and so I look at the brilliant rainbow of ink along his arms, chest, and back. The stars, small flowers, feathers, symbols, and sanskrit—they could mean nothing; they could mean everything.
I’m attracted to him, but not delusional. He will never look at me the way I look at him … yet, I’m here. So I shrug realizing the answer is me, not him. “I like me with you.”
He stares at my lips; he does that a lot. He’s probably thinking I could use a Botox injection. Fat chance! “Who are you with me?” Turning to face me, he pulls my chair closer to his so my legs go between his.
Sucking in a breath, I grab my toast and take another bite to hide my nerves. He has short, dark chest hair that trails downward, disappearing beneath his jeans. On the left side of his abs there are black sanskrit symbols etched to a bold perfection. I love looking at him.
“I’m out of control.”
He raises a brow as I grin.
“Nobody’s life is in my hands, and I’m not the Senator’s daughter. You’ve seen me without makeup and nearly wetting myself on the back of your bike, yet you still suggested we be friends.”
A soft chuckle escapes him as he rests his hands on my knees. The next part I want to be one hundred percent true, but it’s not—yet. “I don’t have to think about sleeping with you or who you’re sleeping with when it’s not me.”
His hands grip tighter on my knees. My breath catches. I hold it, control it, then release it with ease as he releases me.
Grabbing my juice, I suck it down the way he sucks all control out of me. The clink of my glass hitting the counter breaks the eerie, suffocating silence that hovers like a cloud in this large open space. “Tell me about your family.”
“Grady and Tamsen are my only family.” He pushes my chair back and hops off his stool.
“Tamsen?”
“Grady’s sister.” Trick rinses off our plates.
“What about your parents?” I climb down and hand him the skillet.
“What about them?”
“Jesus, Trick! This is such deadweight conversation. It’s exhausting dragging information out of you.”
He shuts the door to the dishwasher and leans against the counter with his arms folded across his chest, head down. “I think they died.”
I shake my head. “What does that mean?”
He looks up. “You work at a hospital but you don’t know what it means to die?”
“No, you idiot! I don’t understand what it means to not know if your parents are dead or alive.”
“Well, lucky you.” He walks away, grabs a shirt, and slips on his boots before heading toward the elevator. “Come.”
“Where are we going?”
He slides open the gate and steps into the elevator, turning toward me. “I’ll walk you out.”
“You’re kicking me out?” I try to hide the shock in my voice, but I’m sure he can see it in my posture that deflates an inch or two.
“I’m walking you out.”
I look around the room searching for … something. My pride? Some dignity?
Nothing.
Scuffing my boots across the floor, I sulk to the elevator. Trick shuts the gate.
“You don’t have to walk me to my car,” I say in a weak voice as he opens the outer door.
He walks out as if he didn’t hear me, leaving me to catch up.
When we reach the street he stops. I point to my car on the other side, and he continues toward it. After I unlock it, he opens the driver’s door. His mask is back on, not a single twitch, just … stone. I start to get in then stop. Standing straight, I hug him. If it’s even possible, his body stiffens more. His arms stay glued to his sides.
“I’m sorry about your parents … wherever they are.” Releasing him, I slide into my seat and shut the door. Without looking at him, I pull away from the curb, only risking a glance in my rearview mirror when he’s already out of sight. Trick thinks his parents are dead, and maybe they are. Lack of closure can be torture. I wonder if he’s given up on any other possibility just to get that
I’m attracted to him, but not delusional. He will never look at me the way I look at him … yet, I’m here. So I shrug realizing the answer is me, not him. “I like me with you.”
He stares at my lips; he does that a lot. He’s probably thinking I could use a Botox injection. Fat chance! “Who are you with me?” Turning to face me, he pulls my chair closer to his so my legs go between his.
Sucking in a breath, I grab my toast and take another bite to hide my nerves. He has short, dark chest hair that trails downward, disappearing beneath his jeans. On the left side of his abs there are black sanskrit symbols etched to a bold perfection. I love looking at him.
“I’m out of control.”
He raises a brow as I grin.
“Nobody’s life is in my hands, and I’m not the Senator’s daughter. You’ve seen me without makeup and nearly wetting myself on the back of your bike, yet you still suggested we be friends.”
A soft chuckle escapes him as he rests his hands on my knees. The next part I want to be one hundred percent true, but it’s not—yet. “I don’t have to think about sleeping with you or who you’re sleeping with when it’s not me.”
His hands grip tighter on my knees. My breath catches. I hold it, control it, then release it with ease as he releases me.
Grabbing my juice, I suck it down the way he sucks all control out of me. The clink of my glass hitting the counter breaks the eerie, suffocating silence that hovers like a cloud in this large open space. “Tell me about your family.”
“Grady and Tamsen are my only family.” He pushes my chair back and hops off his stool.
“Tamsen?”
“Grady’s sister.” Trick rinses off our plates.
“What about your parents?” I climb down and hand him the skillet.
“What about them?”
“Jesus, Trick! This is such deadweight conversation. It’s exhausting dragging information out of you.”
He shuts the door to the dishwasher and leans against the counter with his arms folded across his chest, head down. “I think they died.”
I shake my head. “What does that mean?”
He looks up. “You work at a hospital but you don’t know what it means to die?”
“No, you idiot! I don’t understand what it means to not know if your parents are dead or alive.”
“Well, lucky you.” He walks away, grabs a shirt, and slips on his boots before heading toward the elevator. “Come.”
“Where are we going?”
He slides open the gate and steps into the elevator, turning toward me. “I’ll walk you out.”
“You’re kicking me out?” I try to hide the shock in my voice, but I’m sure he can see it in my posture that deflates an inch or two.
“I’m walking you out.”
I look around the room searching for … something. My pride? Some dignity?
Nothing.
Scuffing my boots across the floor, I sulk to the elevator. Trick shuts the gate.
“You don’t have to walk me to my car,” I say in a weak voice as he opens the outer door.
He walks out as if he didn’t hear me, leaving me to catch up.
When we reach the street he stops. I point to my car on the other side, and he continues toward it. After I unlock it, he opens the driver’s door. His mask is back on, not a single twitch, just … stone. I start to get in then stop. Standing straight, I hug him. If it’s even possible, his body stiffens more. His arms stay glued to his sides.
“I’m sorry about your parents … wherever they are.” Releasing him, I slide into my seat and shut the door. Without looking at him, I pull away from the curb, only risking a glance in my rearview mirror when he’s already out of sight. Trick thinks his parents are dead, and maybe they are. Lack of closure can be torture. I wonder if he’s given up on any other possibility just to get that
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