Текст книги "Beautiful Addictions"

Автор книги: Season Vining

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Damn!” Alex sneered.

Monica watched in disbelief as Alex relented first. He surrendered, not wanting to be responsible for the death of Tristan, especially in front of Josie. He knew she would never survive that kind of heartbreak even if she did escape this mess. Tristan dropped his gun, the clanking sound of it hitting the concrete floor marking the extinction of hope.

“Now that that is all squared away,” Moloney said, rubbing his hands together in victory, “you three, join the girl.”

Alex and Monica took their places next to Josie. Tristan rushed to her, running his hands over her hair and whispering apologies.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Josie said.

“Enough!” Moloney shouted. “I’ll do it myself.”

He pulled his 9mm from his waistband and pointed it directly at Josie. A shot rang out, a deafening break in the otherwise silent building. Barry dove for cover, disappearing from view. Josie squeezed her eyes tight and prepared for the hurt, but it never came.

Josie opened her eyes to find Monica on the floor before her. She had taken the bullet meant for Josie. She was small, but she was fast. Her tiny body lay still at Josie’s feet, crimson spreading out around her like ink saturating paper.

Tristan jumped Moloney, wrestling his gun away. Frank raised his gun and fired once before Alex took him out with a bullet to the temple.

“Monica!” Josie screamed, her voice a haunting and agonizing cry.

“No! No, no, no, no! Monica!” Rob shouted, running to her side and dropping to his knees. “Why did you do that? You stupid woman!”

“I had to. I saved her,” she barely got out before her throat flooded with blood.

The blood soaked into the knees of his jeans as he pulled her into his lap. Rob wailed as her breaths became shallow and her eyes fixed onto his, his howling pleas for a miracle falling on helpless ears. Monica’s body arched as a cough forced crimson rivers from the corners of her mouth.

“Button. I love you,” he whispered, pushing her hair back from her face.

She managed a smile, exhaled a stuttered breath and faded away from this world.

Everyone who had been watching the scene now looked on helplessly as Rob jumped up and hurled himself toward Moloney. What began as excruciating sadness morphed into something malevolent and irate. Tristan let go of the man and stepped aside as Rob raised his gun and emptied the entire magazine. But each blast from his gun offered no redemption, no satisfaction. Even when Moloney lay dead at his feet, Rob wanted to crush him, to pound him into the earth with his own fists. He wanted to bathe in his blood, but he knew that wouldn’t resurrect his love.

Rob dropped his smoking gun to the floor and disappeared into the shadows. A few seconds later, the sound of the door slamming closed jarred everyone from their daze.

“Tristan!” Josie shouted.

Alex turned to find Tristan leaning against one of the crates, blood soaking his shirt. Alex knelt beside him and looked at the wound.

“Who got you?” Alex asked.

“Frank.”

“Are you okay?” Josie shouted.

“‘’Tis but a scratch. A flesh wound,’” Tristan said, giving Josie a reassuring smile.

Alex took his shirt off and wrapped it tightly around Tristan’s biceps.

“That’ll help,” Alex offered.

“Any excuse to take your shirt off, huh, muscles?” Tristan said.

Alex untied Josie from the chair, his large fingers fumbling with the knots. She fell onto the floor, sobbing over Monica’s body. She fought for each breath, the air feeling like razor blades to her lungs. She felt undeserving and wondered how she’d ever take a guilt-free lungful of air again.

Alex helped Tristan stand and together they retrieved Josie. She clung to Tristan, crying into his chest.

“I hate to break up the reunion, but we gotta get outta here,” Alex said.

A loud smacking sound came from behind them in the dark. The three eyed each other as Alex pulled his gun and pointed it toward the sound. Another smack. Josie whimpered. Then came another and another, until the sound of a single person clapping became recognizable. From the back of the warehouse emerged a man wearing an expensive suit and matching hat. Shadow covered most of his face, making only his menacing smile visible.

“That was truly an entertaining show,” he said, his voice amused and heavily accented.

The three onlookers stood motionless, curious as to the identity of this stranger and worried about what it meant for their survival.

“My name is Gino Gallo. You have done me a great favor here today.”

