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Seeing her like this is not good for our professional relationship.
And even though I'd never, in a million years, admit it to her, teaching Chloe how to do ink matters to me.
I'm not gonna fuck it up.
She paddles past the break point. Pushes herself up and slings her legs over the surfboard.
"You look like a regular," I say.
"How many times do I have to say, 'I know how to surf' before you get it?"
"You keeping track?"
"No. I think I'll just round up to infinity."
"Good call."
She stares out at the white sky. There's a streak of blue to our right. Everywhere else, puffy, grey clouds cover the sun.
"How'd you get from college to Inked Hearts?"
"A lot of begging. I think Ryan would be happy to never hear my voice again."
I shake my head. "He likes you."
"I think so." Her gaze shifts to the water. "But it's hard to tell with him."
"He probably says the same about you."
"Probably."
"You have better credentials than any of us."
"But no experience." She looks up at the sky. "I'm grateful for the opportunity to work with Ryan, Walker, and Brendon. You, on the other hand—"
"You bow down at my greatness."
"Roll my eyes at your stupidity."
"To-may-to, to-mah-to."
Her eyes catch mine as she turns back. Watches a wave crest. "You were better than I was. In high school. You were the better artist."
"We were neck and neck."
"Mrs. White chose you every time."
"She didn't like you."
"She really didn't."
"What did you do to her?"
"Nothing." She spins on her board. Pulls her knees into her chest then folds her legs over each other. "I guess I'm just…"
"Prickly?"
She nods without offense. "Yeah."
