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“…anywhere?” Tink’s calling toward the kitchen.

I blink. The ringing of blood in my ears is so loud I’ve missed the entirety of whatever she just said.

“Sorry?” I rasp.

“I was just asking Wendy if she’d seen your brother around anywhere,” she says. Repeats, I guess. “Is Fox around?”

I shake my head. “He’s…not in the garage,” I manage. Helpful, Kit. What is this, process of elimination? To the right, I hear footsteps, and turn just in time to see Blue stride in and make a beeline for his station, headphones on. He doesn’t even see Tink, half-blocked from view as she is by the low divider that separates the lounge from the shop proper.

“Are all these bags yours?” comes Wendy’s voice from the kitchen. “Ooh, wow.”

I dare to glance up, and regret it. Tink has one long, slender leg extended, the slim turn of her ankle secured with a black velvet strap to a wicked stiletto that Xs several times over her foot and glimmers with rhinestones. I want that ankle on my shoulder, gripped in my hand. I want that leg spread open, braced against my chest⁠—

Fuck, Kit.

Over at his station, Blue looks up, and now he seems to see her. What his reaction is, I can’t tell. Only that it’s nowhere as extreme as mine.

“Oh, hey.” Tink notices him, and wraps the coat back around her. “Have you seen Fox?”

Blue blinks at her. “Upstairs.”

I grit my teeth. God, he’s got a poker face for the ages. Either that or he’s so desensitized from his…other job that a real-life, flesh-and-blood girl who looks like that, who’s dressed like that, genuinely does nothing for him, like he’s built up a tolerance.

I clutch the sides of my stool harder as Tink nods thanks and looks back to me. “You okay for tonight? Need anything?”

“For…oh. Um,” I say. “Yup. We’ve been practicing drawing. We’ll…order in or something later.” I swallow fruitlessly.

“Great.” Tink cranes her neck at the kitchen. “Wendy, you wanna bring those bags upstairs?”

“Sure!” From the kitchen, Wendy gleefully scrambles out and follows in Tink’s wake, shopping bags in hand, and up the stairs.

“G-good luck tonight,” I call up to the loft as Tink’s long, long legs disappear, one spiral step at a time. Idiot. If she says something back, I’m too dizzy to hear it.

With them finally gone, I suck in a long, ragged inhale. Stare, unseeing, at my sketchbook.

It’s been too long. That’s my problem. A sexual drought. Pent-up…something. I’ve never gone for random hookups—not with the regularity of the other guys, anyway—because I never saw the appeal. Too gross, impersonal, more like a dentist visit than anything sexy. But at the same time, I’m not…I don’t know. Not asexual. The right person, the right time, and I’d let things happen. A long-term crush, weeks of flirtation, then maybe a back-alley makeout session was my usual M.O. Guys at bars, the occasional tattoo client back when I was an apprentice and didn’t know any better. Never serious or long-term. Infrequent, to the point of rare. Maybe every few months or so? It’s been…

Too long, I think, crossing my legs with some effort. Blowing out a long, slow breath, I lower my forehead to my hands, feeling the sheen of my own sweat on my palms. I sit like that a moment, staring at the floor.

She’s a girl.

That’s the most confusing part. Outwardly. Obviously. But it’s not just that. For all I know, I could have, technically, already hooked up with a girl. Not like I’ve had a detailed discussion about gender identity with everyone in my sexual past, and there’ve been enough pants-on encounters for that to be possible.

No, it’s more that…

It’s more that…

I lift my head from my hands and swallow hard. Look at the empty shop, to the twilight taking over the streetscape beyond the one intact window panel.

And straight into Blue’s eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, pushing back on my stool a bit. I’d genuinely forgotten he was there. “Dude, you⁠—”

I trail off. Because there’s something in his stare that’s more intense than usual. Even for Blue. Anger—disgust, maybe? But why…

Oh.

He can totally tell I’m hard, can’t he.