Colour Me Red [COMPLETED]

2.

2.

I came down stairs to the smell of bacon and sausages. My father, Glenn, was at the stove in a small apron, a white shirt and black jeans.

"Morning." I yawned. It was nearly ten in the morning, I hadn't even changed for breakfast, I was still in my dressing gown and slippers. It was hard getting used to the cold weather here.

"Morning. Sausage and bacon sandwiches okay for you?"

"Is that even a question?" I snickered. Anything greasy and tasty was definitely a yes from me. Food was a massive guilty pleasure of mine, my ass probably showed that.

"It's all I've got time for I'm afraid, birdie." His nickname still stuck. He had called me it ever since I was born, he never told me why. God, I missed my father so much. I was so happy to be back. He truly understood me and I was a massive daddy's girl. We both had tattoos, sleeves full. He loved me for who I was. "I've got to open the shop."

"No worries. What time do you usually open?" I questioned. I had worked yesterday but not until late in the afternoon. I was asleep before I even saw my father leave. I was pretty much jet lagged.

"Now, but I'll open half an hour later today, just for you." He turned around and gave me a wink. I smiled.

"Christ, I am flattered."

"I'm glad to hear that." He gave the pan a shake with his highly tattooed arm and I smiled.

Before I was born my father worked in an office somewhere in the city. He discovered I was a talented artist when I had started to grow up and I then discovered he was too. It wasn't until then he had decided to make something out of his talents, he was already tattooed then, not as much as now but he was definitely fascinated. The shop he owned now was the result. I was very proud of what he had accomplished.

I'm happy his genes were passed down to me.

"There you are." He laid a plate down on the counter. My belly grumbled in response. He kissed my forehead. "I'll go and get ready. Eat up."

"Cheers, dad." And I got tucked in.

I had practiced tattooing when I was living with my mum, many of my friends were interested in it and I had trained up for around a year. It came naturally to me just like it did my father.

My first shift with my dad was yesterday in Tattoo Rogue and I loved it there. Plus, I had met some of the most fascinating people. One person had stuck in my mind all day and night afterwards. Nick, I think his name was. I wasn't really listening, he was a fine specimen of a man and I couldn't help but stare.

I tried to play it cool, I really hoped it had worked because I really didn't want to make a fool out of myself, especially when he was so composed and cool.

"So about that number?" He had asked. I didn't give it to him, I couldn't even remember the number quick enough. Secondly, I knew how men like him worked, he wanted fun not anything serious.

I was almost 23, young and looking for fun, of course, but I didn't want to be used. I had already had my fair share in foolish men thinking they could use me, my body, when I didn't want that, not now, not ever. I wasn't 18 anymore, I wasn't looking for that.

He effected me anyway, in more ways than I wanted to admit.

Dad said he came there often, I could see that, he was tattooed literally from chest to foot. He was so hot, it was hard trying to concentrate on tattooing him when he looked like he did. I had managed it by some unknown miracle. Glenn had also mentioned how close he was to Nick, they were almost the best of friends even with the considerable age gap.