Page 237 of Breaking the Rules
"Did you see how hot that chick was?"
"And how she went straight to the guy dressed as Pacey?"
"Fuck, how am I supposed to know Joey ends up with Pacey? I mean, if I'd seen the show, it would be obvious. Because who would want to be with a sentimental fucker with a Peter Pan syndrome, but—"
"Not that you ever watched."
"She liked playing it while we were making out."
"Uh-huh."
He makes a point of holding up his crossed fingers. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
"Stop moving." I peel the paper from his arm.
Fuck, it looks awesome. Lyrics on a scroll that's curving around a thorny rose.
I grab the mirror and angle it so he can see.
For a second, his poker face falls.
His blue eyes fill with wonder.
And nerves.
He blinks, and he's back to the poker face. "Fuck, when did you get so good at this shit?"
"Had sixty days of—"
"Lifting from the looks of it."
I chuckle. "Helps clear my head."
"Fuck, dude, I thought we discussed the feelings."
"You know Dean works here?"
"You're right. And he's got that smoking hot apprentice too." He makes a show of standing and looking around the shop. "Where'd she go?"
"They're at lunch."
"Damn. She's got a nice ass."
"She'll kick yours."
"So I hear."
I push him into the chair.
He shoots me a look. "Didn't realize you were into that shit." His gaze shifts to Emma. "How's she like it?"
"Thought you were angling to get in her pants?"
"Can't be sloppy seconds unless someone has gone first."
I wet a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol. Clean off the temp tattoo. Pick up the stencil. "Never realized my self-destructive streak rubbed off—"
"Do not need to hear about you rubbing off."
