Page 17 of Inked Desires
He turns sharply, frowning. He stares at me with challenging eyes.
“I don’t need a new father,” he snaps.
“Good,” I reply coldly.“I have no desire to be one.”
My thoughts are anything but paternal. Besides, I’m not much older than him. How could he assume such a thing?
“Perfect,” he says, returning to the screen.
“Can’t your parents help?” I try another tone.
I don’t want him living among all these junkies.
“They live in a small village in Alaska. My dad’s happy if he can feed his siblings. And I haven’t had contact with them in years.”
His features harden as he stares emptily at the table.
I note this new information with some satisfaction. I wondered where he got that perfect, snow-white skin. His body betrays a chronic, persistent fatigue.
I know the feeling. I’m just surviving too, dragging a weariness that makes me feel years behind on sleep. But I only know insomnia — every night, I stare at my white ceiling, searching for answers to hopeless questions. Deep down, I already know the truth. I’m a coward. I’ve finally admitted it, without needing a psychologist to tell me.
“I have a spare room,” I blurt before I can bite my tongue.
The words are out — too late. I expect to regret them, but nothing comes.
“You want me to live with you?”
“At least I won’t sneak into your bed at night to slip my hand who knows where,” I growl back.
No need for him to show his disgust so openly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, shaking his head.
“Got a better solution?” I ask, stepping back a little. Between Jenkins and the junkies, I’m the best option.
But also the worst choice for me — I can barely stand his smell. The vibrations his body sends through me remind me of a tattoo machine buzzing in my hands, and his scent pierces straight through me. There’s no redemption for me, so I might as well stop fooling myself, playing the pervert sniffing his hair.
“You’re my boss,” he protests.
I roll my eyes. I’ll remain that, and on top of that, become his owner.
“You need a place to sleep, right?”
He sighs and closes the browser. His fingers tap nervously on the table, making me even more impatient. I can’t hold back. I grab his hand firmly. A shock runs up my arm the moment my skin touches his. I grit my teeth to hold back a growl rising in my chest.
Andrew freezes. He stares at our intertwined hands, looking puzzled. Does he feel the same? That vibration?
He slowly lifts his head. His eyes shine a bit brighter, but the darkness remains. It will always be there — what makes him so captivating. He’s not perfect, but he’s unique.
“Can I think about it overnight?” he asks, exhaling shakily.
My thumb seems to act on its own. While my thoughts tell me to stop, it traces unfamiliar patterns on his fingers.
“Of course. Where are you staying right now?”
He pulls his hand away and wraps his arms around himself. Clear sign: he doesn’t want me close. Maybe that’s for the best. If he encouraged me, I’m not sure I could resist.
“I have a room at the Sugar Creek boarding house,” he finally answers.
