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And I'm sitting behind the counter, watching Brendon work on a sleeve. The tattoo is meant to look like a robot arm, like skin stretched over metal. It's intricate and grueling, and the guy in the chair is gritting his teeth, refusing a break.
God, Brendon looks so handsome with that stern yet caring expression.
"Kinky Kaylee." Dean taps the front desk. He nods to the laptop—my laptop—sitting in front of me. "What are you writing there?"
Em calls me Kinky Kaylee. Sometimes. Why is Dean? Oh. "Did Em—"
He nods. "She came up to me all giggly. Asked if I'd been seeing anyone lately."
"I can explain."
"Nah. Don't. Apparently, I'm the reason you're walking around with that satisfied look on your face."
My cheeks flush.
"I must be quite the fuck."
"You have no idea."
"I'd like to."
I shake my head.
He pushes himself onto the counter. Turns so he's facing the same direction I am. "How long have you been staring at him?"
"I wouldn't call it staring."
"I've been watching. It's staring."
"It's loving appreciation."
"Of his ass."
"Well." I motion to said ass—Brendon is standing to grab something off a shelf. His customer is finally taking a break. "Look at it." It really is a thing of beauty.
"I've seen it."
"Try seeing it without the clothes."
"Been there, done that."
I clear my throat.
"You don't want to know."
"Actually, I do."
He shakes his head. "Nah, Kinky K. It's too kinky even for you."
"Then wouldn't that make me un-kinky K? Vanilla K?"
"Special K?"
I stick my tongue out. "Say it again and I'll—"
"Sic your boyfriend on me?"
Boyfriend. That's a nice word. It makes me warm everywhere. Brendon as my boyfriend. He basically is my boyfriend. Except for the matter of this being a secret from my best friend slash his sister.
