Newspaper articles – the basics 4 страница

“You did beautiful work.” I bat my guitar case against my shins, not sure what else to say. It really was remarkable how lifelike they looked. The shading and the colors and the way they fit the size of her new breasts – it was all perfect.

“She needed them.” He shrugs. He’s so humble.

She bounces back behind the curtain, looking so pleased. She tugs her shirt over her head and takes money out of her purse. “I don’t have much,” she starts.

He presses it back into her purse, shaking his head.

“He won’t take it,” I say.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Who are you?”

“No one.”

She nods. She kisses Logan on the cheek, waves at me and leaves.

He starts to clean up his supplies. He looks over at me out of the corner of his eye and says, “Why are you here?”

I open my mouth, but can’t think of the right thing to say. I close it again. He stops and leans his hip against the table, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Can I buy you dinner?” I blurt out. I have no idea where that came from. But there it is.

He smiles. “Yes.”

“What do you want to eat?” I ask as we leave the shop. Kit asked Paul to join us, but I think he saw the pleading in my eyes when I looked in his direction. I need some time alone with her. I need to take her on a date. Technically, she asked me out, but I’d never let her buy dinner for me. Ever.

“I don’t care,” she says with a shrug.

I realize I have no idea what she likes. “Italian?” I point to an Italian restaurant on the corner by my apartment.

She nods, smiling at me.

“I didn’t think you were going to come back.” I hold the door open for her, and she walks into the dark restaurant ahead of me. The waitress leads us to a corner booth and she slides in across from me.

“I shouldn’t have.” She puts her guitar under the table, banging me in the shin with it in the process. “I’m sorry,” she says, wincing. She’s suddenly uncomfortable with me.

Is she sorry for knocking me in the shin or for leaving me this morning? “What did you do today?” I ask.

She makes a face and points toward her outfit. “Playing in the subway.”

“How did it go?”

She shrugs. “It was cold. My butt is still freezing,” she admits. I get an immediate and strong image of me helping to warm up her ass. I saw that perfect globe that is her ass cheek this very morning. “What?” she asks.

My thoughts must have played out on my face. “Nothing,” I say. But a grin tugs at the corners of my lips.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, her head tilting to the side.

I shake my head. “My mind was in the gutter if you must know,” I admit. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Please go ahead.” I motion for her to keep talking using my hands.

“You were thinking about my butt,” she says. And now she’s grinning too.

Heat creeps up my cheeks. She’s so damn pretty.

The waitress comes to the table with menus, and lays one in front of each of us. “Welcome,” she says. “Do you want to know our specials?” She blinks at me, trying to catch my eyes. I make it a point not to look at her.

Kit nods in answer to her question. She rattles off some menu items and their prices, and I see Kit reach into her pocket and count her money beneath the table. There’s no fucking way I’m letting her buy dinner.

“What can I get for you to drink?”

Kit arches a brow at me and I motion from her to me and back so she’ll get me what she’s having. “Root beer?” she asks.

I nod. The waitress leaves us with the two menus. I open mine and she doesn’t. “Do you know what you want?” I ask.

“What are you having?” She smiles at me.

I open the other menu in front of her and point to the word at the top. “What do you see when you look at that?”

She scrunches up her nose. “I see someone who thinks he can teach me to read.” She closes the menu. “Believe me, better people than you have tried.”

“Who tried?” I ask.

She takes a sip of her root beer through a straw, her lips pursing around it. “A better question would be who didn’t try. I have been poked and prodded and put through special ed and been to therapists who thought they could unlock my brain. No one could.”

She doesn’t look upset by this. She just looks resigned to it. I open the menu back up, just because I’m curious. I point to the word at the top of the page again. “What does that say?” I ask.

She looks down at it and closes it. “I know words,” she says. She looks like she really wants to explain it to me, and I really want to hear it. “I can spell words. And I know what they mean. It’s just the way they lay on the page that’s hard for me.” She shrugs. “I don’t expect you to understand.” She’s looking everywhere but at me now, and I wish I hadn’t pushed it.

“So, you know the words, and how to spell them in your head?” That baffles me.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” She laughs, but there’s no smile on her face. “Dyslexia’s a bitch.”

The waitress reappears with a basket full of bread and places it in the center of the table. Kit reaches for a piece and I wonder if she ate today.

“Did you decide what you want?” the waitress asks. I point to the chicken parmigiana. She nods and looks at me funny. She’s catching on that something isn’t right. But apparently, she still finds me intriguing.

“What’s good?” Kit asks her. She did this same thing at the diner. It must be how she copes.

“The chicken parmigiana is amazing,” she says, smiling down at me. Kit’s not impressed. “But the alfredo is my favorite.”

I raise my brows at her in encouragement. She laughs. “Ok, but if I don’t like it, I’m taking your chicken,” she warns. I nod. “I’ll take the alfredo,” she says to the waitress.

