***
My ass is cold again, even though I’m wearing black leggings under my plaid mini skirt. It’s freezing in the subway, and I’m sitting on my bag to keep my butt off the cold concrete. But it’s still seeping into me. I have made forty-two dollars today, though, and it’s a good day. I must have looked utterly miserable because people have been putting money in my case like I’m homeless. Well, I am, but it’s not like I’m holding a sign that says “I’m hungry.”
It’s a little after seven o’clock, and I’ve been here since I left Logan’s apartment. My hands are tired, and I can’t help but think that I had better get moving. The after-work crowd has passed, and the drunks tend to come out after dark. So, I never feel safe in the subway when it starts to get late. I gather up my things and put my guitar away. I pocket the money I made today. It’s getting colder outside as fall settles on the city, and I don’t have a coat. So, I can either use the money I have to get a motel room or go to the thrift store to try to find a used coat to keep warm as the weather changes. If I do that, I’ll be sleeping in the shelter again, provided they have room.
So, it’s coat, shelter, and back to the subway for me tomorrow.
Someone calls my name as I walk up the steps of the tunnel, and I turn to find Bone standing by the lamppost. “How’s it going, Kit?” he asks. His eyes rake down my body, and my insides revolt.
“Fine,” I say quickly. “Did you need something?”
He shakes his head, biting his lips together. “You have somewhere to stay tonight?” he asks.
He asks me this every time he sees me, like he’s going to catch me at a vulnerable moment and I’ll take him up on whatever he’s offering. I don’t even know that is, but I know it won’t do me any good. “I do, but thanks for asking.”
“Anytime, Kit,” he says. He turns and walks away, his arm around some girl’s shoulders. She looks strung out. And I’d be willing to bet that’s how he likes them.
I walk through the city, wandering toward the shelter. I know it’s right around the corner from where Logan works. I can’t help but walk by there. The lights are on inside, and there are still people walking around. I slow down, hoping I can get a look at him. I just want to see him. I know he probably hates me. But I want to see that he’s walking around, breathing, and maybe even laughing.
The neon sign over the building says Reed’s. Makes me wonder if that’s their last name. Paul walks to the door and lifts a hand at me without opening it. He tilts his head and looks at me. A bit too closely. He pushes the door open and speaks through the crack. “Are you coming in?”
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t.”
He nods. “You shouldn’t. But you are.” He motions me forward. “He’s in the back.”
It’s like my feet have minds of their own. I walk toward the back of the store, and the girl at the front desk shoots me a heated glance. I ignore her. There’s a curtain in the back of the shop, and I’m guessing that’s where he is. I push it slowly to the side. He can’t hear me, and he’s facing away. But there’s a woman on the table who’s naked from the waist up. He’s standing in front of her with his arm wrapped around her. His hand is busy around her right breast.
“Shit,” I say. I feel like someone has just punched me in the gut. The lady on the table startles and Logan looks up. I have no choice but to leave. I’ve done nothing but think about this man all day long, and he’s with one of his skanks. I knew he had them. But seeing his hands on one of them is worse. I have no right to claim him. I didn’t even plan to come and find him. Paul insisted. Did Paul know what I would walk into?
Paul steps into my path as I run toward the door. “Kit,” he says, blocking me from leaving with his body in front of me.
I put up my hands to ward him off. I can’t take a deep breath, much less stop to talk to him. Before I can get to the front door, Logan runs from the back of the shop to the front, chasing after me. I can hear his feet on the laminate floor.
Logan reaches for me, taking my elbow in a tight but gentle grip.
Tears are stinging the backs of my lashes. I don’t know why they are, but they are. And I don’t want him to see. He holds up a finger telling me to wait. I can’t wait. If I wait, he’ll see me break down.
He takes my hand in a firm grip and starts to tow me toward the back of the store. He pushes the curtain to the side, and I see that the woman is still sitting exactly like he left her. Only now she’s holding a thin piece of paper over her breasts. “Hi,” she says. He points toward a chair and indicates that he wants me to sit.
I shake my head. “No.”
He points toward the chair again. I drop into it because I feel like my legs won’t hold me up anymore, and that’s the only reason.
He turns back to the woman and urges the paper down. He’s tattooing her nipple. I look away. “It’s all right,” the woman says. “He did beautiful work. I don’t mind if you see it.”
He’s doing a tattoo. Of course he is. All the breath rushes from my body in a huge exhale. He’s doing a tattoo. I look over his shoulder as he’s finishing up. He’s not just tattooing her nipple. The tattoo is her nipple. What the hell?
“Double mastectomy,” she explains. “Logan does free tattoos for mastectomy patients.” She arches her back, pressing her breasts out. “What do you think?”
They look like real nipples. The shading around the edges is perfect, and he’s inked a simple nipple with a large areola. But there’s nothing simple about it. It’s a work of art. The color is the same shade as her lips, and I can’t believe how real they look. “Wow,” I say. What do you say? Nice nipples? Beautiful boobs? “That’s amazing.”
Logan holds up a mirror for her, and she looks from one to the other. “They’re perfect!” she squeals. She throws her arms around his neck, and he hugs her tightly, smiling over her shoulder at me. He steps back from her and bends down, softly placing a kiss on the top of her breast. Her eyes fill up with tears, and so do mine.
“I’m going to show everybody,” she says. She holds the paper over her breasts as she walks out into the shop. The girl that runs the front of the shop comes over to admire them, and Paul pretends to look everywhere but at her boobs. There’s no one in the shop, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t care if there were.
“She wanted to feel sexy again,” he says quietly, yanking the curtain so that we’re behind it.
“You did beautiful work.” I bat my guitar case against my shins, not sure what else to say. It really was remarkable how lifelike they looked. The shading and the colors and the way they fit the size of her new breasts—it was perfect.
“She needed them.” He shrugs. He’s so humble.
She bounces back behind the curtain, looking pleased. She tugs her shirt over her head and takes money out of her purse. “I don’t have much,” she starts.
He presses it back into her purse, shaking his head.
“He won’t take it,” I say.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Who are you?”
“No one.”
She nods. She kisses Logan on the cheek, waves at me, and leaves.
He starts to clean up his supplies. He looks over at me out of the corner of his eye and says, “Why are you here?”
I open my mouth but can’t think of the right thing to say so I close it again. He stops and leans his hip against the table, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Can I buy you dinner?” I blurt out. I have no idea where that came from. But there it is.
He smiles. “Yes.”
Logan
“What do you want to eat?” I ask as we leave the shop. Kit asked Paul to join us, but I think he saw the pleading in my eyes when I looked in his direction. I need some time alone with her. I need to take her on a date. Technically, she asked me out, but I’d never let her buy dinner for me. Ever.
“I don’t care,” she says with a shrug.
I realize I have no idea what
she likes. “Italian?” I point to a restaurant on the corner by my apartment.
