Page 41 of Falling Madly
He shrugged. “I’m a writer. I didn’t want to forget.”
“I remember we talked for hours,” I said. “I remember the swimming, and making out…”
I felt a blush rising to my cheeks and hugged the pole, resting my cheek against the cold metal. I wanted to touch him again, more than anything, but I couldn’t make that move. Could I? I glanced out of the window, wondering if anyone out there had seen me dancing. Thank God we were on the second floor. The windows across the street were dark.
“I remember you once had a pet gerbil named Sybil,” he said.
I blinked at him. I had no memory of ever discussing childhood pets.
“And that ye love dragonflies.” He stepped back, leaning on the wall, smiling. “Later, I heard you have a dragonfly tattoo. I can’t remember seeing it when we went swimming, so I have a theory about where it’s hiding. It’s been driving me crazy.”
The glint in his eyes made my cheeks hot. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“No. My mother didn’t approve. And now that she’s dead, it’s even harder to go against her wishes. But I appreciate body art.”
“You want to see mine?” My pulse raced. What was I doing?
“Yes, please!”
I crossed the floor until I stood right in front of him, then slid my leggings down until the tip of the dragonfly on my hip became visible. As I turned to give him a peek, Trevor’s hands flexed, hovering briefly above mine, before he tucked them back into his pockets. He was trying so hard to do the right thing. To not cross a line.
I peeled the leggings down until he could see the whole tattoo. “I thought about getting a fly right on my butt cheek,” I said, biting my lip.
“What, a housefly?”
“Yeah.” I grinned, my face hot and flushed, waiting for him to connect the dots.
Trevor swallowed, the realization dawning on his face. “Are your boyfriends not interested in swatting a dragonfly? Because I reckon a fly is a fly. It’d be happy to spank it.” His voice was thick.
I stood so close now I could count his eyelashes, but it would have taken me all night. His eyes were hypnotizing. “Trevor?”
“Yes, love?”
“I didn’t think I’d ever say this to you, but I think you’re a good guy.”
He held still, watching me. “Are you drunk?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“Are you saying… you forgive me?” He flashed me his sad, lopsided smile.
“I told you I already did.”
“No, you didn’t. You put me in the shit basket and moved on.”
“Shit basket?”
His voice was a little heavy. “You know, the ‘shit I don’t want to deal with’ basket.”
I coughed, looking away. It was annoying how accurate that sounded.
“Are you ready to take me out of the basket?”
As he stared at me, the moment became weighted with meaning. “Yes,” I finally rasped.
His gaze dipped to my lips, and I swallowed to lubricate my throat. Somewhere along the way, my mouth had lost all its natural moisture.
“Thank you,” he said. “It was a shit place to be.”
