Be honest—you also hated how James didn’t seem to notice you. That his eyes didn’t scan over your tattoos. You wanted appreciation, maybe even interest. Approval. And you got nothing. I hate my stupid, very correct inner voice. A part of me DID want to get a reaction out of James. Good, bad—something. I thought maybe he was the kind of guy who’d be into tattoos. He didn’t even give me a second glance. Guess I should know better than to judge a man based on his motorcycle boots.
