He stares at the reflection of the ink. "Yeah. But is it good?"
I tell the raging fangirl inside me to calm. Take a deep breath. Exhale slowly. Yes, it's amazing that my work is on someone's skin.
But is it the best it can be?
I study the reflection, but it's too far away. The details elude me.
I move into Dean's suite.
Past his chair. And the stool next to it. All the way to the mirror.
My fingers brush his upper arm.
The design looked perfect on paper, but there's something off about it on his shoulder. The top is too small. The bottom is too big. It curves around his arm at an awkward angle.
The lines aren't sharp enough.
The beige and brown blend into his tan skin.
"It needs work," I say.
"How?"
I drop his arm.
He turns. Stares into my eyes, hanging on every word as I explain what isn't perfect. When I'm finished, he shakes his head. "You're too hard on yourself."
"My sister says the same thing."
"Gia, right?"
"Yeah."
"She into you doing tattoos?"
"She thinks it's cool." I take a step backward. "I designed this for her."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"And here I thought you had a thing for scoundrels."
"Cute."
"I try."
I bite back an insult. He tries to annoy me. To stay "hilarious." To press all of my buttons.
But why?
Dean's okay when he isn't being the most obnoxious person in the universe.
Where can I find more of that guy and less of this one?
"Redo it." He nods to my sketchbook. "Make it work better."
"You're the client."