“It’s interesting. Plus, I care, you dummy. I’m genuinely asking you.”
His leg bent slightly under the table as if he were stretching it out. It bumped my knee, and he moved it so swiftly I was almost convinced I had imagined the contact.
“Um, like everyone does, I guess. I had an apprenticeship. Just some divey shop downtown.”
“What does an apprenticeship entail? Like, you draw tattoos and learn how to use the little guns?”
The corner of his lip curled up. “Yes, I eventually learned how to use thelittle guns.” He looked at me the same way one might look at a puppy—mild amusement, perhaps he even found me slightly adorable. While my first instinct was to bask in the glow of not being outright disliked, the harsh reality hit me straight in the gut thatadorablewas certainly not Harrison’s type.
“Apprenticeship is code for shop bitch,” he continued. “I cleaned everything and ran errands. I was basically a glorified assistant.”
“But you got to learn.”
“Exactly.”
“You must have liked art before then, right? I mean, I’m assuming you don’t get into tattooing unless you have some sort of inclination toward drawing.”
I had tried to connect with Harrison in the past about our possible shared interest. I had been doodling in sketchbooks for as long as I could remember, long before going into graphic design. But the last time I’d asked him if he liked to draw, he’d looked like he wanted to bite my head off and called graphic design a pointless waste of potential. I hadn’t revisited the subject with him since.
“I guess,” was all he said. Funnily enough, those two words were a notable improvement.
“I’ve always loved to draw,” I offered. I wasn’t sure why I was being so generous with my conversation, especially since he hadn’t given me any reason to be. “My parents begged me not to get an art degree, though. That’s why I went the digital route instead and went into graphic design. Honestly, at first I thought I’d be disappointed, but I ended up falling in love with it. I guess I have more of a business acumen than I originally thought, because every marketing problem or branding misstep feels like a fun challenge.” His blank stare sent my self-consciousness into overdrive, so I ducked my head. “Probably sounds stupid. I know it’s nothing like tattooing.”
The tendon in his jaw pulsed a little, like he was trying to work through something. He ran both hands over his black jeans before finally breaking eye contact.
“I wasn’t going to say it sounds stupid. Maybe a little trivial, but...” His words trailed off, but they had done their job. I straightened up and frowned. That’s what I got for letting my guard down around him. He’d never change.
“Right, of course. Nothing could compare artistically to jabbing a needle into some drunk biker’s forearm. What you do is truly on another level.” I let hostility coat my words, letting him know just how irritated I was that he had to turn a civil, almost friendly, moment into another cheap shot at me.
His lips parted and I swore I saw something that looked like remorse in his eyes. But he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a smirk. “You know, you should come by sometime. Get yourself a tattoo. I can be your first.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” I said. “I’d rather go somewhere a little less condescending.”
“So, you do want a tattoo,” he pressed.
“Maybe I do. It’s none of your business.”
“Where would you get it?” His eyes roamed over my body.
My face was probably a shade of scarlet at this point. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“A tramp stamp, right?”
My lips parted at the tactless phrase. “A lower back tattoo is just that, Harrison. A tattoo on someone’s back. I can’t believe that you’d use that kind of sexist language as a tattoo artist. No wonder your business is struggling. No woman in her right mind would come in here.”
Anger flared in his eyes at that, confirming that I’d prodded at a sensitive spot.
“With all those dates you go on, a tramp stamp would be a pretty fitting placement,” he muttered.
My ears rang. “That’s it.” The chair screeched against the floor as I stood up sharply, sending it backward.
He inhaled sharply and tried to grab my wrist. “Wait?—”
“Don’t touch me.” I yanked my arm away and glared down at him. “And good luck with your website. Honestly, I hope it’s a bitch to figure out.”
His footsteps hurried behind me as I pushed the door to the office open and stormed back out into the shop. Shane looked up from his phone, eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“I’m sorry—” Harrison tried to say.