She nods, smiling at me.
“I didn’t think you were going to come back.” I hold the door open for her, and she walks into the dark restaurant ahead of me. The waitress leads us to a corner booth, and Kit slides in across from me.
“I shouldn’t have.” She puts her guitar under the table, banging me in the shin with it in the process. “I’m sorry,” she says, wincing. She’s suddenly uncomfortable with me.
Is she sorry for knocking me in the shin or for leaving me this morning? “What did you do today?” I ask.
She makes a face and points toward her outfit. “Playing in the subway.”
“How did it go?”
She shrugs. “It was cold. My butt is still freezing,” she admits. I get an immediate and strong image of me helping warm up her ass. I saw the perfect globe that is her ass cheek this very morning. “What?” she asks.
My thoughts must have played out on my face. “Nothing,” I say. But a grin tugs at the corners of my lips.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, her head tilting to the side.
I shake my head. “My mind was in the gutter, if you must know,” I admit. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Please, go ahead.” I motion for her to keep talking.
“You were thinking about my butt,” she says. And now she’s grinning too.
Heat creeps up my cheeks. She’s so damn pretty.
The waitress comes to the table with menus and lays one in front of each of us. “Welcome,” she says. “Do you want to know our specials?” She blinks at me, trying to catch my eyes. I make it a point not to look at her.
Kit nods in answer to her question. She rattles off some menu items and their prices, and I see Kit reach into her pocket and count her money beneath the table. There’s no fucking way I’m letting her buy dinner.
“What can I get for you to drink?”
Kit arches an eyebrow at me, and I motion from her to me and back so she’ll get me what she’s having. “Root beer?” she asks.
I nod. The waitress leaves us with the two menus. I open mine, and she doesn’t. “Do you know what you want?” I ask.
“What are you having?” She smiles at me.
I open the other menu in front of her and point to the word at the top. “What do you see when you look at that?”
She scrunches up her nose. “I see someone who thinks he can teach me to read.” She closes the menu. “Believe me, better people than you have tried.”
“Who tried?” I ask.
She takes a sip of her root beer through a straw, her lips pursing around it. “A better question would be who didn’t try. I have been poked and prodded and put through special education and been to therapists who thought they could unlock my brain. No one could.”
She doesn’t look upset by this. She just looks resigned to it. I open the menu back up, just because I’m curious. I point to the word at the top of the page again. “What does that say?” I ask.
She looks down at it and closes it. “I know words,” she says. She looks like she really wants to explain it to me, and I really want to hear it. “I can spell words. And I know what they mean. It’s just the way they lay on the page that’s hard for me.” She shrugs. “I don’t expect you to understand.” She’s looking everywhere but at me now, and I wish I hadn’t pushed it.
“So, you know the words and how to spell them in your head?” That baffles me.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” She laughs, but there’s no smile on her face. “Dyslexia’s a bitch.”
The waitress reappears with a basket full of bread and places it in the center of the table. Kit reaches for a piece, and I wonder if she ate today.
“Did you decide what you want?” the waitress asks. I point to the chicken parmigiana. She nods and looks at me funny. She’s catching on that something isn’t right, but apparently, she finds me intriguing.
“What’s good?” Kit asks her. She did this same thing at the diner. It must be how she copes.
“The chicken parmigiana is amazing,” she says, smiling down at me. Kit’s not impressed. “But the alfredo is my favorite.”
I nod at Kit in encouragement. She laughs. “Okay, but if I don’t like it, I’m taking your chicken,” she warns. “I’ll take the alfredo,” she says to the waitress.
Kit lifts a piece of bread to her lips and takes a bite. A crumb sticks to her lip, and I want to reach over and catch it and bring it to my lips. But I don’t dare. I have her at dinner with me. If I push her too hard, she’s going to run away.
“Did you eat today?” I blurt out.
Her face flushes, and she nods. She’s lying. I’m sure of it.
I push the bread basket toward her and say, “Eat.” She takes another piece.
She chews silently for a minute, and then she looks at me. Her face is soft when she says, “What you did for that woman in the shop, with the tattoos…” I nod when she stops. She’s referring to the nipple tats. “That was amazing and beautiful. Where did you learn to do that?”
I shrug. I don’t remember learning it. I just knew I could draw it. And if I can draw it, I can run a tat of it. “I think she was pleased,” is all I say.
“Are you kidding?” She slaps the table. “She was ecstatic. And they really were beautiful. Like art. Can I see your tattoos?” she asks hesitantly.
I’m wearing my coat, so I have to shrug out of it to show her. I want to show her my art. I drew most of them, and my brothers put them on me. But I take my coat off and lay my hands facedown on the table. She leans over, looking closely. I have full sleeves, which means I have tats from my neck all the way to my wrists.
She touches the lips on my forearm with a light finger. The hair on my arms stands up, but I pretend I don’t notice. “Why did you get this one?” she asks.
I smile. “That one goes with this one.” I point to my other arm. “It’s something my mother used to say.”
Her forehead crinkles as she looks at the cross on my other arm.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” I explain. “In my case, I have a lot of distance between my lips and God’s ears. That’s why they’re on different arms.”
“Do you see your mother often?” she asks. She’s still eating bread, and that’s good. I want to keep talking to her so she’ll keep eating.
I shake my head. “She died a few years ago.”
“Oh.” Her mouth stops moving, and she swallows hard. “I’m so sorry.”
I shrug. It was a freak accident.
“And your dad?” she asks.
“He left after Mom died,” I explain. This part is always difficult. “There were just too many of us, I think.” I laugh, but it’s not funny.
“So, it’s just you and your brothers?” she asks.
I nod. “Paul took responsibility for everyone when our dad left. He had to so we wouldn’t all be split up.”
“Wow.” That’s all she says. Just wow. She looks baffled.
“We make do,” I explain. I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. “How about you? Where’s your family?”
But she shakes her head. “No,” she says.
“That’s not fair,” I say.
She holds up a finger, just like I do to her all the time. “I know it’s not fair,” she says. “But it’s better if you don’t know.”
“Better for who?” I ask. I’m a bit irked that she’s keeping secrets. She has a right to them, but I don’t have to like it.
“My situation is difficult,” she begins. “And I can’t explain it to you.”
She looks back down at my tats. Her eyes play across them. There are too many to count. But I need to show her the one that’s hers. “I want to show you something,” I say. “But I’m afraid you’re going to be angry at me.”
She’s suddenly on guard. “Why? What is it?”
I turn my wrist over and point to her tattoo on my inner wrist. It’s a bare spot I’d been saving for so
mething special. She leans toward it, and all of her breath rushes from her body. I can feel it across my hand when she exhales.
“That’s my tat,” she says.
She takes my hand in hers and lifts it toward her face. “Are you angry?” I ask.