He snapped his fingers, and Barry appeared behind him. “You saved this man from having to eliminate his former associates. You should be grateful, Barry. Are you grateful?”

Barry nodded, his eyes on Tristan the whole time.

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course, we did offer a bit of help, eliminating Moloney’s backup for you,” Gallo said.

“What now?” Alex asked, unfazed by the man’s presence.

“Let me tell you what now,” Gallo said, glaring at the boy who dared to question him. “You all will leave this place. My men will take care of the bodies and clean up the mess. Do not fear retaliation. I’m in charge now. I will not allow it. Now go, before I change my mind.”

Tristan, recognizing a blessing when hearing one, motioned for everyone to go. They all moved toward the door, but Josie would not budge. Her eyes were glued to Monica’s lifeless body.

“Josie, we’ve got to go,” Tristan urged.

She nodded and gave in to his pulling.

“Thank you,” Josie whispered to her friend as she was dragged out into the night.

21. Rille

Grooves in the moon’s surface that resemble canals or canyons.

The sound of banging on the front door was almost lost in the cadence of thrashing rain against the house. When Daniel Fallbrook opened the door, it only took seconds for him to assess the situation.

“Bitsy! Get my bag!” Daniel yelled from the front porch.

He grabbed Tristan and pulled him inside, sitting him down at the breakfast table. Bitsy’s casual linens were swept aside as Tristan placed his injured arm on top of the cool oak. Josie and Alex filled the other two chairs and watched Daniel tend to his wounded son.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Close range, twenty-two,” Tristan answered.

Daniel removed the T-shirt tourniquet from Tristan’s arm and cut off the sleeve of his shirt with kitchen scissors. Bitsy raced into the room carrying his medical bag, her silk gown fluttering behind her like wings.

“Tristan, sweetheart,” she cried. “Are you okay?”

Her trembling hands made the sign of the cross as she hovered over the two most important men in her life.

“It went clean through,” Daniel answered. “I’ll just clean and suture it. You should be fine,” Daniel said.

“Oh, thank God,” Bitsy whispered.

It was then that she noticed the other two people in her kitchen. A large, shirtless man sat at her table. Water dripped down his muscled body in the most distracting way. Any other time, she would have reminded him of proper manners when it came to stages of nakedness at her breakfast table. But she figured she could overlook his indiscretions considering the circumstances. Next to him was a beautiful, sad girl. Her hair was slick and wet, fat tendrils sticking to the bare skin of her face and throat. Her arms circled around her body.

“My God in heaven! McKenzi Delaune, is that you?” Bitsy asked.

Josie glanced at Bitsy before her eyes immediately snapped back to Tristan. She didn’t need to see the woman before her to know what she looked like. Josie knew the curve of her cheek and the way her smile fell to one side like her son’s. She knew the sweep of her hair and her Cupid’s bow lips.

“Bless her heart. She looks like she was eaten by gators and shit over a cliff,” Bitsy muttered.

Daniel and Tristan both looked up, wearing matching expressions of shock.

“Oh, stop looking at me like that! Grandmother Ducote always said ‘shit’ was a lady’s curse word.”

Josie’s body stiffened as she tried to take a breath. Though her lungs were burning, her body would not cooperate. Voices were murmurs of whirring sound mixed with the racing beat of her own pulse. She felt dizzy and weightless, numb and on fire at the same time. She wished the pounding in her head would stop. She wished that every time she closed her eyes she didn’t see Monica’s body lying at her feet like some kind of sacrifice. She wished it had all been a dream.

Finally Josie sucked in a deep breath, its elements giving her body just what it needed. With its exhale, the air left in a wailing sob, a scream that seemed silent in her own head. Bitsy embraced Josie. She ran her hands over the girl’s hair and placed a kiss on her wet head.

“We didn’t know, baby. We didn’t know you were out there all alone,” Bitsy said.

Tristan felt comforted knowing that his mother was looking after Josie. But he wished his father would hurry so that it could be his arms around her instead of Bitsy’s frail and shaking limbs.

Daniel finished with Tristan and wrapped the wound with a bandage. Tristan bent his elbow and flexed his arm as if trying it out for the first time.

