Authors: Carrie Ann Ryan
Ink Inspired-epub
Shepard Montgomery loves the feel of a needle in his hands, the ink that he lays on another, and the thrill he gets when his art is finished, appreciated, and loved. At least that's the way it used to be. Now he's struggling to figure out why he's a tattoo artist at all as he wades through the college frat boys and tourists who just want a thrill, not a permanent reminder of their trip. Once he sees the Ice Princess walk through Midnight Ink’s doors though, he knows he might just have found the inspiration he needs.
Shea Little has spent her life listening to her family’s desires. She went to the best schools, participated in the most proper of social events, and almost married the man her family wanted for her. When she ran from that and found a job she actually likes, she thought she’d rebelled enough. Now though, she wants one more thing—only Shepard stands in the way. She’ll not only have to let him learn more about her in order to get inked, but find out what it means to be truly free.
Ink Inspired
A Montgomery Ink Novella
By
Carrie Ann Ryan
Ink Inspired
A Montgomery Ink Novella
By: Carrie Ann Ryan
Published by Fated Desires Publishing, LLC.
Copyright 2013 Carrie Ann Ryan
ISBN: 978-1-62322-078-5
Cover Art by
Scott Carpenter
Formatted by
IRONHORSE Formatting
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person or use proper retail channels to lend a copy. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the publisher at
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Dedication
To the ladies of Midnight Ink.
Table of Contents
“Can you make her boobs bigger?”
Shepard Montgomery raised a brow but didn’t say anything. Honestly, there really wasn’t anything he
could
say at the moment without laughing.
Or knocking the dude out cold.
“No, really. I want her boobs, like, enormous. Way bigger than Justin’s.”
Shep blinked.
“Justin’s?” he drawled, his voice gruff. Seriously, this kid was going to kill him.
The client snorted. “Oh, you know what I mean. Justin. My friend? The chick he has inked on his back has big boobs. I want mine bigger.”
Shep closed his eyes, trying to think of a delicate way to put the fact that, no, he did not want to ink this virgin with a big-breasted woman just because the dude wanted to show up his bro. Oh, and the other dude was totally a bro in every sense of the word. These two noobs had to be the most ignorant college pricks to ever walk in this shop demanding Shep ink them with whatever shit they wanted. Sure, he hadn’t inked Justin, but still…they didn’t even care that they would have to live the rest of their lives with shit ink—not that Shep gave shit ink—because they were fucking idiots.
He should just tell this prick to fuck himself, but this was his job. He probably shouldn’t be so honest.
No, wait, he didn’t actually care what this dude thought of him.
It wasn’t as if he was
trying
to be the best customer service rep in the biz.
Oh no, he didn’t give a fuck.
“No, kid, I’m not inking you with a big-breasted woman just because you want to show up your bro.”
The kid’s eyes widened then narrowed in that annoying rich-kid-on-daddy’s-dime sort of way.
“Hey, I pay for it. You do it, bro. I don’t see the fucking problem. I just want a chick with big tits on my back. Bigger tits than Justin’s bitch.”
Shep slowly put down the pen he’d been about to take notes with and scooted his stool back. His six-five frame didn’t make it comfortable, but he didn’t give a shit at the moment.
“Okay,
bro
, this is how it’s gonna go. You ain’t getting a tat here. Not now. Maybe not ever. You think money gives you the right to come into the best shop in New Orleans and boss us around like you fucking own the place?”
“It’s your
job
,” the little prick spat.
“No. It’s my job to ink art on canvas. That canvas just happens to be skin. Today, though? No fucking way. Not on you. You’re welcome to come back when you got a fucking clue what you want to ink on yourself, but fuck right now, dude. You want some strange woman’s face, some generic shit on your back? It’s not even a sexy old-school pinup. No. That’s not how it’s done. You want bigger tits on the woman because you want to one-up your bro? Dude, if you ain’t got the bigger dick, that ink ain’t gonna help.”
The kid blinked, the slow crawl of crimson staining his cheeks either from anger or embarrassment—probably a mix of both—making him look even younger than nineteen.
“You should get a tat that means something to you, or at least isn’t a fucking joke. You don’t come in here waving your dick and ordering me around.”
“Hey!”
“Oh, and another thing. You ever,
ever
, fucking call a woman—
any
woman—a bitch again, I’ll knock that little smirk right off your fucking face. Get out of my chair. You’re done.”
“Fuck you! I’ll go get my tat from a place that actually treats their customers like they’re supposed to. Not from some washed-out, has-been artist who doesn’t know shit.”
The kid stomped out, every eye on the place following him.
Shep closed his eyes and prayed for peace.
Fuck.
He was thirty-eight years old, and this was what his life had come to.
Douchebag college boys who wanted big boobs.
Great.
“Smooth, dude. Why don’t you just kick the puppy next time? Make it easier,” Sassy, Midnight Ink’s receptionist and all-around crazy person, sing-songed as she walked past him.