She looks up at me briefly and then back down at the tattoo. She’s taking in every facet of it. Her hand trembles as she holds tightly to mine. “You changed it.”
“I felt like you needed a way out.”
I put it on my wrist because I was intrigued by the secrets inside. It’s art, and I appreciate art in all its forms.
She swallows. Hard. Then her eyes start to fill with tears. She blinks them back for as long as she can. And then she gets up and runs toward the bathroom.
Shit. Now I fucked up. I made her cry. She runs by the waitress, who startles. The waitress starts in my direction, a sway in her hips, but I get up and follow Kit. I stop outside the door to the ladies’ room and press my hand against it. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. She’s in there crying, and I obviously can’t hear her to be sure she’s all right. Fuck it. I’m not leaving her in there upset. I push through the door, and I don’t see any feet in the stalls when I bend over.
Where the fuck did she go? I push doors open, but the last one is locked. I stand up on my tiptoes and look over the top. She’s standing there with her forearms pressed against the wall, her head down between her arms, and her back is shaking. She’s crying.
I knock on the stall door and say, “Let me in, Kit.” The door doesn’t open. I step back onto my tiptoes and look over. She’s still crying. “Let me in,” I repeat. She doesn’t move, so I walk into the stall next to hers and stand up on the toilet. I rock the partition between the stalls gently. It might hold my weight. There’s only one way to find out. I hoist myself up and over the wall, bringing my legs over the top slowly and carefully, and then I hop down.
Before I can reach for her, she’s in my arms, her hands sliding around my neck. She’s still sobbing, and her body shakes against mine. I tilt her face up because I can’t see her lips to tell if she’s saying anything to me or not. I need to apologize. I didn’t expect her to get so upset. I’ll have it covered up with something else if it bothers her this much.
My heart twists inside my chest. I really fucked up. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, looking down into her face. Her cheeks are soaked with tears, and she freezes, looking up at me. I can feel her like a heartbeat in my chest. She steps on the toes of my boots and then rocks onto her tiptoes. She pulls my head down with a hand at the back of my neck.
Her brown eyes are smoldering, and black shit is running down her cheeks again, but I don’t care. She’s never looked more beautiful to me. I hold her face in my hands and wipe beneath her eyes with my thumbs. Her breath tickles my lips, and she leans even closer. She’s standing on my fucking boots, and I don’t care. She can do whatever it takes to get closer to me.
“Why did you do it?” she asks, moving back enough that I can see her lips.
I already told her: I thought she needed a way out. All I added to the tattoo was a keyhole right in the center of the guitar. It’s a simple design really. “I don’t know,” I say. I want to explain it to her, but I can’t. Not right now. Her breath is blowing across my lips, and she smells like yeast from the bread and root beer. I’ve never wanted to kiss a girl so much in my life. But she is fucking crying. I can’t take advantage of her.
She pulls my head toward hers, and she kisses the corner of my mouth. Then she kisses the other corner. I can’t take much more. I chase her lips with every move she makes. She’s smiling when she finally presses her lips to mine. I can feel it against my mouth. I keep my eyes open because I need to see her face. I’m holding her in my hands, and I slide my fingers into the hair at her temples.
I want so fucking bad to kiss her softly. I want to treat her like the treasure she is. But I can’t. She smells so good and she feels so good and she’s in my arms and I don’t know if I can stop. Then she draws my lower lip between hers and sucks it gently. Her eyes are closed, and she’s making love to my mouth. I’m afraid if I close my eyes that I’ll realize this was all a dream when I open them back up.
I tilt my head and press my lips harder against hers. She’s soft and warm in my arms, and she’s pressed against me from head to toe. Kit starts to tug my shirt from my jeans, and I raise my elbows to help her. Her hands touch my waist, and I freeze. I hoist her in my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist, holding her up with my hands, palming her ass. I press her against the wall, and she laughs into my lips. I can feel the sound of it through her throat, like a gentle hum.
Her hands skim up my chest between us, but I’m still making love to her lips. Her tongue slides against mine, and I press inside the cavern of her mouth. This is the first time my body will enter hers, and I want to take it slow. I want to enjoy every second of it, but she’s not having that. She’s hot in my arms and wiggling to get closer to me. Her hands stop as she skims up my chest, and she withdraws her lips from mine. I take a moment to try to catch my breath because I feel like I just ran a five-mile sprint. I even have the stitch in my side to prove it. She lifts my shirt up and touches my piercings with her fingertips.
My breath leaves me. She’s curious, and I love that she’s taking the time to look at me. She’s intent upon her task, and she explores my nipples, looking down, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. I pull it free with my thumb, just like I have those times before. Only now, I lean forward and draw it into my mouth, nipping it gently. She rolls my piercings between her fingertips, and she’s going make me disgrace myself if she doesn’t stop. I pull back and bury my head in her shoulder, breathing harder than I ever have. This woman has completely undone me.
A hard rap on the bathroom stall startles me because I can feel the heavy shake of the metal partition.
Kit looks up and says, “Just a moment.”
I’m breathing so fucking hard that I can’t catch my breath, but I put her down when she unwraps her legs from around me. She opens the stall door and steps out, wiping her still-wet face. The guy who banged on the door startles when he sees how wrecked she is. She was crying really hard there for a minute. I close the door and let her talk to him because I need a minute to compose myself. I reach into my pants and adjust my junk. I have to cover it up with my shirt because my dick is reaching up past the button on my jeans. Shit.
She felt so fucking good in my arms. I lean back against the wall and try to take some calming breaths. But there’s not much that can calm me at this point. The only thing that would make this better is if she came back in here and we finished what we started.
I open the door and look out. The man is gone, and she’s standing at the sink washing her face. She looks up at me, a soft smile on her lips as she sees me in the mirror. I walk up behind her and put my arms around her, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you cry,” I say.
She shakes her head and talks to me in the mirror. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before,” she says. Her eyes fill up with tears again, and I’m sorry that I came out of the stall. I’ll go back in there if she’ll stop crying, but I’m not leaving her. I can see that now. I’m not leaving her, no matter what.
“The lock?” I ask. She’s leaning back against me, and she wraps her arms over mine.
She nods. She wipes her eyes with a paper towel, swiping the black makeup from under her eyes. Her face is splotchy, but she’s never looked more beautiful. For that one split-second, she isn’t hiding anything from me.
“The minute I saw the tattoo I knew it needed to be changed. I’m sorry if I defiled your art.” She could take exception to my change, but I have a feeling she doesn’t.
“It’s perfect,” she says. She lifts my arm from around her waist and looks down at it. “It’s perfect,” she repeats, sniffling. “I don’t know how to tell you what I’m feeling.”
I’m the one with the hearing imp
airment, and she can’t tell me something? I laugh and lift her hair from her neck and press my lips there. “You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her.
