"You should draw my next tattoo," he says, voice smooth, his eyes never leaving the sketch.
My mouth goes dry. "Who… who did the ones you have already?"
Mateo finally looks up at me. A slow, small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he's enjoying this little reveal. "Me."
"Really?" The word slips out harsher than I meant it to. Skeptical. Disbelieving.
Mateo raises a brow. "Why'd you say it like that?" He lets out a chuckle, low and amused, like I'm being ridiculous.
I shrug helplessly, pencil still hovering over the page. "You just… don't strike me as the artsy type."
His laugh sharpens into something sarcastic. "Thanks."
I blink at him, then bite back a grin. "I mean, you strike me more like an I'm-gonna-wrap-my-hands-around-your-throat-and-beat-you-up kind of person."