“Shut up, Sass, please. I’m not in the mood.”
“You never are anymore, baby. That’s the problem. Though, honestly, I have no idea why you said yes to that little prick for a consultation in the first place. You could tell from just looking at him he’d be a B-back.”
A B-back was a dude who said they’d be right back after they went to the ATM or gave some other lame excuse, saying they’d ‘be back’ only they’d chicken out and never come back.
Yeah, the kid looked like he’d be one, though if he’d wanted to impress his friends enough, maybe not.
“Sass, really? I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled as he cleaned his station. He hadn’t had a client yet that morning, but he wanted no trace of that
bro
near his place.
“You should have let Caliph take it,” Sass said, an annoyingly bright grin on her face.
Midnight Ink, their shop right on Canal Street, had several artists who worked in shifts. They didn’t have to come in every day, only if they wanted to get paid. Since everyone working there needed money to pay for shit, they all came in. Most worked on walk-ins around their scheduled clients, but a few took on only clients they’d hand-picked off the waiting lists. Those guys also only did ink with certain elements because they were the
shit
at it.
Shep did a bit of everything, so, even though his shading was fucking awesome, he didn’t specialize too much. His best friend, Caliph, was the same way.
Shep would have given his left nut to see his brick house of a best friend take on that college kid.
“What’s this I hear about me taking on a bro?” Caliph asked, stomping through the room to his station.
Shep was big.
Caliph was bigger.
And scarier.
“Had a perfect kid for you,” Shep yelled across the shop, causing a few of the customers to turn toward him. “Wanted big tits like his bro.”
Caliph snorted, then flipped him off. “Fuck off, Shep.”
Ah, a decade of friendship never lost its shine.
Shep shook his head then gave Sassy and Caliph a chin nod to say he was going out for a coffee. Sassy might make some of the best brew right in their shop, but he didn’t want to sit there too long. He needed space.
Again.
He needed to think, and the muggy air of New Orleans always did it for him. Sure, it wasn’t the crisp, clean air of the Rocky Mountains where he’d grown up, but he liked it. His family—who all still lived up near Denver—thought he was fucking nuts for moving down to New Orleans to set up shop, or at least find a shop he could fit into, but he loved it.
Well, at least he used to.
Fuck, he needed to get his head out of his ass and figure out what was wrong with his mood. He was thirty-eight, not some young kid, but sure as hell not on his way out. Maybe he needed a change.
He just had no idea what kind of change.
Shep turned the corner to make his way to the coffee shop then cursed as a little bit of a thing ran straight into him.
He sucked in a breath as she looked up at him—way up at him.
Damn, her eyes were something else. A pale, pale blue that looked almost like crystals in water on a sunny day.
Those had to be fucking contacts because no way were those eyes real.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I wasn’t watching where I was going. Excuse me.” The little blonde thing walked around him after she mumbled her apologies heading the other direction.
Shep blinked.
Well, hell. That was weird. He hadn’t even had a chance to say anything—something like “fucking sexy eyes” or anything along those lines that could have made her want join him for coffee.
Shep shook his head. Fuck, he needed that coffee. In the long scheme of things, what he didn’t need was a wide-eyed woman who probably thought he looked like some ex-con with his full sleeves and the scar on his brow, not to mention the other piercings and tats hidden from view.
No, he didn’t need that shit.
What he did need? Well, that was the problem.
He didn’t know.
He ordered a coffee from the girl at the counter, who fluttered her lashes at him. Shep held back a groan—and not the good kind. This kid had to be in her early twenties, if that. There was no way Shep would cross that boundary, even if she was hot as hell, which she was.
He walked to one of the tables outside the café and sat down with his cup, not ready to go back to work yet. Fuck, if he was thinking some twenty-something was hot, maybe he just needed to get laid. That might be the answer to all his problems, though even a long night of against-the-wall sex might not be enough to get him out of his funk. The fact that he’d blown up at a silly kid just now told him something was far from good.
He needed to figure out what the hell was going on with him, find his path, find his inspiration.
And fast.
Shep took a deep breath of humid New Orleans air then a sip of his coffee. Damn, he loved the coffee down here. Nothing bitter or over-brewed about it. Sure, when he went up north to Denver to visit his folks he didn’t mind the little cafés, but to Shep, nothing was better than New Orleans coffee.
Since they were in the Deep South, it didn’t really feel as though they’d just hit the start of January. The holidays seemed like something in the distant past, and the New Year’s parties—something New Orleans did fucking right every time—were a fading memory.
What wasn’t a memory was his resolution.
Nope. The fact that he’d told himself
this
year would be different wasn’t lost on him. He’d resolved to find his inspiration and actually do art that meant something to both him and the client rather than just walk-in after walk-in.
Shep ran a hand over his five-day-old beard and sighed.
When the fuck had he turned into some emo teen?
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out of his jeans. When he saw his cousin Austin’s name on the screen, he smiled. If anyone could get him out of his funk, it was Austin.