"Oh, Shane." A flicker of inherent playfulness, her lip protruded with a make-believe sadness. It was a look that said not to worry, she was a professional, she'd coach him. Let her illustrate.
"Where's the rebellion?" James said the word like it was something to be desired. Chased savagely, and never avoided. "I bet you don't even have a tattoo."
Giving him a sliver of her patented, heartbreak smile, James leaned forward. Slim elbows pinning her knees with interest. "Give me a pen," her fingers flexed gimme, "or a marker."