“Matty,” I answer quickly. “And yeah, you want to see a picture?”
Stopped by the door, Billie shoots me a majorwhat the fucklook.
I wish I had an answer for her or for me.
Matty is the name of the blue-haired guy I met at the park. He must have jumped to mind because Jeremiah had been acting like an ass to him just a couple days ago. The prick got off on being loud enough to ruin Matty’s picnic. It had pissed me off so much I went over to apologize, and for reasons I can’t explain, I’d been thinking about the guy ever since.
Something about his smile… I don’t know, it just stuck with me.
But Matty isn’t my boyfriend, and I definitely don’t have a picture of him on my phone.
Shit. Maybe I should have just shoved Jeremiah to the floor and walked out. Sounds easier than whatever mess I’m making now.
Luckily, Jeremiah scoffs and doesn’t take me up on the offer to see a photo. “You’re a homo?” he says. “What the fuck, man?”
“Hey!”
The deep voice rumbles out from the back of the shop. I hadn’t heard the door open, but emerging from the rear, Caesar lumbers in. He’s a tall man with big arms and a sturdy body, and his brow is always tight in a glare.
“What did I tell you about talking like that in the shop?”
Jeremiah holds his hands up. “The intern keeps talking about his boyfriend. What am I supposed to say?”
“I told you,” Caesar answers, glaring around the room at all of the artists. “None of that bullshit in this shop. You respect your clients no matter who they are, or you’re out the door, got it?”
Everyone nods and agrees quickly. Jeremiah shoots me another burning glare, as though this is my fault.
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning. Jeremiah might play boss, but Caesar is the real top dog, and he just came down firmly on my side.
“And you,” Caesar barks, pointing straight at me. “Bring your man to the tattoo convention. Emilio told me to bring a crowd, and if every other asshole in this shop can scrounge up a date, so can you.”
My mouth falls open.
Shit. This is not going how I planned.
Not that I planned any of it.
“Got it?” Caesar barks again.
“Yeah, sure,” I answer quickly. “Got it.”
The big boss turns and heads straight for his station without another word. Everyone else follows suit, quietly dispersing, except for Billie, who lingers by the desk.
“Buy you a beer on the lunch break?” she asks. “I’m dying to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Yeah,” I answer. “I could use a beer.”
Whatever mess I just made, I have no idea how in the hell I’m cleaning it up.
CHAPTERTHREE
MATTY
“How many outfitsdoes this dog need?”
Ayla sits with me in the tiny animation studio I get to use for the next couple months. She’s got a cute red dress on, which hangs from two thin straps and billows out at her knees. In her hand, she holds a needle and some fabric, destined to become a doggy rain jacket.
“Just two,” I answer happily. “One for the house and one for inclement weather.”
