First Ink

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“Oh my god,” Lisa says, staring at the billboard covering one massive wall of the convention center. “He is the hottest thing that ever walked the earth. You should’ve warned me, Addy.”

I don’t say a thing. Just tear my gaze from the black and white photograph on the billboard and head for the virtual mosh pit of bodies stretching out in front of us. My heart is slamming furiously against my ribs as I push up on my tiptoes and try to see over the crowd, see the live version of what Lisa and I have been staring at for a good five minutes. But it’s impossible. Inked bodies with stilettos and mohawks block my view of the man—the attraction—in the center. As I hear the buzzing sound of a tattoo needle at work, I suddenly wish I had worn heels and a color other than beige.

“There must be five hundred people here,” Lisa says, awe threading her voice. “Just to watch him work. Is he famous or something?”

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