I slip back into my trance as routine takes over. Wash. Pat dry. Photo. Plastic covering.
I go through my usual aftercare speech, take her to the counter to pay, grab some A+D ointment for her, accept another hug, take a few more pictures, listen to her gush to Leighton.
Fuck, it feels good, seeing someone that happy over their new ink.
Nothing else fills me with that kind of pride.
It doesn't even faze me when she slips me a business card and smiles. "I'd love to get a drink sometime. The bar down the street is great. Or we could go to my place. You haven't had a dirty martini until you've had one of mine."
Anna. She's an assistant at some place with a corporate name.
She wants to fuck me. She's nearly screaming it.
But I'm still tempted to toss her card.
She sways her hips as she walks out the door. It's a showy gesture. A look at my ass.
Dean waits until the door swings shut to move into the lobby. He shoulder taps me. "You got her number. Nice."
I shoot him an incredulous look.
"Did you not see those tits? She was fine."
"And?"
His smile spreads over his cheeks. His blue eyes light up. "And she wants to tear off those black skinny jeans of yours. What the fuck are you trying to prove with that outfit anyway? You look like an emo musician."
I struggle not to roll my eyes. This is a tattoo shop, not a runway. And he only pulls out that emo label to annoy me. Because he knows Emma's room is decorated with posters of eyeliner wearing musicians. And that nothing annoys me more than her blasting that shit.
"It wouldn't hurt, honing that damaged musician look," Walker calls out from his suite. He stands up, shakes his head, shaking his long, wavy hair in every direction. His dark eyes get bright. "I doubt Kaylee would mind."
Fuck, I know it's a Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer, but I can't deal with all four of us here. Dean and Walker together isn't so bad. The two of them give me a lot of shit, but it's good natured.
Ryan's fine on his own. He's curt but it comes with a quiet professionalism.
The three of them together—
It's too many opinions.
They're like children throwing a tantrum.
Reacting only encourages them.
"Yeah, I know, you know, Ryan knows, everybody here knows. Everybody but Brendon," Dean says.
Ryan rolls his eyes. "You here to work or to gossip?"
"Gossip." Dean smiles at his brother. Runs his hand through his hair exactly the same way Ryan does. "Especially about fucking cute blondes rocking the librarian look. You have anything to say about that?"
"I have shit to say about work." Ryan folds his arms.
Walker chuckles. "You really think Kaylee would give you the time of day?"
Dean shrugs. "I'm speaking metaphorically. We can all appreciate a woman with a nice ass and fantastic tits. Especially when she wears tiny sun dresses and sweet cardigans."
"And she has hypothetical green eyes and blue glasses? And a heart that beats only for Brendon?" Walker asks.
"I'm not talking about her heart," Dean says. "I'm talking about her body."