Kit lifts a piece of bread to her lips and takes a bite. A crumb sticks to her lip and I want to reach over and catch it, and bring it to my lips. But I don’t dare. I have her at dinner with me. If I push her too hard, she’s going to run away.

“Did you eat today?” I blurt out.

Her face flushes and she nods. She’s lying. I’m sure of it.

I push the bread basket toward her and say, “Eat.” She takes another piece.

She chews silently for a minute and then she looks at me. Her face is soft when she says, “What you did for that woman in the shop, with the tattoos…” I nod when she stops. She’s referring to the nipple tats. “That was amazing and beautiful. Where did you learn to do that?”

I shrug. I don’t remember learning it. I just knew I could draw it. And if I can draw it, I can run a tat of it. “I think she was pleased.”

“Are you kidding?” She slaps the table. “She was ecstatic. And they really were beautiful. Like art. Can I see your tattoos?” she asks hesitantly.

I’m wearing my coat, so I have to shrug out of it to show her. I want to show her my art. I drew most of them, and my brothers put them on me. But I take my coat off and lay my hands face down on the table. She leans over, looking closely. I have full sleeves, which means I have tats from my neck all the way to my wrists.

She touches the lips on my forearm with a light finger. The hair on my arms stands up, but I pretend I don’t notice. “Why did you get this one?” she asks.

I smile. “That one goes with this one.” I point to my other arm. “It’s something my mother used to say.”

Her forehead crinkles as she looks at the cross on my other arm.

“From your lips to God’s ears,” I explain. “In my case, I have a lot of distance between my lips and God’s ears. That’s why they’re on different arms.”

“Do you see your mother often?” she asks. She’s still eating bread, and that’s good. I want to keep talking to her so she’ll keep eating. I know she hasn’t eaten today.

I shake my head. “She died a few years ago.”

“Oh.” Her mouth stops moving, and she swallows hard. “I’m so sorry.”

I shrug. It was a freak accident.

“And your dad?” she asks.

“He left after Mom died,” I explain. This part is always difficult. “There were just too many of us, I think.” I laugh. But it’s not funny.

“So, it’s just you and your brothers?” she asks.

I nod. “Paul took responsibility for everyone when our dad left. He had to so we wouldn’t all be split up.”

“Wow.” That’s all she says. Just wow. She looks baffled.

“We make do,” I explain. I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. “How about you? Where’s your family?” I wait, like a kid in a candy store.

But she shakes her head. “No,” she says.

“That’s not fair,” I say.

She holds up a finger, just like I do to her all the time. “I know it’s not fair,” she says. “But it’s better if you don’t know.”

“Better for who?” I ask. I’m a bit irked that she’s keeping secrets. She has a right to them. But I don’t have to like it.

“My situation is difficult,” she begins. “And I can’t explain it to you.”

She looks back down at my tats. Her eyes play across them. There are too many to count. But I need to show her the one that’s hers. “I want to show you something,” I say. “But I’m afraid you’re going to be angry at me.”

She’s suddenly on guard. “Why? What is it?”

I turn my wrist over and point to her tattoo on my inner wrist. It’s a bare spot I’d been saving for something special. She leans toward it and all of her breath rushes from her body. I can feel it across my hand when she exhales. “That’s my tat,” she says.

She takes my hand in hers and lifts it toward her face. “Are you angry?” I ask.

She looks up at me briefly and then back down at the tattoo. She’s taking in every facet of it. Her hand trembles as she holds tightly to mine. “You changed it.”

“I felt like you needed a way out.”

I put it on my wrist because I was intrigued by the secrets inside. It’s art. And I appreciate art in all its forms.

She swallows. Hard. Then her eyes start to fill with tears. She blinks them back for as long as she can. And then she gets up and runs toward the bathroom.

Shit. Now I fucked up. I made her cry. She runs by the waitress, who startles. The waitress starts in my direction, a sway in her hips. I get up and follow Kit. I stop outside the door to the ladies’ room and press my hand against it. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. She’s in there crying and I can’t hear her through the door to be sure she’s all right. Fuck it. I’m not leaving her in there upset. I push through the door and I don’t see any feet in the stalls when I bend over.

Where the fuck did she go? I push doors open, but the last one is locked. I stand up on my tiptoes and look over the top. She’s standing there with her forearms pressed against the wall, her head down between her arms, and her back is shaking. She’s crying.

I knock on the stall door and say, “Let me in, Kit.” She doesn’t say anything. I wouldn’t be able to hear her if she did. I step back onto my tiptoes and look over. She’s still crying. “Let me in,” I repeat. She doesn’t move, so I walk into the stall next to hers and stand up on the toilet. I rock the partition between the stalls gently. It might hold my weight. There’s only one way to find out. I hoist myself up and over the wall, bringing my legs over the top slowly and carefully, and then I hop down.

