Ink My Heart lj-2

by Jean Haus

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, realizing how she’s construing my question. “I wasn’t trying to be rude. It’s probably—no, definitely none of my business,” I mumble, wondering how I’m going to dig myself out this time.

  The barbells in her eyebrow drop. “Sometimes condoms don’t work.”

  A twinge of horror runs through my body and I blurt, “Don’t tell me that.”

  “But it had more to do with alcohol and other substances that lead to not being careful.”

  Still scared shitless at the thought of a condom not working—I mean, I’ve heard about that but never known anyone to have a kid because of it—it takes me a few seconds to understand what she’s saying. I give her an astonished look. “You?”

  “Prior to being pregnant, way too much.” She shrugs. “After I got pregnant, never.”

  “I’m having a hard time imagining you as a wild partier.”

  “I wasn’t until I started dating Trevor. And really, only when I was with him. Trevor ruled my world from the moment he noticed me in art class at the end of freshman year. It didn’t help that he was a junior.”

  Trevor is the last person I want to talk about. He’s the one big if between us. I try to change the topic in a subtle way. “Was it tough being pregnant and going to high school?”

  “At first no. I was kind of in my own little bubble trying to figure out the changes happening to my body and life.” She stops cutting a piece of chicken, and sets her knife on the edge of the plate. “But when I started showing, people did act a little weird, even some of the teachers, and that made me feel weird too. My life changed faster than I could mentally keep up. Trevor had already graduated, so my social life at high school was almost nonexistent except for my art friends. Then he broke up with me and got back together with Jazz.”

  I frown. I’d imagined they dated, had Ben, graduated, then married.

  She picks up the knife again and absently taps at the edge of her plate. “The pity came at me in waves from people I didn’t even know. I started hating school. All those pitying looks reminded me of my heartbreak.”

  Taking in her sad tone, I admit, “I would’ve quit.”

  “After I had Ben in the summer, I went back senior year for about a month. But it was stupid for me to spend seven hours sitting around with high school kids while my baby was in daycare. I decided to take the GED and go to community college for a couple of classes.”

  “And then marry the dick who left you,” I say, unable to stop myself.

  She reaches for her glass of wine but stares at her plate. “I should have learned the first time, huh?”

  I do not want to talk anymore about fucking Trevor, who is obviously a major fuckhead, and the idea of his having power over her makes me set down my fork. “Allie, you’re beautiful and sexy.” Her grip tightens around the stem of her glass. “But everything else about you is amazing too. Your direct personality, your talent, the way you handle your business, your commitment to your son—I’m attracted to it all. The idea Trevor would leave you is mind-boggling.”

  Eyes wide, she lifts her glass with a trembling hand. “Um, wow, I’m a bit taken aback but thank you.” She takes a sip of wine and clears her throat. “What about you? What was high school like for you?”

  Since she appears a bit shaken by my revelation, I lightly say, “It was all right. I played football and ran track. Partied a lot. Got semishitty grades. The ACT saved my ass for college.”

  “I imagine you were popular.”

  Her tone is light, but I’m guessing that coming from her little art circle the popular thing bugs her. I shrug. “In some ways, but I never had real friends like you. More like a circle I partied with.”

  Watching me, sadness crosses her face.

  Feeling like I opened up too much, I absently twirl more noodles on my fork. “So tell me about Ben.”

  Her face lights up. “He’s in kindergarten this year. He’s read over thirty books so far. Granted, they’re like ten pages long, but he’s really smart. He loves science and anything to do with building. He was building complicated Legos structures by the time he was three.”

  I don’t catch everything she says about Ben. It’s hard to pay attention to her words when her face is so animated and open. She’s never been like this with me. We keep eating and I keep asking about Ben and she keeps talking, all the way through dessert, a rich, chocolate cake she made from scratch. She smiles, she laughs, and her eyes are a warm gray while she talks. I’m enjoying listening to her, which is something I never do. I rarely want to talk with women. There’s usually far more interesting things to do with them. But watching Allie’s glow as she talks about her son has me more than content with the conversation.

