Hating You, Loving You (Inked Hearts 4)

He's incredibly good at reading the mood in the suite. At tuning himself to what the client needs. And this girl needs quiet reassurance and distraction from her boyfriend.

Finally, we finish.

I gush over the work. Bring them to the counter so Emma can check them out—she's Leighton's more permanent replacement. Since Dean "can't have his apprentice running around doing errands."

Apparently, she's Brendon's younger sister. I can see the resemblance. They're both tall with intense brown eyes and dark hair.

"Nice." She smiles at the client as she hands over the receipt. "I want one just like that."

The client beams. Signs on the dotted line. "You should. I'm so in love." She turns to her boyfriend. Slides her arms around his neck. "Are you in love?"

"Yeah." He stares back into her eyes all goo-goo ga-ga.

She rises to her tiptoes to kiss him.

He wraps his arms around her. Kisses back. With tongue.

Emma shoots me an ew gross look.

I nod.

Dean chuckles. "Ink is an aphrodisiac."

"Since when?" Emma raises a brow. "That sounds like a load of bull."

He nods to the clients. Shut the fuck up. "How would you know, Em?"

"You don't have any?" I ask.

She nods. "When you grow up with a tattoo artist brother, the whole thing kinda loses its appeal." She looks to Dean. "I guess it's different when your brother is all old and weird. Like he's basically your dad."

"He does have a daddy vibe." My cheeks flush. Did I just say that? I'm not even sure what that means.

Emma's nose scrunches in distaste. "I did not hear that." She looks to the receipt. Points to the forty percent tip with a thumbs-up. "You guys are all done."

They keep making out.

Dean turns to Emma. "You got this?"

"Is it really part of my job description?" she asks.

"Get used to it. Happens with pretty much every couple. It's the ink. Or maybe it's me." He tugs his t-shirt up his stomach, showing off his taught abs. "I'm irresistible."

"God, I thought Dean was annoying in small doses. But large ones…" She wipes her forehead like she's wiping off the sweat of a heavy work out. "How do you deal?"

"I don't," I say.

"He's the worst, isn't he?" she teases.

"He's incorrigible," I say.

"Fuck, sunshine. You know you have to dumb it down for me." He motions for me to follow him.

I do.

He grabs my backpack from behind the counter and leads me to the back room. "You finish Han Solo?"

"Yeah. Why?"