She turns around and cups my face in her palm, her hand stroking across my five-o’clock shadow.
I take her hands in mine and lift them to my lips, kissing them one by one. Then I look into her eyes and open my mouth to ask her the one question I need to know the answer to.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
She freezes. It’s like there’s suddenly a wall between us, and I haven’t even let her go. “No,” she says.
I feel like she’s kicked me in the gut. I let her go and take a step back. “Why not?” I ask.
“I just can’t,” she says.
I nod and let myself out of the bathroom. My legs are shaking. The waitress shoots me a glance as I walk back to the table. I sit down. Kit’s still in the bathroom, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s ever going to come out. Her guitar is still under the table. So, she has to come back, right?
Emily
I lean heavily on my palms, putting all my weight on the bathroom countertop. My pulse is pounding so loudly that I can hear it in my ears, and drawing in a deep breath is burning my lungs like someone has set a fire inside them. Perhaps that’s what he did. Or maybe he’d just shaken the pieces of me loose and now my body had to work to put me back together.
Either way, I feel like someone has torn me in two pieces. There’s the one piece of me that wants to give Logan everything he wants. It’s the piece that so very desperately wants to bare my soul to him, to tell him all of my problems. He would take them inside himself and then breathe them back out, and all my problems would vanish like in The Green Mile. I know he would. But my problems are too big for him. They’d eat him alive. And I can’t let that happen. Because there’s the other piece of me that knows I need to run like hell. I need to leave him before I hurt him.
I touch the tips of my fingers to my lips. They’re red and swollen from his kisses. I’ve never been kissed like that before. I’ve never had a man make love to my mouth. I’ve never had a man try to work his way inside my body, kissing deep inside me, while touching nothing but my mouth. But that’s what Logan did.
I need to go out there and collect my guitar and then go. That would be the fair thing to do. But he put the tattoo on his wrist. He marked himself with my brand, and he changed it. Tears flood my eyes again, and I blink them back, using a wet paper towel to wipe the eyeliner smudge from beneath them. I look like a raccoon.
I heave a sigh. It’s no wonder the manager looked at me like I deserved all the sympathy in the world. I told him someone important had died. That’s why I looked like this. But in reality, I’m the one who died. When I left home, I died. I like the peaceful existence I’ve been creating here. I know what to expect. And I expect to face life alone. Now Logan is ruining my almost perfect existence.
I haven’t felt hope in a really long time. But I am hopeful, and that isn’t a good thing.
I push off the countertop and fluff my hair. His hands have been all over it, and it looks like I’ve been tumbled in a drier. Laughter falls from my lips, completely unbidden.
I go back to the table, and he’s there. He’s eating a piece of bread and looking up at me, quiet like he normally is. I slide into the booth across from him and settle against the seat back.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m fine.” I close my eyes tightly, trying to find the right words to explain it.
He takes my chin in his grip, and I open my eyes to look at him.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says.
I shake my head. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t force them past my teeth. “I want to talk to you,” I start. But then I wince and bite the inside of my cheek.
The waitress comes with two warm dishes and puts them in front of us. She refills our root beers and leaves.
Logan looks down at his food and smiles. He takes a bite of his chicken, and he’s happy. He points to mine with his fork. I don’t want to eat right now. I want to hash all this out.
“I’m just glad you’re here,” he says as I fill my mouth up with alfredo. “I was afraid you’d run.”
I was afraid of that, too. And I probably still will. I circle my fork in a pile of noodles and hold it out to him. “Do you want to try mine?” I ask.
His blue eyes get all smoldery there for a minute. Then he grins and leans forward. He leans his head back after his mouth is full and chews thoughtfully. “Yours is better than mine,” he says.
I take my fork and dip it into his plate, and he grins and shakes his head. It doesn’t stop me. I chew thoughtfully on a piece of his chicken. “Mine’s better than yours,” I agree.
He shrugs and smiles. “Eat,” he says.
We eat quietly, and I steal food off his plate so often that he puts up a fork to block me. But I feed him just as much of mine as he will accept. I like this time with him. But I also liked the time in the bathroom.
When the waitress takes the plates away, I have to force myself not to ask for a to-go box. There might not be anything for me to eat tomorrow, and I hate to see food go to waste. But there won’t be anywhere for me to keep it at the shelter. That is, provided that I can find a shelter that’s not full already.
The table is clear between us, and the waitress comes and leaves a leather-bound folder. I reach for it, but he intercepts it. “No,” he says, shaking his head.
“But I wanted to pay,” I complain.
He shakes his head again. “No.” He slides his credit card into the slot and lays it on the edge of the table.
I reach over and take his hand, and he startles for a minute, but then his grip is strong on mine. I turn his hand over gently, looking at the inside of his wrist.
You can tell it’s a fresh tattoo, and it’s looking a bit like Fruity Pebbles, all rough and crinkly. But the design is still there. “I love this,” I say. “Will you put one on me one day?” I ask. I want one just like this. And I want the keyhole. “How much does this cost?”
“Nothing, for you,” he says.
“I wouldn’t let you do it for free.”
He smiles. “I wouldn’t let you pay for it.”
“Do you do tattoos like the one today often?”
His eyebrows draw together like he’s not sure what I’m referring to. I point to my boobs. And then heat creeps up my face when he looks down at them. He grins.
“Oh, jeez,” I say, burying my face in my hands.
He pulls my hands away. “What?” he asks. He must have thought I said something when my face was buried.
“Nothing.” I shake my head.
“I don’t do those often. Just once in a while. They give my name out at the cancer center.”
“You never charge them.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. They need it.”
“So, how many boobs do you touch a day?” I ask playfully.
He grimaces. “Some,” he says.
“Really?”
He nods. “It’s a popular place for tats. Even when people aren’t getting new nipples.” His face colors. I think he’s embarrassed.
Our discussion about boobs makes me think of what we’d just done in the bathroom. When I ran my hands up his chest, I’d discovered his piercings. He’d even let me look at them. “How many piercings do you have?” I ask.
He starts to count on his fingers. He stops at seven. “Seven?”
“Where?”
He points to each nipple, then his ears, then the shell of his ear. And then his gaze goes down to his crotch. He’s not smiling, and his eyes narrow as though he’s waiting to see my reaction.
I gasp and nearly choke on my inhale. “Down there?” I whisper, a grin tugging at my lips.
He nods, taking a sip of his root beer.
“Did they hurt???
? I suddenly have the most obnoxious desire to see every last one.
He shrugs.
“Can you do one for me?” I ask. Then I rush on to say, “Not today. Or any time soon. I don’t have enough money.”
“Where would you want it?” he asks.
I’ve only had my ears pierced and never thought of doing any other part of my body. My nipples go hard just thinking about it. “Did your nipples hurt?” I whisper. Then I realize he can’t tell I’m whispering, since he’s just reading my lips.
