I march to the counter. Wrap my hands around Dean's wrists. Lean in close enough to glare. "What the fuck was that?"
"You're smarter than that question, sunshine."
"What color panties are you wearing?"
He smirks. "Are you pissed 'cause I was right?"
I fold my arms.
He reaches into his back pocket. Pulls a stack of twenties from his leather wallet. "I'll put a hundred bucks on it."
"On what?"
"You're wearing black panties."
"That's an easy guess."
"Is that a yes?"
"Fuck off."
He smiles as he slides his wallet into his jeans.
I reach for the first hint of upper hand I can find. "Ryan would kill you for asking that." It's the wrong thing to say. I know it as soon as the words are out of my mouth.
He shoots me a really, that's your line look. "You need Ryan to fight your battles for you?"
"No." I don't need Ryan. I don't need Dean. I don't need anyone. It's not like there's anyone I can trust. It's Dad and Gia. That's it. "I need you to mind your own business."
"You want the client freaking out?"
"No, but—"
"Figuring out how to keep someone calm is part of the job."
"I know what getting a tattoo is like. Most people don't—"
"Yeah, but Rick does. And our twelve o'clock does too."
"You must offend people with this frat boy routine?"
"Aww, you think I'm smart enough to be in college."
"No."
"Could have gone to UCLA."
"Because you were offered a swimming scholarship."
"Even so."
"That waives the regular application requirements."
He stares back into my eyes. "You don't like the way I handle my clients, you can leave."
"You're supposed to be helping me."
"You telling me you didn't learn anything?"