My head spun. Moisture pooled between my thighs.
It felt like I was going through puberty again.
He tossed his shirt aside and sat down, giving me a much-needed moment to compose myself. What was happening right now? Ihatedmen.
Unfortunately, I was also attracted to them against my will.
He’s a dick, I repeated to myself as I pulled on a pair of gloves and gathered my supplies. That mantra morphed intoHehasa dickwhen I turned back around and saw him leaning back, his gray sweats settled into place, perfectly framing what looked like a girthycock.
I wrenched my gaze away before I got caught. Thankfully, he was still distracted by the décor, his eyes flitting from one art piece to the next. I pushed my stool over to his left side and rolled the tray cart into place next to me.
Get your shit together, Stella,I told myself.You’re a fucking professional.
I worked on shirtless clients all the time. Hell, I worked on pantless clients just as often. It shouldn’t be any different just because Theo was one of the most physically attractive people I’d ever seen.
I took my seat and pulled close to him. He smelled like expensive soap. The kind made in small batches on goat farms in Vermont. His bare chest rose and fell with every breath, abs contracting as he shifted slightly toward me. Not a dot of ink marred his beautiful skin, and my mouth went dry thinking I might be the first artist to leave my mark on him.
“What happens if you get too close to magnets?” he asked.
I lifted my gaze to find his eyes roving over my face, taking in my piercings from my eyebrow to my Austin bar to my Monroe.
“Gee, I haven’t heard that one before,” I grumbled, but honestly? I was grateful for the comment. It made it easier to focus on what mattered most about him: his ugly personality.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth like he was trying to hide a smile.
“Do you have low self-esteem?” I blurted. “Is that why you feel like you have to seek out negative attention?”
He swayed toward me. “Maybe I was a neglected child, so any attention feels like good attention.”
“Might I suggest therapy instead?”
He snorted. “Why? It doesn’t seem to have improved your personality.”
Goddamn it, I was not about to be out-insulted by a gym bro. “The pre-therapy me would have already punched you.”
His expression turned smug. “You would have tried.”
I was about to fire something back when I remembered all the progress I hadactuallymade in therapy. This behavior was regressive. The old me. The one who always had to get the last word. The one who acted like a big bad bitch anytime she was around someone larger because she hated feeling small and vulnerable.
I shifted my attention to the cart, tugging it closer. “Let your arm hang loose at your side.”
Theo eyed me, looking wary.
“I need it straight so I can position the tattoo,” I told him.
Reluctantly, he dropped it, and because of the way I was sitting, it fell straight between my thighs, close enough that I felt air brush my skin from the movement. Heat unfurled in my core. If he turned his hand just right, he’d be able to wrap those long fingers around my ankle. Stroke them up my calf. Work them beneath the hemline of my shorts.
I guillotined those thoughts and snapped the transfer paper up from the cart, leaning back enough to eyeball his bicep as I tried to gauge where the tattoo would best sit on his arm.
“Relax your muscles,” I said.
“They are relaxed.”
“C’mon, dude. I don’t want to be here all night.”
He shook out his arm, brushing my thighs with the movement, and I fought the urge to clamp my legs around him like a Venus flytrap. What the fuck waswrongwith me tonight? Oh, right. My workaholic ass hadn’t gotten laid in six months, and it was quickly turning into a problem (see, me almost propositioning one of the most famous men in the city earlier).
“I’mrelaxed,” Theo said, his annoyance nearly a match for mine.