“It hurts a little when you do it, but it goes away. Just like any other piercing.”
I can’t stop thinking about the one down there. Heat creeps up my cheeks again.
“I could pierce you. Anywhere you want,” he says. This time his face floods with color.
“Anywhere?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he only opens one, and he looks at me like he’s wincing when he says carefully, “Anywhere.” He looks at my boobs again and licks his lips. “Take your pick.”
Suddenly, I’m curious. “You do a lot of those?” I don’t know why that bothers me. “The… ones…down there?”
He shrugs.
I don’t like the idea of him touching anyone’s private places. Not at all. Although the idea of him touching mine… I squirm in my seat, and he arches an eyebrow at me.
“Something wrong?” he asks. He’s smirking.
I shake my head, biting my lips together. “Can anyone get a piercing like that?” I point toward my lap. I don’t know why I’m being so bold about this, but I’m curious.
“Most people can.” He plays with the salt shaker. “We’d have to take a look to see what type of piercing would be best for you.”
My face flames at the thought of him taking a look down there. He pushes my root beer toward me and says, “Drink. Before you pass out.” He’s grinning, though, and I’ve never seen such a look of confidence on a man. The awkwardness of a moment before has passed. And he’s enjoying making me squirm.
“Are there, like, different kinds?” My words don’t want to come out of my mouth gracefully.
He nods. He takes my hand in his and drags his thumb across the back. “There are as many kinds as there are types of women.”
I take a deep breath.
“Is there, like, a purpose for it?”
He grins. “There can be.” He takes a sip of his root beer. “Some people just like the idea of it. Then others like to play with it.”
“Play with it?” I choke out. His thumb is still stroking across the back of my hand, and he might as well be touching me right where a piercing might go because my body is thumping like crazy.
He leans closer to me, speaking softly. “Lips. Tongue. Fingers.” He licks his mouth again. “Teeth.” He arches a brow at me. “I can go on, if you like.”
I hold up a hand. If he goes on, I might just spontaneously combust. “No, thank you.”
“Another time,” he says.
He threads his fingers through mine.
“You scare me,” I blurt out.
He startles, jerking his hand back from mine. “Me? Why? What?” he asks, leaning forward.
He’s worried. I can tell, so I feel the need to fix the error I just made. “I have all these feelings for you,” I say.
He sits back, laying a hand on his chest, heaving a sigh in relief. “Oh, you scared me,” he breathes. “I thought I offended you with the sexy talk.”
“You didn’t offend me. But you make me want things I can’t have.” There. I admitted it. I want him. I want all the things that come with him. But I can’t have them.
“I feel like I need to tell you something,” he says. He’s thinking about his next words, and he’s talking very slowly, as if the weight of them is hard for him to carry.
“Okay,” I say hesitantly.
“I want you more than I want air,” he says. My heart starts to beat a tattoo rhythm in my chest. I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up that damn finger. “But I can’t act on my feelings. Not while I don’t even know your name.”
He takes a deep breath and waits for me. I can’t say anything. I wouldn’t know what to say even if I could.
“I want to take you to bed and make love to you all night long.” He cocks a grin at me. “Lips. Tongue. Fingers. Teeth.” He makes a circle motion with his hands. “Should I go on? Or do you understand?”
I nod. I get it. He reaches over and lifts my jaw to close my mouth. His touch is tender.
“I want to do things to you that you probably couldn’t imagine.” His blue eyes are dark, the centers big and wide.
“I don’t know,” I start. I am imagining all sorts of things right now. And my clit is thumping so hard I have to push my legs together to ease some of it. It doesn’t help.
“But even more than I want to lick you all over and make you cry out my name and swear you see God, I want you to trust me. And you don’t. Not yet. But you might one day.”
I’m breathing so hard I feel like I just ran a mile. “I trust you,” I say.
He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.” He smiles at me, and my heart flips over. “But you might one day.”
The waitress brings the receipt to the table and gives him a pen. I see that she’s written her name and phone number on the bottom of the paper. He tears that part off and gives it back to her. He shakes his head and tilts it at me. She looks disappointed. Her heavy bottom lip pokes out.
I look up at her and blink. “I absolutely hate it when skanks try to give my boyfriend their contact information,” I say.
Logan chokes, coughing into his fist.
The waitress steps toward me, but Logan gets between us. That’s good, because I will take that bitch out. “Have you ever slept with her?”
He looks up at her and takes in her features. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly, by my ear.
He’s slept with so many women that he can’t tell one from another?
She huffs away, and he tugs me to my feet. “You shouldn’t have called her a skank,” he says with a laugh.
“What do you call a woman who gives her number to a man who’s been holding hands with someone else?” I ask crisply.
“And you shouldn’t have called me your boyfriend.” He looks down at me as he opens the door of the restaurant for me.
“I’m sorry,” I start. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just wanted her to go away.” And I wanted to stake my claim, even though I had no right to one.
He looks down at me beneath the street light. “You shouldn’t have said it because you gave me hope,” he says.
I can’t speak. I can’t utter out a sound.
“Come home with me,” he says.
I shake my head.
He sighs heavily. “You know how this is going to end.”
“I shouldn’t.” I really, really shouldn’t.
“Fine,” he says, and then he bends at the waist and tosses me over his shoulder, just like the night before. Only this time, his hand is on my ass, under my skirt, instead of holding the backs of my legs. It’s hot pressed against my panties.
I can’t say a word to him because he wouldn’t hear me. So, I just hang there, all the way to his building and up the four flights of stairs.
He opens the door and walks inside. His brothers are there, and they look up. Sam and Pete snicker, and Paul shoots them a look. Matthew is on the sofa, and he shakes his head.
Logan puts me down. Apparently, I’m not a sideshow attraction tonight. “Hi,” I say tentatively to them all.
“Hi,” they call back. They don’t get up and rush over to me, not even when he sets me on my feet.
“You’re back,” Matthew says as he walks to the fridge.
He looks better tonight. Not quite as green.
Sam walks to the kitchen, and Paul snaps at him when he reaches for a beer. He takes a soda, instead, grumbling to himself.
Logan signs something to them. Pete tells
him the name of the movie they’re watching, and it’s one I haven’t heard of. Logan points to the TV and then to me asking me if I’ve seen it.
I shake my head. He sets my bag and my guitar on floor and laces his fingers with mine. He tugs me gently toward the couch. Logan bumps Sam’s and Pete’s knees until they scoot over. There’s barely enough space for him, much less for me.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” I say.
But he sits down and pulls me into his side, his arm around my shoulders.
Matt gives me a look I don’t understand. He doesn’t seem completely pleased by my being there. Did I do something to offend him?
But Logan looks down at me and smiles, and then he places his lips against my forehead. Matt gets up and goes to his room but not before shooting me a glance that I couldn’t help but take as a warning.
