When seeing a sign in the window similar to the one that had been stuck there the last time, I rang the doorbell at his studio. The door opened almost immediately.
“Hi, Trent,” Elias said, grinning at me as I entered. “You look fantastic!” He should talk, dressed as he was in a white shirt and loose pants, sleeves rolled up, a firm chest and his nipples—and nipple rings—visible through the semi-sheer cotton. Mother mercy.
I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”
Today, I wore dark purple skinny jeans with a tight-fitting black T-shirt and black Converse sneakers. I had a wide leather band on one arm, with black and silver rings on my thumbs. My hair had temporary purple and black streaks in it, and I’d worn heavy eyeliner and purple lipstick. I’d freaked out a lot of people on my way here, which made me happy. I had a sketchpad in one hand and my messenger bag over one shoulder.