and the drapes had been pulled back, exposing a pair of adjustable, padded massage tables. Nearby stood a metal tool cabinet, its drawers overflowing with bottles of ink, individually wrapped needles, and other supplies Mack couldn’t name. She stepped around behind the display table as Kiki and Steph finished up the paperwork, hoping she looked casual as she made her way over to where the tattoo artist was straightening up the top of the cabinet. In reality, she felt anything but casual—her heart hammered in her throat and her palms were sweaty, almost as if she were the one going to get the tattoo.
She wasn’t always bold enough to approach someone who interested her, but then again, she didn’t usually hang ou
