Following my gaze, he inspects the piece of art before shrugging. “Nah. I knew him way before he ever started tattooing, but yeah. This is his work.”
“You knew him before he started tattooing?” I ask before ending our handshake to toy with the rim of my empty shot glass. “You sure about that? I feel like I’d remember you.”
“I’m not exactly someone you bring home to meet the folks.”
I want to laugh at the irony, but push it aside as I divulge a family secret that I’m sure he’s already privy to if he knows my brother as well as he says he does. “We didn’t have folks at our house. We had a pair of alcoholic toddlers who expected us to clean up their vomit.”
“Touche.” There’s an intensity in his hazel eyes as he pins me in place, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it means or why I want to lean closer. Sensing my hesitation, he adds, “Maybe it was you he was keeping me from.”
A shy smile makes my mouth curve up on one side. “Maybe.”
“Hey, asshole. What are you doing talking to my baby sister?” a familiar voice growls from across the bar.
My neck snaps toward the culprit.
Why hello, Milo.