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"Every artist has theirs. What's yours?"
"I don't know."
"I'll help you find it."
"How?"
"Living."
"Bullshit." I fold my arms. "What's your real motivation?"
"That ink line didn't land?"
"Not even a little."
He laughs. "It's simple. You don't have enough fun in your life."
"You don't know anything about my life."
"Yeah, I do. I've watched and listened all week. You get to work, you go to aikido, you go home. That's it."
"I draw."
"And what? Watch TV?"
"I love TV."
"I love TV too, but I love a lot of other shit. What do you love, besides drawing and ink and TV?"
"My family."
"And?"
"What business is it of yours?"
"That's the offer. I make it my business."
I bite my lip. There's something appealing about the excuse to spend more time with Dean. But that's dangerous. I like him too much to keep my hands off him. "What do you love?"
"Tea."
"I love tea."
"Surfing. Hiking. Hanging with my friends, shooting the shit. Hitting the gym with Walker. Teasing Ryan. Going out for drinks. Going to shows. I've done all that shit in the last two weeks. What about you?"
"I just went surfing."
He shoots me a really look.
"I like my life."
"It's just an offer, Chloe. I teach you everything I want to teach you—"
"You mean?"
"No. Ryan would kill me."
"Oh." Disappointment seeps into my voice. I hate how badly I want him. I hate how easily he wraps me around his finger. How good his read on me is.