Before I can reach for her, she’s in my arms, her arms sliding around my neck. She’s still sobbing, and her body shakes against mine. I tilt her face up to mine because I can’t see her lips to tell if she’s saying anything to me or not. I need to apologize. I didn’t expect her to get so upset. I’ll have it covered up with something else if it bothers her this much.

My heart twists inside my chest. I really fucked up. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, looking down into her face. Her face is soaked with tears and she freezes, looking up at me. I can feel her like a heartbeat in my chest. She steps on the toes of my boots, and then rocks onto her tiptoes. She pulls my head down with a hand at the back of my neck.

Her brown eyes are smoldering, and black shit is running down her cheeks, but I don’t care. She’s never looked more beautiful to me. I hold her face in my hands and wipe beneath her eyes with my thumbs. Her breath tickles my lips and she leans over even closer. She’s standing on my fucking boots, and I don’t care. She can do whatever it takes to get her closer to me.

“Why did you do it?” she asks, moving back enough that I can see her lips.

I already told her. I thought she needed a way out. All I added to the tattoo was a keyhole right in the center of the guitar. It’s a simple design really. “I don’t know,” I say. I want to explain it to her, but I can’t. Not right now. Her breath is blowing across my lips and she smells like yeast from the bread and root beer. And I’ve never wanted to kiss a girl so much in my life. But she was fucking crying. I can’t take advantage of her.

She pulls my head toward hers and she kisses the corner of my mouth. Then she kisses the other corner. I can’t take much more. I chase her lips with every move she makes. She’s smiling when she finally presses her lips to mine. I can feel it against my mouth. I keep my eyes open, because I need to see her face. I’m holding her in my hands, and I slide my fingers into the hair at her temples.

I want so fucking bad to kiss her softly. I want to treat her like the treasure she is. But I can’t. She smells so good and she feels so good and she’s in my arms and I don’t know if I can stop. Then she draws my lower lip between hers and sucks it gently. Her eyes are closed, and she’s making love to my mouth. I’m afraid if I close my eyes, that I’ll realize this was all a dream when I open them back up.

I tilt my head and press my lips harder against hers. She’s soft and warm in my arms, and she’s pressed against me from head to toe. Kit starts to tug my shirt from my jeans and I raise my elbows to help her. Her hands touch my waist, and I freeze. I hoist her in my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist, holding her up with my hands palming her ass. I press her against the wall and she laughs against my lips. I can feel the sound of it through her throat, like a gentle hum.

Her hands skim up my chest between us, but I’m still making love to her mouth. Her tongue slides against mine and I press inside the cavern of her mouth. This is the first time my body will enter hers, and I want to take it slow. I want to enjoy every second of it, but she’s not having that. She’s hot in my arms, and wiggling to get closer to me. Her hands stop as she skims up my chest, and she withdraws her lips from mine. I take a moment to try to catch my breath, because I feel like I just ran a five mile sprint. I even have the stitch in my side to prove it. She lifts my shirt up, and touches my piercings with her fingertips.

My breath leaves me. She’s curious and I love that she’s taking the time to look at me. She’s intent upon her task and she explores my nipples, looking down, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth. I pull it free with my thumb, just like I have so many times before. Only this time, I lean forward and draw it into my mouth, nipping it gently. She rolls my piercings between her fingertips, and she’s going make me disgrace myself if she doesn’t stop. I pull back and bury my head in her shoulder, breathing harder than I ever have. This woman has completely undone me.

A hard wrap on the bathroom stall startles me, because I can feel the heavy shake of the metal partition. Kit looks up and says, “Just a moment.”

I’m breathing so fucking hard that I can’t catch my breath. But I put her down when she unwraps her legs from around me. She opens the stall door and steps out, wiping her still-wet face. The guy who banged on the door startles when he sees how wrecked she is. She was crying really hard there for a minute. I close the door and let her talk to him, because I need a minute to compose myself. I reach into my pants and adjust my junk. I have to cover it up with my shirt, because my dick is reaching up past the button on my jeans. Shit.

She felt so fucking good in my arms. I lean back against the wall and try to take some calming breaths. But there’s not much that can calm me at this point. The only thing that would make this better is if she came back in here and we finished what we started.

I open the door and look out. The man is gone, and she’s standing at the sink washing her face. She looks up at me, a soft smile on her lips as she sees me in the mirror. I walk up behind her and put my arms around her, resting my chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you cry,” I say.

She shakes her head and talks to me in the mirror. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before,” she says. Her eyes fill up with tears again, and I’m sorry that I came out of the stall. I’ll go back in there if she’ll stop crying. But I’m not leaving her. I can see that now. I’m not leaving her, no matter what.