“Dad, check on Josie,” Tristan said. “She may be in shock.”

As Daniel took a seat next to Josie, Tristan followed. He knelt in front of her, the water from his jeans creating a new puddle on the tile floor. Daniel checked her vital signs and asked her simple questions, which she responded to robotically.

“She’s responsive. Just needs some dry clothes and rest.”

“Where is Monica?” Bitsy asked.

Josie’s eyes snapped closed and she let out another cry.

“She’s gone. She’s dead,” Josie said. “And it’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not. She saved you,” Tristan said.

Tristan slid Josie into his lap and he held her until their breaths became synchronized. One by one, Alex, Bitsy, and Daniel left the room. Alex said nothing as he passed. He simply squeezed Tristan’s shoulder, letting the gesture say everything that he couldn’t. I’m sorry. I’m here.

Tristan’s legs were numb, his feet prickled with pins. The kitchen cabinet dug into his back, but he would not let Josie go. When she finally fell asleep, he carried her to his room and held her through new nightmares.

* * *

Two days later, Josie was finally feeling human again. Tristan’s parents had been very sympathetic and accommodating. Bitsy seemed eager to cook for and entertain her houseguests. Josie felt cared for and safe in this place. She wanted to carry that feeling with her always.

Josie made her way down the curved wooden staircase and smiled at what she found there. Tristan and Alex were embraced in a hug. The two had grown closer through this ordeal and she was happy for it. They both meant the world to her.

“It’s been proved relationships that begin with a shared traumatic event never last,” Tristan said, smiling.

“Relationship? I don’t wanna marry you. Not my type, papito,” Alex answered, pinching Tristan’s cheek until he was swatted away.

“You sure we can’t take you to the airport, hon?” Bitsy asked.

“Nah, I got a cab,” he said.

Josie cleared the bottom step and slid between the two men.

“Aye, mami. What am I gonna do now, huh?”

“You could stay here, you know,” Josie hedged. “Start over.”

As an adult, Alex had always been free to come and go as he pleased, answering only to his mentors on the streets. The one day that wasn’t his was Sunday. On the Lord’s Day, his mother insisted that he attend church and visit with his brothers and their families. In the past, Alex had always loathed those days, feeling trapped by the traditions and customs of a dying generation. After this experience, he’d learned the importance of afternoon barbecues and quality time with loved ones. He would never take them for granted again.

He knew Josie didn’t have any of that back in San Diego. So while he was going to miss her, he understood her wanting to stay here. This was the only family she had left.

“Nah, you know this city can’t hold me.”

Josie nodded and threw herself into his arms. Her feet hovered above the floor as he swayed back and forth before setting her back down to earth.

“Thank you, Alex, for everything. There’s nothing I could ever say that wo—”

“No worries, Jo,” he said, smiling. “Take care, mocosa.”

A horn honked outside, and in an instant he was gone.

* * *

Josie sat on the end of Tristan’s bed and eyed the designer bag at her feet. It seemed to stare up at her and demand attention. Inside were clothes, two pairs of shoes, toiletries, makeup, and this month’s Elle magazine—probably purchased at the airport. It was all Josie had left of Monica Templeton.

She didn’t know what to do with the bag, but after ignoring it for days, she couldn’t take it anymore. Anger erupted from her.

“Why her?” she shouted to the empty room.

She stood and kicked the bag, watching it fly across the room and hit the door.

“She was good,” she said.

She followed its path and kicked it again.

“It’s not fair!” she shouted as she kicked the bag a third time.

This time shoes, the magazine, and a toothbrush came tumbling out of the bag. Josie dropped to the carpeted floor and sat staring at the items. She wanted to pick them up and put them away. But the thought of touching them made her nauseated.

“Josie?” Tristan called from the door. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m pissed off,” she said pulling her knees up and placing her chin on top of them.

He appeared in front of her and sat down.

“I know. It’s fine to be angry. It’s the second stage of grief,” he said.

Josie rolled her eyes and focused on the paint on her toenails. Purple. Pump Up the Jam.

“I know what’ll make you feel better,” Tristan said. He stood and retrieved her journal from his desk and lay down on his bed. “Come quiz me.”

