“So, should I get a butterfly on my butt or a cobra on my hip?”
Sassy Bordeaux grinned at the just-turned-eighteen years old high school senior, and tapped her finger with a deliciously apple-red colored nail on her chin. The numerous bangles that adorned her wrists, covering yet still showing peeks of some of the tattoos she had on her forearms, jingled together with the movement. The sound mixed in with the echoes of motorized needles, laughter, music, and chatting within the shop.
The girl in front of her might have been eighteen, but she still had the baby face of a girl still growing. Normally, Sassy wouldn’t have stepped in and told anyone that they weren’t ready for a tattoo, but today she needed to step in.
Oh, who the hell was she kidding?
Sassy always stepped in and told it like it was. There was no use lying only to make a few bucks for the shop while the client ended up leaving with ink they really didn’t want—or ink that didn’t fit who they were—merely who they thought they should be.
She might have been the Midnight Ink receptionist and while most people on the outside thought her job was to make coffee and appointments, she and the crew knew better. She was the first line of defense for the artists’ work and the clients’ canvas.
It was a job she took seriously.
Even if she seemed like the crazy lady from the streets of New Orleans most days. That misperception by others led her to freedom.
Everyone underestimated Sassy.
Even Sassy underestimated herself sometimes.
Okay, totally the wrong direction for her thoughts.
Pushing away memories she’d rather not think about ever again, she placed her hand on top of the girl’s hand and shook her head.
“Honey, is this really what you want?” she asked, lowering her voice, already smooth as honey, to a near-whisper.
The girl blinked up at her. “Uh yeah? I mean. I’m here aren’t I?”
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