Page 83 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
And every morning when I awake, there’s a new origami bird on the pillow beside my head. Today, my sixth at A.J.’s place, it’s the most elaborate creation so far: a black-and-teal peacock, complete with a plume of real feathers for a tail.
I pick it up and stare at it in total disbelief. It’s so perfect, so detailed, it looks manufactured by a machine.
I hear A.J. moving around in the bathroom, and call out, “How did you learn origami?”
He sticks his head out of the door. “Good morning! You’re up!”
I can tell he’s happy to see me talking. I think the most I’ve said to him over the past six days has been a series of grunts in answer to his questions or commands. To be honest, it’s all a little blurry. I’m still weak, but at least my head is no longer pounding, and the chills are finally gone.
“If you can call this up.”
I touch my hair. It’s a nest of knots. A.J. has bathed me in the tub when I have the energy to sit up, but my hair has only been washed once, and it feels like dirty straw. I wonder if I have dreadlocks.
He strolls out of the bathroom, looking ridiculously hot in his little black nylon boxing shorts and nothing else. I can’t resist ogling him as he moves toward me. I love looking at his tattoos when he moves; it’s almost as if they’re alive, dancing atop his muscles.
I decide I’m going to ask him what every one means. If I’ve only got one day left, I’m going to grill him about everything since I’ve missed so many opportunities to talk to him.
My heart sinks. I’ve only got one day of my week left. Or is today the last day? I’ve lost count.
A.J. drops to his knees on the mattress beside me. I hold out the bird.
“So? How did you learn to do this?”
He sits back on his heels, a smile quirking his mouth. “You like it?”
“Like it? No, I don’t like it. I love it. It’s amazing. Where did you get the tiny little feathers for the tail?”
“A shop called Mother Plucker. They have every kind of feather you can buy. Kenji introduced me to it.”
He runs a hand through his long hair. The move is so blatantly sexual it looks like something out of a porn movie. With his naked chest and biceps on display, his muscular thighs open, I’m having a little trouble concentrating on what he’s saying.
Because I know he’s not wearing anything under those shorts.
Apparently my libido has recovered much more quickly than the rest of me.
“So was Kenji the one who taught you origami, too?” It seems entirely possible, though I’m probably just racially profiling because Kenji is Japanese.
A.J. says quietly, “No. I learned it from a Japanese whore.”
And suddenly I hate this peacock in my hand with a passion that borders on violence. I want to crush it. I want to tear it to pieces with my teeth.
A.J. leans over and takes my chin in his hand. I wish I didn’t like it so much when he does this, because I’m seriously ticked off right now.
“It wasn’t like that. She was a friend.”
I don’t say anything. I just keep my gaze trained on the peacock. I imagine it’s smirking at me.
“I was fifteen, angel. She was almost thirty years older than me. She was just a friend.”
Scowling, aggravated, I look up at him. My mind is sharper than it’s been in nearly a week, and what he’s said makes absolutely no sense to me. “What’s a fifteen-year-old kid doing hanging out with a middle-aged Japanese whore?”
The first thing out of his mouth is a hard “I was never a kid.” Then, as if regretting his tone he adds more gently, “And for a long time, whores were the only friends I had.”
I’m astonished. What’s the correct reply to those two gems?
He sighs, releases my chin, and runs his hand through his hair again. “Yeah. I know it sounds weird.”
“No, not at all! That sounds totally reasonable, A.J.! Doesn’t every teenage boy surround himself with whores? I mean, I can’t imagine they make the best choices for the soccer or football teams because of the stilettos, but I’m sure they’re really great at wrestling!”
