"Otis!" The shop manager called from the front of the parlor. "You got time for a consult?"
"Yeah, if they can wait 15 minutes. I'm almost done with this one!" He answered from his work area. The buzzing of the machine could deafening sometimes, but he had grown used to it.
As he drove the final finishing touches into his client's flesh, his mind wandered to what piece would await him. If he was being honest, he was happy. He loved his job, loved coming to work and loved what he was doing. He was an artist- had created all of the sculptures in Spaulding's freakshow exhibit- but this was different. To him, he was making a difference here. Giving someone a piece of art that they carried with them their whole life. That made them feel better about themselves, somehow. He had always assumed he would always be a mechanic or a trucker and an artist as a side job, but here he was. Making better money than he ever had and loving it.
"Alright, man. Take a look."
The much larger client stood and marveled in the mirror at the artwork that now decorated his arm, a large smile growing on his face. Otis loved to watch them as they viewed their work for the first time. He almost got off on the euphoria.
"Aw, dude it's sick man."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's perfect, bro. Dude you even got the details all in there. Wow. You're good, man."
"Hey, anytime." He carefully wrapped a bandage around his canvas. "Now you take care of it alright? I don't want my advertisement goin' around lookin' like ass cuz you fucked it up." He smirked, patting the man on the shoulder. "
"Yeah, yeah. Soap and water only till it heals and don't-"
"Don't let anyone touch it. Right, man." Otis smirked as he counted the bills the man handed him. "Always a good tipper, huh?"
"Well, you do good work."
"Thanks man. See ya around."
Otis followed out to the front of the shop, sitting down in one of the desk chairs.
"That was a long appointment." The owner commented.
"Yeah, well Dennis always pays and tips well, so I'll take the extra time with him." He chugged a bottle of water. "These fuckin' bitches that come in and want their fuckin' boyfriend's name tattooed on their tits and done want to pay to have me do it because they think I should do it for free because I get to see their tits don't impress me."
"I wasn't aware that anyone impressed you, Otis."
He snorted. "Few people do. What was the consult you wanted?"
"Oh, she had to run, but she dropped off a design and wanted you to kind of rework it."
"Kinda fuckin' hard if she's not here to tell me what she wants."
"She said she wants this..." He pushed a piece of paper with an intricate design toward Otis. "But she wants you to do it in your style. She took a look at your portfolio and really liked it, so she wants you to get inspiration from it and draw it yourself."
"Oh. Cool. That'll give me something different to work on. Did she say when she would be back?"
"Yeah, tomorrow. You got any appointments tomorrow?"
"Mm-hm. Nothin' big, though. Just some flash shit."
A long silence, and then the manager turned to Otis once again. "How come you don't have any ink?"
"I have commitment issues." Otis answered, not looking up from his sketch.
The manager laughed. "No, come on man. Why?"
"No, I do. That's why." Otis smirked and leaned back. "I do have one tattoo."
"What? Where?"
"On my chest."
"Let me see!"
"No."
"Why?"
"I have commitment issues." He answered simply, returning to the drawing the client had requested.
The next day, she walked into the shop, an anxious smile on her face and a bounce in her step. She was hoping to god Otis was who she thought he was. She doubted she would have recognized him on the street- it had been so long and he had been so poorly off. She hoped he was healthy now. Happy. So far away from the young man she had known.
"Hey, Otis! Getcher ass out here! Your client is here!"
"Hey, I'm comin' I'm comin'!"
Her jaw dropped when he was in eye's view. He ran his fingers through his snow-white hair that almost reached his navel, purposefully parting it incorrectly, then fluffing it. He wore well-fitting dark jeans and cowboy boots that clacked when he walked, and a tight fitting long-sleeved t-shirt. She could see, even from the distance they were at, the chipped-tooth smile and the ruby eyes that she remembered so well.
What she didn't remember, though, was him looking this fucking fine. He was still thin and lanky, but there was a layer of muscle that replaced the bones she used to be able to see through his skin.
"Alright, mama. Here's what I drew up for you."
He hadn't looked at her yet. If she remembered correctly, his eyesight wasn't the best, and he probably hadn't been close enough yet to recognize her.
"Take a look at it, see if there's any changes you wanna make. You said you wa-" He finally made eye contact, dropping the pen he was currently holding. "Holy fuck."
"I was wondering when you would realize who you were talking to." She giggled. "Hi, Otis."
"Dahlia?"
"It's me, hon." She smiled. "You look good."
"Holy fuck."
Easy laughter rocked her shoulders. "Is that all you can say to me, silly?"
As shock wore off, a small smile began to grow on his face. "How did you find me?"
"By accident! I wanted a tattoo and wandered in here and then I saw the name on the portfolio and I was hoping, I was SO hoping it was you. And then here you come swaggering out. I would recognize that walk anywhere."
"I can't believe...Wow..." He shook his head, smiling. "I can't believe it's you."
"You'd better, honey. Because you're going to be seeing a whole lot of me tomorrow for my appointment."
"I'm sure I will. Don't you want to take a look-"
"Baby, I've seen your work. Whatever you did is perfect. I'll see you tomorrow. And you better be ready to chat, because you have a lot to tell me and I have a lot to tell you. Because it's been a while."
"Yeah. I'll see you then."
She left, leaving Otis's heart pounding. His face was hot. God, was he blushing?
"Dude...Who WAS that?"
"Just an old friend." He mumbled, going back to another sketch.
"She was HOT."
"Yeah, I know."
"You should do her."
"Duke." Otis growled. "Seriously?"
"How long has it been since you've had a girl, Otis?"
"I've had plenty."
"No, not to just bang and send home, idiot. An actual girl. Someone that loves you."
He scoffed. "Not for me."
"Aw, come on. You should try it. Start with her. You said she's an old friend. You already have a connection!"
Otis sighed. "It's been 12 years."
"Since you got laid?"
"No. That's been 8 hours. 12 years since I...was in a relationship."
"Damn, dude...I'm both depressed and impressed for you."
Otis shrugged. "That's just the way it is."
"I'm tellin' ya, man. Good opportunity."
"Whatever."