Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
He leads me all the way to his car and just when I'm sure he's going to drive to his friend's party without a word, he pushes me against the passenger side door.
He unzips my jeans, slides them to my hips, slips his hand between my legs.
He winds me tighter and tighter.
I come fast.
I'm too revved up already.
I buck against him as I come. Pleasure spills through my pelvis. It's almost too much. It hurts.
But the release—
Fuck.
I collapse against the car.
He catches me and rights my clothes. "Hey." He looks at me with pride in his green eyes. Pride and affection. "You good?"
"What?"
He smiles. "I thought so."
"Can we go back to your place?"
"If you ask really nicely."
"That wasn't nice enough?" I ask.
"No magic word."
"Avocado?"
"That is it. But you have to say it after the request." He cups my cheek with his palm, runs his thumb over my temple. "It would be more fun to go to the party. Make you wait until after."
"The party?"
He chuckles. "Luna's party. For her boyfriend."
"Who?"
"Maybe I need to take you home. Put you to bed?"
I nod.
"Well, you know how to request it…" He opens the car door for me and helps me into the passenger seat.
I gather my bag, secure my seat belt, settle into my surroundings.
The low hum of the electric engine. The mumble of music. A new pop artist Luna recommended.
She's not bad, actually.
Not Fiona Apple, but not bad.
And we're moving.
Right.
I let the music and the surroundings wash over me. For a few songs, we sit in comfortable non-conversation.
Bit by bit, blood returns to my brain.
I still want to drag Patrick to my bed and fuck him bareback. But I can wait. In theory.
We breeze down the ten.
Patrick raises a brow as we near my exit.
I shake my head. "If you can make it, I can."
"Baby, you have no idea how long I can wait."
"I have some idea."
He laughs. "Maybe. I can go easy on you. Talk about something else."
"Us? Talking about something besides sex? I'm not sure about that."
"It's a wild theory, yeah."
"I like the music," I say. "It was a good suggestion."
"Thank Luna."
"I will. But I wanted to thank you too." It's sweet, him trying to find music I'll like, listening to music I like. I'm not sure a guy has ever done that for me before. "I appreciate it."
"My pleasure."
"Do you like it too?"
"At first, I thought it was a little slow," he says. "But once I surrendered to that, I loved it."
"It is mellow."
"But in a thoughtful way. I feel like I'm staying up late, talking to a friend. Or even reading the singer's journal."
Huh.
"She's honest in a brave way, but she doesn't underline it."
"That's specific."
"I know."
"But kinda dead-on. Did you come up with that?"
"Am I not clever enough?"
No. It's just… something. I'm not sure. I don't think there's enough blood in my brain yet. "Have you ever read someone's journal?"
"Have you?"
Kind of. "Not really."
"I stole my sister's when I was younger," he says. "I didn't get any of it. It was too grown-up."
"What did she say?"
"She was pissed, but she didn't tell our parents."
"I'd never tattle on my kid sister," I say.
"That's what I thought at the time, that she'd never narc. And that's probably true. But I think it was more, too. She didn't want our parents to know she kept a journal. She didn't want to give them the opening. Now that I look back, there was stuff in there, normal teen girl stuff—"
"You're an expert?"
"From what I hear," he says. "Crushes, kisses, hating her body or wondering if she wasn't good enough."
That is normal teen girl stuff. Why do we accept our own self-loathing so easily? It's terrible.
"I thought she didn't want Mom and Dad to know about the kissing, but now… I'm not sure."
She didn't want them to know about everything stirring inside her. "You rebelled by becoming a tattoo artist? At least your sister worried about that."
"Molly, yeah."
"It wasn't Molly's journal?"
"No. Deidre's. She was closer to my age. Molly is the oldest. And she's the high achiever, but she's rebellious in her own way."
"As a lawyer?"
"She studied philosophy."
That is a common plan for philosophy majors. "Deidre?"
"She was the good girl, for sure. Straight As, college scholarship, volunteer sessions at my parents' church."
"They're religious?"
"Catholic, yeah."
"Oh."
"Oh?" he asks.
"I don't know. It sounds right."
"The Catholic guilt?" he asks.
"Not exactly." Not guilt as much as rebellion. "Strict parents with rules. Mine were the same. My sister had issues, but she always fell in line. Whereas I… I guess I fall in line, in the end." Sorta. "But I fight it more."
"You don't seem like someone who falls in line."
"Maybe not anymore." Sorta. "I had this moment where I realized it was my life and I could only live it for myself."
"Good realization."
"I think so," I say.
"Is that what your tattoo was about?"