Page 27 of Make Me Dream of You

“Oh, um, yes?”

“Yes?” He chuckles. “What kind of art do you do? What medium?”

“I mostly focused on oil painting, oil pastels, charcoal drawing.”

“Now I really want to see in that sketchbook.”

Heat blossoms in my cheeks, and I really wish it would stop doing that already.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. But he has to notice because he’s looking right at me, not even sitting a foot away. He twists one of the rings on his fingers.

“Do you have a favorite painting?” he asks.

His eyes are like the night sky.

“Livvy?”

Shit. His question, right. Stop being awkward as fuck, Livvy.

“I don’t have a favorite one, no. I love so many. But the most famous one I like is The Kiss by Gustav Klimt. It’s in Vienna. I’d love to go see it one day. Do you have a favorite painting or piece of art?”

Great, now I’m rambling. Is my face getting hotter? Fuck.

He shakes his head. “No. But now I feel like I need to figure that out.” He chuckles.

Before he has a chance to ask me anything else and add to what is certainly my beet-red complexion, I pick up the iPad and start scrolling. “What’s your favorite tattoo you’ve done?”

“Hm.” He runs a tattooed finger along his sharp jaw. “Probably this half sleeve I did a few months back. I’ll show you.” He takes the iPad and swipes to the right spot in the gallery then hands it back.

It’s a forest of black trees with twisted roots exposed. But on closer look, the shapes and shadows of the gnarled tree roots form eerie skulls.

“That is gorgeous. And creepy. I love it.”

He laughs, a low rumble in his chest. “Thanks, it was a fun piece.”

His arm brushes mine as he scrolls through more pictures, showing me the ones he’s most proud of, telling me stories of past clients—both funny and horrific.

Slowly, everyone else trickles out of the shop but I’ve barely noticed the time passing. I can’t believe it’s already eleven at night. I could listen to him talk for hours.

“What’s your least favorite thing you’ve tattooed?” I ask.

He groans. “Probably any pinup I’ve ever done. I dread those.”

“Why?” I see a couple on the screen. “These look good.”

“I don’t want anything I do to be good. I want it to be great. It’s the whole body proportions and the perfect position. It’s never exactly right. Even when I trace a reference, any slight tweak or change in lighting can throw it off. They’re the bane of my tattooing existence. In fact, I have a pin-up scheduled next week. I’m dreading the fuck out of it.”

“Anatomy can be challenging. The most helpful thing I found for figure drawing is using real life models. I had a class where almost the whole semester was devoted to drawing live, nude models.”

He raises an eyebrow, and a silly little laugh escapes my lips. I should stop talking.

“That sounds…interesting,” he says with a devilish grin.

“It was really only weird the first twenty minutes or so, then you sort of forget there’s a naked person in front of you, and you’re just focused on the drawing and the form. It’s really the best way to learn—drawing the same position from slightly different angles, figuring out how people sit and lean and slouch.”

“Always nude?” he asks.

“Yeah. Clothes hide too much. You need to be able to see the musculature and things like where the hip bone sits in relation to the spine.”

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