Logan
She fell asleep curled into my side. The credits roll on the TV, and I don’t want to move. I don’t want to set her away from me. My arm is sweating where she’s pressed up against me, and her hairline is damp. I reach over and brush her hair back, and she blinks her brown eyes at me.
“Is it over?” she asks. She stretches, raising her arms high above her head.
I nod. The movie’s over. But my feelings for her are not. They’re just beginning. I like having her on my couch. And I like it even more that she’s so soft in my arms.
“Good movie,” Paul says.
She looks over at him like she’s surprised he’s there. Sam and Pete went to bed as soon as the credits rolled, and Matt is in bed, too. “Sorry I fell asleep,” she says. She wipes the side of her mouth, and I draw her in to give her a hug. She pulls back all too soon, looking askance at Paul. “I’m going to take a shower,” she says, pulling back enough for me to see her lips.
I nod and help her to her feet. She picks up her bag and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I flop back onto the couch and cover my face with my hands. This girl will shred me. I already know she will. And I’m jumping in with everything I am anyway.
“Want to talk about it?” Paul asks. Matt comes into the living room and drops down on the sofa beside me.
You too? I sign and then throw my hands up in surrender.
Matt grins and shrugs his shoulders.
You guys like her, right? I ask. Their opinions do matter to me.
Paul nods while Matt shakes his head. What the fuck? It’s like they’re at opposite ends of the spectrum.
Matt lays a hand on my knee so I’ll look at him. “I like her,” he says. He’s talking while he signs, which makes it easier to listen. “But how much do you know about her?” His eyebrows draw together.
I don’t know anything about her. Nothing, I admit. I don’t know a damn thing about her. I lean forward so I can prop my elbows on my knees. I feel like I can’t breathe. She won’t tell me anything. Not even her name.
“What’s she hiding?” Matt asks.
I wish I knew. I flop back against the couch again.
“I’ve been thinking about it and she does look familiar to me,” Paul says, looking toward the closed bathroom door. He shakes his head. “I wish I could place her.”
She busks in the subway tunnels every day, I sign with a shrug.
“It’s more than that,” Paul says. He shakes his head, like he’s shaking his crazy thoughts away. There’s no way he could know her from anywhere else.
“She staying over again?” Matt asks.
I nod.
“Don’t fall in love with her,” Matt warns.
Paul nods his head in agreement. “Fuck her and be done with her,” he says.
She’s not like that.
Paul exhales heavily. “You haven’t slept with her yet, have you?”
I slept with her. I hang my head. But all we did was sleep.
“You’ve never slept with anyone, dumbass,” Paul says.
I haven’t. Not since my mom died. I used to crawl in bed with her when I was young. Her bed was always warm and smelled like her. After she died, I used to crawl in her empty bed just so I could smell her. Until Paul changed the sheets and took that room as his own.
I know. I’ve had plenty of women in my bed, but none of them stayed.
“Stay smart,” Paul says, tapping his temple.
“He’d have to be smart to stay smart,” Matt says, bumping my knee with his. “He’s already half in love with her.” He looks down at his fee and then glares at me. “If you don’t want her, can I ask her out?”
She’s mine! I sign.
He holds his hands up to fend me off. “I know! I know! I said if, asshole. I just wanted to see where your head is.” He heaves a sigh. “Apparently, you really like this one.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think she has bad intentions, but I’m worried about you. Be careful.”
Matt’s in love with April, but she dumped him when she found out he was sick. Self-serving bitch.
“She brought me a bucket when I was sick last night,” Matt admits. “It was nice of her.”
Paul’s eyebrows draw together. “That was you puking your guts out?” Paul asks.
This is Matt’s second round of chemo. The first didn’t work. This is his last chance. He nods.
Why didn’t you tell us? I ask.
He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m scared,” he admits. He looks me in the eye and then his gaze moves to meet Paul’s. “I’m going to fucking die,” he says. He grins, but there’s nothing funny about it. “So you don’t have to worry about me asking her out.”
“Don’t joke about that shit,” Paul bites out.
“I’m not joking,” Matt says. He’s serious.
Paul leans forward and squeezes Matt’s knee in his hand. “You have to believe it’s going to work. If you don’t, you don’t stand a chance.”
Matt pushes forward to perch on the edge of the sofa. “You guys believe for me, okay?” he says. “Because I’m too fucking tired to do it.” He gets up and goes to his room, closing the door behind him.
“When did he start admitting he’s afraid?” Paul asks.
I shrug. It’s the first time I’ve heard him say it. I look up at Paul. Fear clutches my heart in a death grip. He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?
“I don’t know,” he admits. He swipes a hand down his face.
I pat my shirt pocket, reaching for my cigarettes.
“Matt has fucking cancer, dumbass,” he snarls at me, his hands flying wildly. “And you want to smoke?”
I jerk the pack from my pocket and toss it across the room, into the wastebasket.
Paul nods. Thank you, he signs dramatically. He sags back into the lazy chair.
He’s going to make it, right? I ask.
He nods. “Of course he is.”
I believe him because I can’t imagine a life without Matt in it. I won’t allow myself to think he’s going to die. I just won’t. If Matt can’t believe he’s going to live right now, I’ll believe enough for the two of us.
Paul stands up and ruffles my hair, and it quickly changes into a noogie. I brush his hand away. “Don’t worry,” he says.
He starts down the hallway, and I clap my hands to get his attention. He turns back to me, scratching his stomach. “What?” he asks.
I want to talk to her, I admit.
His eyebrows draw together. “Yeah?” He shrugs. “So talk.”
I want to tell him about her dyslexia, so he won’t feel like I’ve been holding out all these years, but that’s not my story to tell. It’s hers. I shake my head. It’s just too hard to explain. She’s making me feel things I’ve never felt before. She makes me want things.
“I wish you’d just fuck her and get it out of your system. Then you can be done with her and stop wishing for things you can’t have.”
Her mouth falls open, and her eyes widen as she appears. I can imagine her gasp, even if I can’t hear it. But Paul must hear it. His eyes clench shut. “She’s right behind me
, isn’t she?” he asks. He opens one eye and looks at me.
Kit’s wrapped in a towel with another turbaned around her head. Paul turns to her, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. It had better be a profuse apology.
She glares at him for no more than a moment, and then she ducks into my bedroom and closes the door behind her.
Shit, Paul signs. I fucked that up.
He knocks on the bedroom door. He knocks again. His hand wraps around the doorknob, and he starts to turn it, but she’s wrapped in a towel. I can’t let him in there. I leap over the back of the couch and put myself between him and the door. I push his chest back and point toward his bedroom.
“I need to apologize,” he says. He’s grimacing, and his face is flushed. He didn’t mean it. Well, he did mean it…but he didn’t. “I didn’t know she was there.”