“The lock?” I ask. She’s leaning back against me, and she wraps her arms over mine.

She nods. She wipes her eyes with a paper towel, swiping the black makeup from under her eyes. Her face is splotchy, but she’s never looked more beautiful. For that one split second, she isn’t hiding anything from me.

“The minute I saw the tattoo, I knew it needed to be changed. I’m sorry if I defiled your art.” She could take exception to my change. But I have a feeling she doesn’t.

“It’s perfect,” she says. She lifts my arm from around her waist, and looks down at it. “It’s perfect,” she repeats, sniffling. “I don’t know how to tell you what I’m feeling.”

I’m the one with the hearing impairment and she can’t tell me something? I laugh and lift her hair from her neck, and press my lips there. “You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her.

She turns around and cups my face in her palm, her hand stroking across my five o’clock shadow.

I take her hands in mine and lift them to my lips, kissing them one by one. Then I look into her eyes and open my mouth to ask her the one question I need to know the answer to. “What’s your name?” I ask.

She freezes. It’s like there’s suddenly a wall between us and I haven’t even let her go. “No,” she says.

I feel like she’s kicked me in the gut. I let her go and take a step back. “Why not?” I ask.

“I just can’t,” she says.

I nod and let myself out of the bathroom. My legs are shaking. The waitress shoots me a glance as I walk back to the table. I sit down. Kit’s still in the bathroom and I can’t help but wonder if she’s ever going to come out. Her guitar is still under the table. So, she has to come back, right?

I lean heavily on my palms, putting all my weight on the bathroom countertop. My pulse is pounding so loudly that I can hear it in my ears, and drawing in a deep breath is burning my lungs like someone has set a fire inside them. Perhaps that’s what he did. Or maybe he’d just shaken the pieces of me loose and now my body had to work to put me back together.

Either way, I feel like someone has torn me into two pieces. There’s the one piece of me that wants to give Logan everything he wants. It’s the piece that so very desperately wants to bare my soul to him, to tell him all of my problems. He would take them inside himself and then breathe them back out, and all my problems would vanish like in The Green Mile. I know he would. But my problems are too big for him. They’d eat him alive. And I can’t let that happen. Because there’s the other piece of me that knows I need to run like hell. I need to leave him before I hurt him.

I touch the tips of my fingers to my lips. They’re red and swollen from his kisses. I’ve never been kissed like that before. I’ve never had a man make love to my mouth. I’ve never had a man try to work his way inside my body, kissing deep inside me, while touching nothing but my mouth. But that’s what Logan did.

I need to go out there and collect my guitar, and then go. That would be the fair thing to do. But he put the tattoo on his wrist. He marked himself with my brand, and he changed it. Tears flood my eyes again, and I blink them back, using a wet paper towel to wipe the eyeliner smudge from beneath them. I look like a raccoon.

I heave a sigh. It’s no wonder the manager looked at me like I deserved all the sympathy in the world. I told him someone important had died. That’s why I looked like this. But in reality, I’m the one who died. When I left home, I died. I like the peaceful existence I’ve been creating here. I know what to expect. And I expect to face life alone. Now Logan is ruining my almost perfect existence.

I haven’t felt hope in a really long time. But I am hopeful. And that isn’t a good thing.

I push off the countertop and fluff my hair. His hands have been all over it, and it looks like I’d been tumbled in a drier. Laughter falls from my lips, completely unbidden.

I go back to the table, and he’s there. He’s eating a piece of bread, and looking up at me, quiet like he normally is. I slide into the booth across from him and settle against the seat back.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

I nod. “I’m fine.” I close my eyes tightly, trying to find the right words to explain it.

He takes my chin in his grip and I open my eyes to look at him.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says.

I shake my head. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t force them past my teeth. “I want to talk to you,” I start. But then I wince and bite the inside of my cheek.

The waitress comes with two warm dishes, and puts them in front of us. She refills our root beers and leaves.

Logan looks down at his food and smiles. He takes a bite of his chicken, and he’s happy. He points to mine with his fork. I don’t want to eat right now. I want to hash all this out.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he says as I fill my mouth up with alfredo. “I was afraid you’d run.”

I was afraid of that, too. And I probably still will. I circle my fork in a pile of noodles and hold it out to him. “Do you want to try mine?” I ask.

His blue eyes get all smoldery there for a minute. Then he grins and leans forward. He leans his head back after his mouth is full and chews thoughtfully. “Yours is better than mine,” he says.

I take my fork and dip it into his plate, and he grins and shakes his head. It doesn’t stop me. I chew thoughtfully on a piece of his chicken. “Mine’s better than yours,” I agree.

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 nipples.” 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 nipples go hard just thinking about it. “Did your nipples 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.”

Дата добавления: 2014-12-24