Shameless(71)

She pushes me. “You would not.”

I laugh. “You’re right, sunshine. I’d draw something beautiful for you.”

Her lips meet mine as she pushes her hand into my hair. Her mouth is soft. Sweet. It makes my chest ache.

“Okay,” she says and rolls over onto her stomach. “I want something across my shoulders.”

Glancing down at the pen, I realize I can’t use it. “Shit. This one’s a Sharpie.” Not sure she wants me to use a permanent marker. This stuff will wash off in a week or two, but still.

She shrugs. “Go ahead. If you screw up, at least I won’t have to stare at it all day.”

I smack her bare ass. “The f*ck I’ll screw up.” Her laughter makes me smile as I uncap the pen and start marking her smooth skin. “I’ll tell you, though, my MFA in painting never taught me how concentrate when I’m doing this to a beautiful, naked woman in her bed.”

“Oh, you sweet talker. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you have an MFA. That’s incredible,” she murmurs into her pillow. “Where’d you go to school?”

“Boston University for my undergrad and grad school.”

“That sounds amazing. And expensive.”

“Trust me when I say you don’t want to see my school loans.”

Ignoring the tight coil of anxiety that always flares when I think about my finances, I try to concentrate on Kat. On the way she’s smiling even though she’s drowsy. On the way her hair is a wild mess but so incredibly beautiful. On her gentle sigh when I caress her skin.

When I’m done, she’s asleep, her soft breaths deep and even.

I kiss her shoulder. “You can see it in the morning, sweetheart.”

I love the idea that she let me mark her. Reaching behind me, I touch the scratches on my back and chuckle. I guess we’re even.





46





Katherine





I lean against the formica counter as Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve plays in the background chaos of the diner.

My mom has always loved this song. One day I looked it up online and read that the Verve used a sample, that famous string intro, from a Rolling Stones song, and had to cough up all of their royalties to the Stones after it became a hit. So they had a huge international hit and became a household name, but they could never make any money from the song that got them there.

Yes, bittersweet indeed.

Sort of how I’m feeling this morning. Because beneath the artwork Brady sketched on my skin and the night we spent tangled together whispering dirty things to one another, I’m still lanced by how he shut me down. I was right. He doesn’t want to hear what happened with my ex-boyfriend. Which means my crazy hope that he’d fall in love with me is just that. Crazy.

My mother always says that when you love someone, you want to know everything about the other person, the good, the bad, and the ugly. So if I was looking for an answer for where Brady and I are headed, I have it now.

I guess I’d hoped that after all these weeks, things would be different.

Worse, though? I’m sick over the fact that I basically begged him to f*ck me without a condom. Who does that? Especially after what happened with Eric.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sinvergüenza. My cheeks burn at the thought.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down. I’m not the same girl I was last spring.

A small ball of panic coils in my stomach. I think back to how I’ve taken those pills religiously in the months since that fiasco.

No, I’m good. There will be no little Brady Shepherds rolling around nine months from now.

My throat tightens.

In the moment, I just wanted to show Brady that I loved him. Because I had never gone without a condom before, and I wanted that connection with him.

I shake my head and try to focus on the positive, to focus on everything that happened after that ill-advised conversation last night.

Touching my lips that are still slightly swollen, I finally let myself smile as I think about all the ways he touched me in the tub. How he couldn’t seem to get enough of me once we’d gone bare. And finally, the beautiful images still branding my shoulders.

I want to cling to that. Cling to the hope that what happened after that conversation means more. That it means enough.

Besides, how many guys really want to hear about ex-boyfriends? And anyway, I’m the one who hesitated. I’m the one who suggested that it might not be a good idea to talk about it.

A small semblance of calm washes over me. I fill my lungs with another deep breath.

Everything will be okay. Stop reading into this.

Enjoy the now, I remind myself. If I subtract that conversation, last night was perfect. The way he talked to me and loved my body. How he moved over me and in me. How he filled me so completely, I wanted to cry from the pleasure of it all.

Squeezing my thighs together, I relish the soreness that runs through all of my limbs.

Images of him sliding into me flicker in my mind, and I feel my cheeks flush. I smile, I can’t help it, and I let myself relish those moments.

“Someone got laid last night,” my co-worker Darla drawls as she struts by me with a tray full of food.

My smile falters.

Carol nudges me as she reaches for the coffee. “Ignore her. She got her panties in a twist because someone didn’t tip her.” Her knowing eyes pass over me. “It’s okay to be happy, Katherine. And if it involves doing the horizontal mambo with that handsome biker boy you’ve been living with, even better.”