I sign the word tomorrow. I place my hands on his chest and push him back gently. I couldn’t manhandle Paul even if I wanted to. He’s a great big son of a bitch. Even bigger than me. And twice as mean. Tomorrow, I say again. I got this. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her you didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.
He nods and runs a frustrated hand across the stubble he calls hair. Sorry, he says.
I nod and let myself into my bedroom. I lean back against the door. I expect to see her angry and throwing things. Or crying. I really don’t know what to expect. I don’t know her well enough to have a clue. She’s doing neither. She’s standing there looking at me. She unrolls the towel from her hair and her locks spill down over her shoulders. Her hair is all wet and tangled, and she fluffs it with the towel, blotting it dry. She looks at me, but she hasn’t said anything yet.
“He didn’t mean that,” I start.
“I think he’s right,” she says. Then she raises her arms, pulls the towel free of where it’s tucked between her tits, and drops it to the floor. She kicks it across the room with her delicate, little toe. She’s starkly, completely, beautifully, perfectly, delectably naked. “I think you should fuck me and get it out of your system. Then you can be done with me.”
Emily
I’m shaking like a leaf, and I desperately want to cross my arms over my chest. But I force myself to stand there. He looks at my pointed toe as I kick the towel to the side. My heart leaps in my chest, bucking like an angry mule. I expect his eyes to drag up my leg and then to the rest of me, and my body heats in anticipation of his gaze. But he doesn’t. Instead, he rushes to the closet, yanks a T-shirt from a hanger and hands it to me.
I finally do cross my arms, but it’s so that I can more effectively glare at him. He looks everywhere but at me and then bunches the shirt up in his hands, rucking it up until he can slide it over my head. He tugs it down until my hips are covered. Then he steps back, falls against the door, and takes a breath.
“Damn,” he breathes. Then he grins.
I shove my arms through the armholes of the shirt and glare at him. He’s laughing. Seriously? I arch an eyebrow at him. “Beg your pardon?”
He chuckles into his closed fist and then shakes his head. “He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He bends over at the waist, trying to catch his breath, he’s laughing so hard. I pick up a pillow and throw it at him then sit down on the end of the bed and cross my legs. I still don’t have any panties on. And I’m too angry to care.
I just stood naked in front of this man and he’s laughing. Tears prick the backs of my lashes. “This isn’t funny,” I say.
He sits down beside me on the bed and turns my chin so that I have to face him. “I didn’t see what you said,” he tells me. His thumb touches the corner of my eye, and his brow furrows in confusion. “Did Paul hurt your feelings?”
I shake my head, pinching my lips together.
He reaches over and lifts my wet hair from the collar of his shirt. “Your hair’s still wet,” he says as he picks up a towel. I brush his hand away when he tries to dry my hair.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Stop.”
“He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he says.
He really thinks Paul hurt my feelings? What crap. Paul didn’t hurt my feelings. Logan did, when he completely ignored my offer. And laughed.
I reach into my bag and pick up my panties, then shimmy into them. Logan looks away, and I roll my eyes. I was naked in front of him. Does he really think I care if he sees me put my panties on? I tug the blanket from the bed and glare at him for a moment, and then I open the door and head for the couch. I’ll sleep out there. It’s better than sleeping in here with a man who doesn’t want me.
Matt’s at the kitchen table with his head in his hands when I come out of the hallway. I falter and tug on the length of Logan’s shirt. He looks down at my legs and smiles. “I’ve seen more skin at the club,” he says. “You might as well be a nun.”
I sigh heavily and throw the blanket onto the edge of the couch. Then I walk into the kitchen for a cup of water. “Can I get you anything?” I ask.
He looks better today, but he still doesn’t look good. “No, thanks.”
“Did you eat anything today?” I ask. Now I sound like Logan, but I can’t help it.
“I did,” he says with a nod.
“Did you keep it down?” I tilt my head and look at him.
“Some of it,” he admits.
Logan walks out of the bedroom and skids to a halt in the kitchen. He looks from Matt to me and back again. He signs something to Matt.
“Dude, you can’t talk around her unless you want me to interpret,” Matt warns.
Logan clenches his hands together and bites his lip just as hard. He looks like he wants to say something. But he can’t. Not with Matt there. “Go to bed, Logan,” I say.
Logan shakes his head. He starts to sign, and Matt starts to talk. “He doesn’t want you to sleep on the couch,” Matt says. Matt sighs heavily and gets to his feet. “How do you two communicate normally?” he asks, exasperated.
I can’t tell him that Logan talks to me. So, I just shrug. Everyone else in this family shrugs all the time. I might as well take up the habit. Become a master at evasion. “He can go fuck himself,” I say. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”
“Shit, man, what did you do?” Matt asks.
Logan signs something quickly.
“Damn. You should make Paul sleep on the couch.” He chuckles. “Seems like he deserves it.”
Logan stalks back into his room, and Matt looks at me, grinning. “You’re turning him inside out,” he says.
Apparently not. He didn’t even look at me when I was naked.
“What are your intentions with Logan?” he asks. His voice is quiet. He’s not threatening me. I think he’s genuinely curious.
“I don’t have any intentions. He tossed me over his shoulder both times I’ve been here. It’s not like I had much choice in the matter.”
“You could have said no,” Matt clarifies. He holds up a hand to stop me when I open my mouth to talk. “Paul was just trying to protect him. He’s never brought a girl home before. Not one he really likes.”
“I’m the first one he won’t sleep with, I guess,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
Matt nods. “Yes, you are. That means you’re special.” He tweaks my nose as he walks by, and I make a face at him. He has cancer. I can’t be mad at him. Particularly not when he’s being so sweet. He turns back to face me. “He’s never wanted something real with a girl. Give him time to explore it before you start expecting more from him.”
“That’s just it,” I argue. “I don’t expect anything.”
“Yes, you do.” He looks sorry for me, and it pisses me off.
“Apparently, I’m the only girl in the city of New York that he won’t sleep with.” I harrumph like a two-year-old who just dropped her ice cream.
“I can’t believe I’m discussing my brother’s lack of sexual appetite with his girlfriend,” Matt mutters.
“I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Oh,
honey,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re his first girlfriend.”
I turn to look toward Logan’s room. I don’t know what to do.
“Don’t fuck with him,” Matt warns. He’s suddenly very direct, and the intensity in his face is almost scary. “And don’t break his heart.”
“He’d have to love me for that to be an issue.”
Matt snorts. “You’re clueless, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Apparently,” I say.
Matt wraps my head in his arm and squeezes me against him, rubbing my head playfully with his knuckles. He stops and sniffs me. “You smell good,” he says. He laughs. “We don’t have much around here that smells good.”
“Thank you,” I grumble.
He pops me on the rear and points me toward Logan’s room. “Go talk to him,” he says.