  When she clears the dessert plates, I refill our glasses and follow her into the kitchen, where she starts rinsing plates.

  She glances over her shoulder. “I just want to let them soak. I can do the dishes later.”

  I set the flutes down and reach for the towel lying on the counter. “Go ahead and wash them. The least I can do is dry after you cooked such a great dinner.”

  “Ha. You live in the dorms.” She reaches for a scrubber sitting on the back of the sink, and I catch a glimpse of her sunflower tattoo. “Anything not out of a box or fast food wrapper is five stars.”

  “True. I should own stock in frozen burritos. But then I’ve eaten in restaurants across Europe, thus my compliment does carry some weight, and dinner was great, Allie.”

  Smiling slightly, she hands me a dripping washed plate. “Thanks.”

  “Thanks for cooking.”

  “Student exchange?” she asks, scrubbing at a pot.

  It takes me a second to realize she’s referring to my travels. “Vacations,” I say, drying the clean dish. “My parents are quite the globe-trotters.”

  With a sideways glance, she studies me for a long moment while I dry another plate. “What exactly do your parents do?”

  “My father’s a retired surgeon. My mother’s a socialite.” I hold up the clean dishes and give her a questioning look.

  “Set them there.” Her hands in sudsy water, she nods toward the peninsula between the galley kitchen and main room. “I’ll put them away when we’re done.” She turns back toward the sink. “My father works in a car parts factory.”

  The message in her tone is loud and clear. We were raised worlds apart. I dry a pan and set it next to the plates. “Did your father spend time with you as a kid?”

  She gives me an odd glance as she rinses a spatula. “Of course.”

  “Well, mine was too busy. Then too tired. Money isn’t everything.”

  She nods at me. “Very true.” She places the last pan in the rack. “Didn’t they take you to those museums?”

  “My mother shopped. My father relaxed. I wandered.”

  “Oh, wandering alone in huge rooms full of art,” she says, letting the water out of the sink. She doesn’t turn around but says, “That sounds unbelievably lonely. Too lonely for a teenage boy, Justin.”

  At the pity in her voice, I toss the towel on the counter and step behind her. Pity is the last thing I want from her. I wrap my hand in her silky hair and drop the curls over her shoulder, then brace myself against the counter with my other hand. “I didn’t have it too bad. I got to see this, right?” I touch my lips to the sunflower at the base of her neck.

  “Yes,” she whispers as her body trembles.

  Kissing the flowering ink is all I intended to do, but the way her body trembles at the touch of my lips pushes me to move my mouth up to her hairline. “You smell like sunshine,” I murmur, my lips grazing her skin.

  Her entire body quivers. Her fingers clutch the edge of the counter while mine grasp her hip to steady her, or maybe to steady myself. My lips follow her hairline and brush alongside the soft skin of her ear. I take the soft lobe into my mouth. She gasps and turns toward me. That’s all the invitation I need.

  “I bet you taste like it too,” I whisper,
covering her mouth with my own. She tastes like wine and chocolate—reminding me of the night on the roof—and like I said, sunshine. The little sigh she lets out when my tongue slides into her mouth has me pinning her to the counter. She kisses me back, running her tongue along mine slowly then exploring the roof of my mouth, and desire shoots through me like lightning. I pull away for a moment, my fingers digging into her hipbone, but unable to help myself I close in again and start sucking at the corner of her mouth, then lick that sexy ring.

  She gives another little moan and presses her round ass against me. I let out a low chuckle. Fuck. Something has to be released because I’m more wound up than a drummer on coke. After one damn kiss. And we’re still fully clothed. Holding her hips and resting my cheek on the soft skin of her neck, I feel like the thirteen-year-old boy I used to be, all crazy and wound up after nothing more than a make-out session.

  Our heavy breathing fills the kitchen. She still doesn’t move, simply stands there as heat builds between our bodies. We’re motionless as we press into each other, but my hands have a mind of their own as they slide up and cover her breasts. Her breath catches. The sound of it is too sweet. Shit. I need to slow down before I have her skirt up and I’m taking her in the kitchen. I do not want our first time to be in a tiny kitchen against the cupboards. But she’s too damn sensitive as she leans forward, pushing her breasts into my palms, and sighing, “Justin.”

