Bomb: A Day in the Life of Spencer Shrike

“This you in the picture?” I ask, using my polite Catholic-school manners.

“Yeah,” she replies, not looking up at me. “That’s me. All twenty-seven pictures of the little blonde girl on that wall are me. Can I help you with something? I’m just about to lock up.”

I walk over to her and lean down on the glass counter, checking out the aftercare products they have for sale. “I’ve got some f**ked-up work I need fixed.” I stand up straight and look down at her. She’s not short—average height, really. Maybe five six or seven. But I’m tall, so I tower over her. She looks up at me and this makes her big blues look even bigger. God, this girl is like a pin-up from the good ol’ days. Her tits are like melons. Big, round melons that are practically begging for my giant hands to manhandle them.

“Eyes up, perv,” she says dryly as she traces a line from her cle**age to her chin. “I’m up here, big boy.”

I grab the hem of my t-shirt and slowly drag it up my body, exposing my chest, then pull it forward over my head.

Her eyes are plastered to my abs. Actually, I’m pretty sure they’re darting back and forth between the v line and the happy trail.

“Hey, Bombshell,” I say. She swallows and looks up at me. “You can look at me all night long. Fuck me with your eyes for all I care.”

She recoils a little, like I might’ve insulted her. But surely a girl who is not only a tattoo artist in a college town, but also grew up with four brothers, could not be that easily offended.

“Watch your mouth, ass**le. Or I’ll stuff my fist through your teeth,” she snarls.

Or maybe she is. I hold my hands up in an I surrender gesture and turn around so she can see my back.

“What the f**k is that?” She snickers down a laugh and I roll my eyes and sigh.

“A mistake, hence the need for a fix. Can you make anything out of this?” I jolt a little when her fingers touch my left shoulder blade, and then trace down what I think is the hula girl’s leg.

“God, I’ve never seen an uglier tattoo.”

I look over my shoulder at her, kinda irritated. “Can you f**king fix it or not?”

She smirks at me and then traces it again, making me shudder. “I can,” she whispers, and then clears her throat. “But my brother Vic is probably your best bet.”

I turn around and her fingertips drag along my arm and stop on my chest. “What if I don’t want your brother to do it? What if I came in here specifically to get you to do it?”

She stares up at me, her chest heaving a little, making her tits expand. As if that was even necessary. Her tits are spectacularly large. She blinks at me a few times, like she’s coming to some kind of realization. Like she’s deciding I might be hot.

“My brothers will beat the shit out of you if you think you can come in here and flirt your way into an appointment with me. I’m not on the books for new appointments. I only see regulars. So, if you’d like me to set up a consult with Vic, I’ll be more than happy to do that for you. Otherwise, get the hell out of the shop. It’s eleven o’clock and we’re closed.”

“Well…” I stretch my neck a little as I lean over the glass case, clasp my hands together, and get comfortable. “I can see I’m gonna have to unleash the charm on you.”

Her hand is a blur of motion and the next thing I know, the blunt end of a pink .38 Special is pressed up against my skin. And yeah, she’s got a gun against my head but the only thing I can think about is how her tits are being squished against the glass in front of me as she leans over.

“Fuck, Bombshell, that is the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.” And it is. I’m hard right now as I play that move back in my head. I laugh.

“It’s not hot or funny,” she growls at me. “I’m dead serious. Get the f**k out of the shop.”

I grab her wrist and twist until she drops the gun. It clatters to the ground as I pull her over the case, swing her over my shoulder, and then twirl her around and set her ass back down on the glass. I hold her wrists for a few seconds and then step back and take in her reaction.

She screams.

I slap my hand over her mouth and laugh. “Shit! Stop already. I’m not gonna hurt ya, Bomb, I’m playing.” Her muffled screams have made my palm moist and this is weirdly erotic to me.

She stops screaming and just stares at me.

“You OK?”

She nods her head.

“I can remove the gag order and you’ll be calm?”

She shrugs.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I remove my hand and she stays quiet, so I lean down to pick up the little pink gun and get the feel of it. “Now, you care to explain to me why you’re pulling out a gun that’s not loaded?”

“It’s loaded,” she retorts, scowling.

“Nah,” I say back as I twirl the little pink gun on my finger. “I know what a loaded .38 Special feels like, and this isn’t it, sweetheart. If you’re gonna threaten someone with a gun, might as well keep the bullets where they belong.” I offer her the gun but as soon as reaches for it, I pull it back. “Let’s make a deal, how about that?”

She snatches the gun away from me and scoffs. “You’re in no position to make any deals, buddy. My brothers are gonna kick your ass.”

I smile and study her intently. “Is that right? Because the way I see it, all I gotta do is tell them how easily you were overtaken tonight and your ass will be banned from any alone time at the shop for good.” She gasps and looks shocked. “So let’s make a deal and you can get some shop-time freedom and I can get your talented hands on my back, fixing that ugly-ass tattoo.”