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“That’s a yes.” I stare into his eyes. “I don’t get it, Dean. Do you want me with him or not?”
“I want that.”
“Huh?”
“I want you with him or not. None of this pretend bullshit.”
God, being with him… That would be everything. “If you want that, help instead of—what are you doing?”
“You’re asking for my help?”
“You’re right. That’s a terrible idea. I take it back.”
“Too late. That’s a bell you can’t unring.”
“I have work to do.”
“I love you too.” He blows me a kiss, spins on his sneaker-clad heel, makes his way to his suite.
Slowly, everyone settles into work. The shop fills with the buzz of tattoo guns, the grunts of customers, the lull of conversation.
The morning passes quickly. I update our social media. Reply to emails and PMs as necessary.
Walker finishes first. Then Dean. I flirt with his customer as I hand him his receipt. Stare at Ryan to see if it’s making him jealous.
But he’s lost in his own world, the way he always is at work.
It’s a thing of beauty—those strong hands on the gun, those blue eyes filled with determination, those soft lips pressed together in concentration.
Dean catches me staring. Laughs as he walks his customer to the door.
It’s time for coffee. Mass amounts of coffee.
But Dean is back at the counter, staring at his phone, shaking his head. “Inked Wing Designs, huh?”
“Don’t.” My cheeks flush. No. My site is not ready for anyone’s eyes. It’s really, really not ready for Dean’s eyes. “It’s a work in progress.”
“Don’t what? Compliment you on this shit?” He shows off one of my cover mock-ups—a stock photo of two half naked people kissing with the title Desire in a curvy font. “Fuck. This is like porn. But classy.” He turns to Walker’s suite. “You see this shit?”
He’s fucking with me, but he’s being earnest too.
He means the compliment.
He really does think my designs are amazing.
Walker looks up from his sketchbook. Brushes a wavy strand behind his ear. Shoots Dean a knowing look. “I’m sure you’re gonna show me.”
Dean motions come here.
Walker looks to me. “Is that necessary?”
“No. You should stay. Work. We should all work.” And not look at my mock-ups. It’s bad enough that they’re looking at my work. The—
Oh.
Fuck.
“Give me that.” I reach for Dean’s phone.
