The Rock Star Lost His Voice, and Now He Lip-Syncs to Mine novel · Chapter 20 of 24

Chapter 20: Ink

The tattoo shop on East Fourth Street had a neon needle in the window and a sign that said CLOSED.

At two in the morning the tattoo artist let us in anyway, in a black apron with her sleeves rolled to the shoulder.

"I've inked a divorce lawyer's initials on a groom," she said. "I'm a professional. Where's the lad?"

Fraser stood in the doorway in a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, and she looked at him once and said nothing.

"Shirt off," she said instead. "Lie on your right."

He lay on the black vinyl table with his left arm over his head, the net of old ink running down his side.

I sat on a stool beside him with a fresh Sharpie in my hand.

"You'll want a stencil," the artist said. "Print the handwriting, trace it."

"No," I said. "I'll write it."

She raised her eyebrows and held out a bottle of green soap.

"It has to be my hand," I said. "Not a font."

Fraser looked up at me from the table.

"Aye," he said, in the burr. "Do it."

I wiped his ribs with the cold soap and uncapped the pen.

His skin jumped under the tip, and I felt the muscle underneath, long and warm.

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