  The way she says my name reverberates to my gut. I can’t help slipping a hand under her tank and bra. My fingers explore and caress her skin. She moans and bends farther over the sink until I almost lose it.

  Oh shit, we’re not going to make it to a bed, I think as my lips glide along her jaw while my other hand drops below the counter between her and the lower cupboards. Desire comes off her in waves as her body shudders. My tongue slides between her open lips as my fingers press between her legs and start to explore. She lets out a deep moan and almost bucks me away. My fingers circle and press. Her hips follow the movement. Then gripping the counter until her knuckles are bone white, she melts and trembles beneath me.

  Amazed at how responsive she is, I slow the kiss, cupping her as she comes down. When she exhales, I brush her ear with my mouth. “Where’s your bedroom?”

  Her eyes pop open. She blinks twice then starts twisting in my embrace. Obviously, that was the wrong question. I release her and step back. She scoots to the far end of the kitchen. “Whoa, that was—that was—”

  “Enjoyable?” I brace myself between the two counters and take a deep breath.

  “Intense.” She swipes her glass off the counter and takes a huge gulp. Her nervous eyes catch mine. “I know I came on strong the night you brought me home, but…” She takes another gulp of wine. “I’ve never been with anyone except Trevor, and obviously”—she blushes—“it’s been a while. I may need time before—before…”

  I’m stupidly ecstatic she’s never been with anyone other than her ex. Though I’m still wound up tighter than a teenager, I say, “Hey, I’m not in any rush. Like a fine wine, I can wait for things to mature between us.”

  She blurts, “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing?”

  “After the way I acted the other night, I thought you might think…Well, especially here alone in my apartment and me being a single mother…” She stares at the wine in her hand.

  I step forward and gently lift her chin. “I’m not going to lie. I was hoping. I’ve wanted you since that first night at your shop.” She’s frozen still as I stroke her skin with a thumb. “But I don’t want you to feel pressured, and I sure as shit don’t want you to have any reservations. I want it to be perfect.” I lean closer until my lips almost touch hers. “It may be as tough as hell for me, but anytime you feel like we’re moving too fast just tell me.” Unable to resist, I give her lip ring another soft kiss. “Okay?”

  She nods slightly but still appears nervous.

  I’ve never wanted a girl’s trust, but I want this girl to trust me. Bad.

  My hand slowly drops from her chin. “It’s a warm night. How about we end it with a walk?”

  She stares at me like I have two heads but finally says, “All right. Let me get a jacket.” She steps around the peninsula and opens a closet in the living room. I drain the rest of my wine in one gulp, then open the door for her. Stepping outside, she glances at me and there’s a slight curve to her lips—and maybe a hint of trust in those granite eyes.

  Chapter 20

  Allie

  With the breeze ruffling his dark curls, Ben rushes up the ladder on the slide for about the fiftieth time, and for about the fiftieth time I yell, “Slow down!”

  He grins at me but at least climbs slower.

  “Kid has a shit grin,” Holly says, sitting next to me on the bench. She tightens the hood around her head. Dressed like a bum in sweats for a Sunday afternoon in the park and dealing with a hangover from hell, she doesn’t want anyone to see her. “Reminds me of—”

  “Don’t say it,” I warn.

  She pulls her hood tighter around her head. “I was going to say you. Not asshole Trevor.”

  “Oh, since when do I have a sh—crap grin?”

  “Used to before you became so freaking serious about everything.” She opens the box between us and takes out a doughnut with thick pink frosting.

  Irritated by her comment, I blurt, “I had a date with Justin last night.”

  The pink pastry pauses inches from her lips. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope. I made him dinner. We went for a walk. We did dishes together.”

  “Oh really?” She lets out a loud snicker. “Did you hold hands too?”

  “Quit. Things did get a little heavy at one point.”

  “What?” She sits back, her lips twisting. “You sat on the couch and sucked face like teenagers?”

