“Right.”
“So why in the hell did you tell the people at your work that you did?”
“You probably don’t remember, but there was this guy at the park the other day. He was sitting on his motorcycle most of the time.”
Matty rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, I hate that guy,” I admit. “And he was shooting off his mouth about gay people, and he pissed me off, so then I shot my mouth off, too, just to piss him off.”
Matty grins and leans forward a little more, which makes my heart jump. “This is all to piss off that douchehead?”
I laugh at his word choice. “Yeah, it’s all to piss off that douchehead. And like I said, I’ll pay you. Maybe in trade for your tattoo?”
I hope that last part will work out because I’m not exactly rolling in money.
Matty considers it carefully. He’s expressive, kind of opposite of me. I try to bury my emotions down, but he probably couldn’t keep his feelings hidden if he tried.
Shit, the emotions on his face are way more fascinating than they should be.
He taps his lip, pulling my eyes back to his pink mouth. “It does sound almost fun…” After shaking his head, he grabs his glass and chugs down the rest of the beer. “But sorry, no,” he answers abruptly and walks away.
I blink at the empty seat, surprised.
It’s definitely not the response I was hoping for, but when he shoots me a playful grin over his shoulder at the door, I chug my own beer and rush after him.
“Hey!” I holler as I step outside. Matty strolls down the street, his hands folded behind his back, and I have to jog to catch up with him. “Wait up!”
He burps when I reach his side, then covers his mouth. “Excuse me,” he mutters. “I never chug beer.”
“It will go straight to your head in about a minute.”
He stops walking, pausing us at the corner of a busier street. It’s getting dusky out, and the graying light is nice on his hair.
I notice those kinds of things because I’m an artist, I tell myself.
No other reason than that.
“Any chance you’ll reconsider?” I ask.
“That’s it? I was hoping I’d at least get a little begging out of you.”
I puff air out my nose. “Trust me. That’s the closest to begging I’ve ever come.”
“In that case, I guess I do owe you some consideration.” He squints at me. “How much PDA are we talking here?”
“None,” I answer, although the question makes me realize I haven’t thought this through.
Hell, I haven’t even paused to consider whether or not Matty is gay or why it feels so urgent all of a sudden that I get him to agree to this scheme.
But it does feel urgent, like it absolutely has to be him.
“PDA isn’t my thing,” I continue, “and I don’t know if you’re gay, or—”
“I’m gay,” he says, cutting me off. “And I’ve never been able to hide it, which I am quite proud of, thank you. But it doesn’t mean I want to make out with you at a tattoo convention.”
“No making out,” I agree. “To make it look real, maybe I would touch your arm sometimes, if that’s cool.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “That’s cool,” he answers, his voice slipping into a tease.
