I shrug. "Maybe 'cause we're best friends now."
Brooklyn rolls her eyes and turns back to Tek. "In the summer, it'd be fun to have a weekend away in it, don't you think?"
"Yep."
"Somewhere down the coast. Or maybe up into Canada."
Tek's eyes rise, but they bypass Brooklyn and focus on me. "That's the plan."
My stomach flips, but it's not enough. It's only the second week back, and being hidden is already annoying the ever-loving fuck out of me. We're not at his parent's house anymore. We shouldn't still be talking in innuendos and double-meanings.
I stare back at Tek, telepathically begging him to tell her that we're together; that he's taken; that she doesn't stand a fucking chance. But he doesn't. He gives me the hint of a smirk, then goes back to his work.
Annoyed, I huff into the break room and let out a silent scream as I punch the air in the direction of Brooklyn and Tek like a frustrated toddler doing Karate.
After I've composed myself, I make an espresso shot and down it in one go.
With the coffee still bitter on my tongue, I grab a rag and the Windex, and throw myself back into the fray just as Brooklyn is stretching her leg out and twisting so her perfect ass is on display.
Touché, Brooklyn. Touché.
Tek catches my eyes, and I raise my brows right back at him then abruptly turn away. I can't keep watching this. I need to distract myself. That's what this project was all about.
Starting with the box closest to me, I take out all the frames and divide them into piles by their size on the floor behind the desk. Taking five smaller ones, I clean and polish them, then set them on the bench where the flash design folders typically sit. After doing the same with the medium sized frames, I have roughly twenty lining the benchtop. Next, I take the full sketchbook from the desk drawer—the one with the sketch of me in it—and carefully cut out the best sketches before, one by one, laying them on the frames. I change some around, trim the edgesof others, until almost all of the frames are full and arranged on the tiles on the empty side of the shop floor.
Taking the hammer and nails I bought from Watersons', I grab the first frame and climb onto the bench.
"You're the one who's gonna be spackling all those holes," I hear Tek say after I've hung the first sketch. "Wait… The fuck?" With tattoo gun in hand, he stands and walks over to my ground display. "These aren't for displaying."
I give him a lofty, cheesy grin. "I beg to differ."
"Some of them are dog shit."
"I don't think so." Jumping down, I pick up the next one in line. "I don't think anything you do is shit." I glance over his shoulder to Brooklyn, who is, of course, looking right at me, then straight back to Tek. "Nothing you draw, anyway."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I shrug, and jump back onto the counter.
I can feel Tek looking up at me as I position the frame against the dark grey wall.
A little to the right.
Down two inches.
Once I'm happy, I mark it with the pencil from my back pocket.
Brooklyn calls Tek back, and I listen as his slippers scuff along the tiles. The onesIcleaned and gave back to him. Then I wait until Brooklyn starts to talk again, and begin hammering the new nail.
She pauses for me to finish, and I pretend I got it in the wrong spot.
She speaks again, and I start hammering.
"Do you have to do that now?" she calls out over the noise.
Spiteful glee tugs at my mouth. "Am I bothering you?"
"It's a lot… I mean, getting tattooed isn't exactly the most fun of experiences to start with."
