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)
Imogen: What options?
Patrick: Me, getting you off, in public.
Fuck.
Chapter Fifteen
IMOGEN
For a few hours, the thrill of potential public sex races through my body. I write experiment notes in my paper journal.
Part one: Casual sex. Excellent but overwhelming.
Part two: slightly less casual sex. Excellent, still overwhelming, but less.
Part three: public sex. Am I out of my fucking mind?
Bit by bit, my lust fades. My normal concerns take over. By the time I park in Patrick's complex, I'm the same confused, heavy version of myself.
I walk along the beach, to take in the beauty of the water, to remember how it felt to sit here thinking this is the last time I'll ever see the ocean.
That was my first thought when I came-to. At least I'll see the ocean again.
Maybe I should celebrate it, the way I did with my tattoo. Yeah, this is a mess, but it's my mess. It's part of me.
But so is my blossoming desire. And why not focus on that for a few hours?
The walk goes quickly. The tattoo shop sneaks up on me. It fits perfectly into the bustling main street. Blue Bottle, only with less java and more ink.
The bell rings as I step inside. Familiar sights and sounds greet me—red and pink string lights, white walls, framed art, the buzz of a tattoo gun mingling with conversation and alt-rock women.
Luna, the teammate who recommended Patrick, is at the counter. She looks different in her street clothes. She looks incredibly cool, actually.
Her light hair is cropped short, and she's rocking a sheer top, a leather skirt, and a perfect shade of red lipstick.
She looks like the kind of girl who knows what she wants, but then I do too.
And I do. In some ways.
I know I want this. A night with Patrick. A night in my body.
Now that I'm here, the other details feel less important. He's taking over again. The intoxication of this arrangement.
"Hey!" Luna waves. "You look hot. I love that dress."
"Thanks." My cheeks flush. "It's weird seeing you in clothes."
"Isn't it?"
I meet her at the counter. "You're not playing Billie Eilish?"
"I know. It was painful. And I still think she's better than Fiona Apple—"
"Not possible," I say.
"But I figured you'd like this." She motions to the speakers. The song is familiar. Feist.
"Patrick didn't veto it?"
"Oh, has he forced you to listen to classic rock yet?" She sticks her tongue out. "And I thought my boyfriend had bad taste."
"Oh?"
"Grunge." She shakes her head. "And not the good part, the riot grrrl part. Nirvana. And Pearl Jam. Like they can be deep with a name that means semen."
Yuck.
"Oh… what are you doing this weekend?" she asks.
"Studying."
"Summer school?"
I nod.
"If you want a break—" She looks to Patrick. "I'm having a welcome home party for Oliver and Holden. And I could really use some support on the music."
"What are we talking?"
"Mostly Hole and Garbage. He's not exactly adventurous. But, hey, it sounds like grunge and my adoring audience wants it."
"So Regina Spektor is out of the question?"
"Ah, that's your type?"
"My type?"
"The confessional female artists with a unique style."
"It's not the only thing I like."
"Olivia Rodrigo?"
"She's no Fiona Apple, but I appreciate the attempt."
"Hole?" she asks.
"Of course."
"Michelle Branch?" she asks.
"You're going way back."
"Oh yeah. That's where the good stuff is, when pop-rock was still trying to assert itself."
"Are there any pop-rock artists getting radio play?"
"Only on the 'rock' stations!" She shakes her head ridiculous. "I wish you controlled our music. I have to be 'fair' and 'take requests.' But it's just… not good. Chase and Forest love pop-punk from the early two thousands. Dare loves The Beach Boys for some reason. And Tricky only wants the most boring, basic classic rock."
Tricky. His friends call him Tricky. That's adorable. "That bad?"
"Yeah, it's like listening to K-Earth all day."
"So do you play Happy Together?"
"I should," she says. "It would be better than the Rolling Stones and The Eagles. I got the point of those songs ten years ago."
"Really? When you were, what, nine?"
"Ten," she says. "Maybe you can teach him some taste. He has expanded a bit in the last year. But we do keep it pretty bland here. Nothing that will scare a client."
"Do you have something in mind?"
"Maybe." She looks to Patrick as he stands. "At the very least, you could get him to request Celebrity Skin. Or some songs from the nineties and eighties that are actually good."
"You talking about me?" Patrick moves closer.
"The world doesn't revolve around you," Luna says.
"Maybe we should ask a physicist to double-check that."
She blows him a kiss. "I probably shouldn't flirt in front of you, huh? Bad habit. It drives my boyfriend crazy. He gets all protective and…"
"Would that work with Patrick?" I ask.
"Is that what you like?" She bites her lip. "Sorry. I forget normal manners with these guys. They're like teenage girls. No, they're way worse than teenage girls."