  I snatch the doughnut from her hand.

  “Hey!”

  I take a big bite, and through a mouthful of sugar I say, “I actually, embarrassingly, had a lovely orgasm in our kitchen.”

  She pulls back, eyebrows raised. “From sucking face?”

  “Shut up.” I toss the rest of the doughnut at her but she misses catching it by a mile.

  She snatches the pink mess from the ground and picks pieces of grass from the frosting. “Went on a walk, huh?”

  I shrug. “It was nice. We talked about Ben, his music, and my parents. His parents sound like rich jerks, but he isn’t.” Ben rounds the slide again.

  Holly flicks a pebble off the doughnut.

  Frowning at the pink disaster, I say, “Why don’t you get a different one?”

  I get the infamous Holly “duh” look. “Because this one is pink.” She nibbles at the pastry, then says, “He sounds like he’s really into you, Al.”

  My fingers flip open the box. “Yeah, I’m starting to worry about that.” What I don’t say aloud is that I’m worried about how my feelings for him are growing too.

  “Why?”

  I snag a cinnamon twist. “Everyone tells me I need to date. Everyone tells me to get out and have fun. And Justin is fun. But he’s not someone for the future.”

  She sighs dramatically. “Just have fun. Justin’s a big boy. Quit worrying about everyone else and worry about your—no, scratch that. Just have fun. No worries. You’re twenty-two not frigging thirty.” She pops the rest of the pink mess into her mouth.

  “Twenty-two and a mother.” I sigh and toss the twist back into the box. “I don’t know. Guess I’m worried about things turning serious.”

  “News flash.” Holly waves her hand in front of my face. “You’re not getting married. You’re not even in serious territory. You’re having fun.” She leans back. “Geez. I swear sometimes it’s like Trevor sucked all the life out of you.”

  “Well, I’m seeing Justin again on Tuesday. To have fun,” I say, jabbing her with an elbow. “We’re meeting for coffee, okay? I’m not running away like normal.”

 
“Coffee? How romantic,” she says sarcastically.

  “It’s a bit hard to plan whirlwind dates when I have a child to take care of.”

  Holly flicks a wrist. “Go out. I’ll watch the little terror.”

  “Thanks, but between school and work, I don’t feel like I’m home enough.”

  “Oh, Allie, you’re the best mom ever.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “If anyone deserves some fun, it’s you.”

  I squeeze her hand back. “I thought Trevor was fun, Holly, but look where that got me.” I glance at my son climbing the slide steps. “Though I wouldn’t trade Ben for all the pain in the world.”

  “Forget about Trevor. He’s the past. And he’s an asshole.” She forces my hand open and shoves the cinnamon twist into it. “You’re going to start living, dammit.” She stands and hauls a bag of old bread out of her hoodie pocket. “Come on, Ben! Let’s go feed the ducks!”

  Nibbling on the delicious sugary twist, I grab the doughnut box and follow them to the mucky pond across a stone bridge covered in goose crap. We throw bread at the ducks floating in the mud-colored water and are soon surrounded by birds squawking at us for food. Holly starts backing away in terror, which sends Ben and me into a fit of giggles. She throws the bag of bread at us and we finish feeding the ducks, still laughing, while Holly retreats to a bench behind us.

  The walk back to our apartment complex is along a trail that used to be railroad tracks, and it takes about twenty minutes. Ben rides circles around us while Holly whines about the killer ducks. Unfortunately, when we get to the front of our building, Trevor is there, waiting and leaning on Jazz’s car. She’s driven the same stupid Trans Am since high school. Good thing the skank isn’t in sight.

  Of course, Ben yells, “Daddy!” He drops his bike and runs over to Trevor.

  “Hey,” Trevor says, messing Ben’s curls.

  “What’s with the car?” Holly asks.

  He glances at her dismissively. “Mine’s in the shop.” His gaze roams over me. “Thought we could all go out for ice cream.”

  I frown at the car as I imagine how many times he and Jazz have had sex in it. “I’m not getting in that.”