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 crowded 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 one. 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 brows 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, jeeze,” 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 n**ples.” 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, like 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 n**ples go hard just thinking about it. “Did your n**ples 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. And 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 of places.”
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 a brow 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 it’s thumping like crazy.
He leans closer to me, speaking softly. “Lips. Tongue. Fingers.” He licks his lips 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, like the weight of them is hard for him to carry.
“Ok,” 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 closes my mouth. His touch is tender.
“I want to do things to you that you probably couldn’t imagine.” His blue eyes are dark and the centers big and wide.
“I don’t know,” I start. I am imagining all sorts of things right now. And the pulse between my legs 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 receipt. He tears that part off and gives it back to her. He shakes his head, and tilts his at her, and 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 that many women that he can’t tell one from another?
She huffs away. 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 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 side show 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 and steadies me. “You’re back,” Matthew says as he walks to the fridge.