I yelp and look back at him over my shoulder. I can’t believe he just did that.
“That was a ‘get your ass in the game’ smack. Not an ‘I want to see you naked’ smack,” he warns. I didn’t doubt what he meant.
“I don’t mess with Logan’s women,” he says. He told me that the first night.
“It’s a brother thing,” we both say at the same time.
Matt grins. “Exactly,” he says.
When I walk into Logan’s room, he’s lying back on the bed with his arm laid over his eyes. He doesn’t look up when I walk in, so I touch his knee. He uncovers his eyes and lifts his head, looking up at me. His blue eyes blink for a moment, and then he sits up. He tangles his fingers with mine and pulls me closer to him. “Don’t sleep on the couch,” he says.
“Matt says we should wake Paul up and let him sleep on the couch.”
Logan’s eyes get wider, and he smiles. “I like that idea. But I would rather sleep with you any day.”
“You could have fooled me,” I spit out.
“What?” he asks. Could he not see my lips? Or did he not understand what I said?
“I was standing stark naked in front of you, Logan. And you didn’t have any interest in me.” I hold up a hand to stop him when he opens his mouth. “I get it. You don’t have feelings like that for me. It’s all right.”
Suddenly, Logan jerks my hand, rolling me gently onto the bed. His body covers mine, and his face is a breath away from me. “You think I don’t like you that way?” he asks. He’s looking into my face as though he’ll find something he’s missing there.
“You laughed at me.”
“I laughed because the one girl I do want to fuck is naked in my room and I can’t have her!” he growls. “It’s like divine intervention.”
He wiggles a knee between my knees and kicks my legs open wider. He settles there between my thighs and rocks forward so that he presses against my panties. He’s hard. So hard.
“I was naked, and you wouldn’t even look at me,” I say again. I close my eyes.
“I didn’t want to disrespect you,” he says.
He rocks his hips against me again, and this time the length of him notches against my cleft. My breath catches.
“I want you so bad it hurts.” His voice is quiet and harder to understand than it normally is.
“You didn’t even look at me,” I protest.
He sits up on his knees and lifts my leg up by his shoulder. He’s not looking at my body. “You have pink toenail polish, and you have a bit of stubble on your legs.” He grins. “You can use my razor if you want.” His hand slides up my calf, toward my knee, leaving a wake of goose bumps behind. “Your thighs are firm, and you have a generous flare to your hips.” His hand slips to the front of my panties, where he drags his thumb back and forth for a moment. “You have this tiny dusting of hair, here.” His thumb presses against my cleft, and I arch my back to press harder against him. He chuckles. His hands drift up my sides, lifting the shirt. He tugs it up, until it rests just beneath my breasts. He presses a kiss to my belly. My nipples are hard and standing tall. He licks his lips. “Your nipples are pink and puffy and perfect. And your breasts will fit in my hands.” He throws the shirt back down, groaning as he lies back down on top of me, rocking his length against me again. “I saw everything,” he says. “I was just trying to be a gentleman.” He laughs. “You thought I didn’t look.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “Silly woman,” he scolds.
“You looked.” That’s all I can say. And it comes out as a croak. Thank God he can’t hear the quiver in my voice.
“I looked,” he admits. “You were naked. And so fucking beautiful that I could barely breathe. Of course, I looked.”
“You look at a lot of naked women?” I don’t want the answer to that question after it’s out of my mouth.
“Not anymore,” he breathes against my lips. His mouth touches mine, tentatively, and then he retreats. He’s making me crazy. His hips press insistently, pushing him closer and closer to my heat. “I haven’t seen a single naked woman since the day I met you.”
“Do you want to see any naked women?” I ask. My voice is still doing that quivery thing. His hand lies on my throat, almost like he’s listening with his fingertips for the sound of my voice.
He shakes his head, looking directly into my eyes. “Just one.”
I reach down to tug his shirt over my head, but he stops me with a grunt.
“What?” I ask.
He looks into my eyes. “What’s your name?” he asks.
This time it’s me who throws her arm over her eyes. I want to scream. I can’t tell him anything. “I can’t tell you,” I say.
He tugs the shirt back down around my hips. “Then your clothes stay on.” He kisses me, his lips nibbling at mine until I’m breathless. “And so do mine.”
“Your brother said you should fuck me and get it over with.”
He heaves a sigh. “That’s because he thinks I’ll fuck you and not want to see you anymore. But I can assure you, that’s not the case.” He presses against me again, rocking against my cleft, the ridge of his manhood pressing against my clit. “Once I get to be inside you, I’ll never want to give you up.” He kisses the side of my neck, suckling gently as he moves across the front of my throat. His five-o’clock shadow abrades my tender skin, but I don’t want him to stop.
I reach down to cup him through his jeans, and he stills.
“Don’t play with me,” he warns. His voice is strong but quiet. “If you want to be my friend, you can be my friend. We can sleep in the same bed, we can have meals together, and we can spend time doing things we both like.”
I lift his head so that he’s looking at me. “I want to be your friend,” I say.
“I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“What does that mean?” I cry, slapping the bed with my open palms in frustration.
He looks confused. “I’m not sure. But I think it’s the same as being my friend, but I get to make you come.” He rocks against me once again. Then he lifts away. I want to scream.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the blanket off the couch. Unless you want me to sleep out there?” He looks unsure.
I want him inside me. But that’s not going to happen. “Go get the blanket,” I grumble. He chuckles and leaves the room.
My panties are wet. Soaked. I reach into my bag and put on a fresh pair. I’m adjusting them over my hips when he walks back in the room.
“Fresh panties,” I explain. “All your fault,” I taunt.
He groans and flops back on the bed. “Why did you have to tell me that?” he asks. He lies there for a minute with his hands clenched. Then he motions me forward and pulls my head down to lay it on his chest. He takes a deep breath and hugs me to him tightly, then releases me and relaxes. He picks up a book from beside his nightstand and holds it in one hand. He reads quietly to himself.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
He looks down at it and tells me the title.
“Will you read it to me?” I ask.
He lifts his head long enough to look at my face and f
inds that I’m serious. I can learn. And I love books. I just can’t read them. I have an amazing memory.
“Start at the beginning?” I look up at him with a smile.
He turns to page one and begins to read. I settle against him, wrapping my arms around his chest, snuggling as tightly against him as I can. And he reads. His voice is strong and sure, and he reads long into the night, long after he’s yawning, because I don’t want him to stop. When he finally lays the book to the side, I roll toward him and he turns to face me. He tucks me beneath his chin, and I can hear his heart beating in his chest.
“When you’re ready for what I want,” he says, “let me know.”
I’m ready. I’m ready now. But I’m not ready for the same thing he is. I nod against his chest, and he heaves a sigh. His lips touch the top of my head, soft as a whisper.