Page 78 of Breaking the Rules
Chapter Thirteen
Hunter
"Fuck, Hunter. You're gonna make me look bad with all these mock-ups." Dean steps into my suite. He leans against the wall, the picture of cool, and motions to my sketchbook.
"That's the goal," I tease.
It's funny.
Dean is the same as he always was. Nobody can make him look bad. He's built like a water polo player, he aces the laid back surfer boy vibe, and, well…
He makes himself look plenty bad.
He wants everyone to know he's obnoxious.
"You gonna show me this cool shit, or what?" Again, he motions to my sketchbook. Adds agive it.
My shoulders tense reflexively.
When I was wasted all the time, it was easy for me to share my work. Because that's all it was. Work.
I didn't pour my soul onto the page.
My drawings were plenty good. I captured what clients wanted.
I was a competent craftsman.
But that was it.
I'm not used to baring my soul.
Or sharing it.
I try to make my voice casual. Get halfway there. "You don't get enough of giving feedback with your shadow?"
"She's not here."
"I'm sloppy seconds?"
"Of course."
I hand over the notebook. Suck a breath through my nose. Exhale slowly.
This is a good sign. He's trying to help me out. Showing camaraderie.
He wants me here.
Yeah, my drawings show what a mess my head is, but—
I study his expression as he takes in the work.
He nods, digging it.
"Fuck, this is some moody shit." He flips backward, working his way past the last few days of drawings. "Exactly what I'd expect from you." He stops on an In Memoriam. Shaded roses surround a nameless tombstone. "This for anyone in particular?"
"It was," I lie. "A client who got cold feet."
"Shit. Send it to her."
