Kavinsky wanted to lean over, lean in, get a good look at those thick, dark eyelashes that Jack was brushing his fingers against. He did not, did not, did not. He breathed out and poured himself more tea.

"And you do--typography and shit. Lettering. Font and graphic design. But not people." Kavinsky remembered that conversation. "She design any of your tattoos, or were those out of a catalog?"