“That won’t help,” she said.

“Sure it will. Look, I’m a master of distractions. Come on,” Tristan pleaded, patting the bed beside him.

Josie stood from her spot and lay on a stack of pillows flipping through the pages of her purple journal. Tristan lay beside her in the opposite direction, his body pressed against hers at every possible point. He lazily traced patterns up and down her smooth legs.

“I’m going to give you a hard one this time,” Josie said.

“Babe, they all have the same level of difficulty to me.”

“Fine, page one twenty-two,” she said, smiling up at him from behind the journal.

Tristan laughed and pressed a kiss against her calf.

“There’s a new girl at school. Her name is Danielle Ryan. We met in English class and instantly became friends,” Tristan recited in a high-pitched voice. “She’s really pretty and her hair is this gorgeous red color that doesn’t seem natural. I’d never ask. I found her sitting alone in the cafeteria and invited her to sit with us. Big mistake! Huge! All she did was smile and flirt with Tristan the whole time. Right in front of me. By the time I finished my sandwich, the girl was practically planning their wedding.”

Josie laughed and closed the book.

“I didn’t talk like that, ass.”

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” he said, smiling. “There’s also a doodle in the margin of a dog wearing a wedding dress on that page.”

“You remember everything,” she said. “That’s amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he countered.

“As amazing as Danielle Ryan?”

Tristan raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if contemplating the answer.

“I guess. I mean, she had really nice hair. And killer boobs.”

Josie threw the journal at him, hitting him in the chest with a thump.

“Ouch! You wound me, woman.”

“That’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do!”

Josie sprang to her knees and tackled Tristan. She was no match for his strength, but he surrendered. The feel of her body pressed against his sent his imagination running wild.

“You know I’ll win this. Just give up,” he teased.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Never. Danielle’s boobs would be hurt and offended if I retracted my statement now.”

Josie leaned down, bringing her lips to his ear. Their chests pressed together, their hearts beating for each other.

“Do you care more about Danielle Ryan’s tits or being inside me again?”

Tristan sat up quickly, knocking Josie back onto the pillows. He crawled over her and placed a kiss against her neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered against her warm skin.

She smiled up at him and ran her fingers over his hair.

“That’s better.”

“I’ll never mention Danielle and her stellar rack again.”

Josie smacked his shoulder as a smirk slid across his face. It pulled the corner of his mouth higher on the left side. It was a smile that Josie knew well. It was teasing and joyous and something that she would never grow tired of.

Later that night, when Josie was sleeping in his bed, Tristan snuck out for a smoke. He sat on the back porch, in the dark, staring out at the trees. Like the last time he’d been there, Bitsy tiptoed across the porch and took a seat beside him.

“She’s so different. So sad and hurt, but strong,” Bitsy said.

Tristan nodded and exhaled his smoke.

“She’s everything,” he answered.

Tristan felt disconnected from the moment. After everything he’d experienced, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to go back to this straight life of family dinners and holiday visits. Not until the sound of his mother crying jarred him from his inner musings. Finally meeting her glassy eyes, his brick wall fell away and he pulled her into an embrace.

“You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if we’d ever see you again, but I prayed every day that you were safe and happy. Were you happy, sweetheart?”

“‘The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better than it was and the present worse than it is.’”

“Tell me in your words, Tristan,” Bitsy begged.

“I was happy for a while. Fiona broke my heart, just like you warned she would. I don’t think she ever really cared about me. But now I have Josie.”

“And you’ve found your way home.”

Tristan nodded and threw his inked arm around the back of the seat, resting his hand on her shoulder.

Daniel watched his wife and son’s exchange through the plate-glass window at the back of the house. Even with the rift between them, he could sense that things were healing. The way their bodies leaned toward each other gave him a sense of relief. The warm light cast from the den painted the pair in scattered highlights and soft golden shadows. He smiled, content in the resurrection of that uniting force known as family.

22. Nadir

On a celestial body, the vertical direction below the observer’s feet.

“I want your papers turned in by Friday. Make sure to really delve into the underlying struggle between these two societies and cite your sources, people,” the instructor announced as the students filed out of the classroom.

Alex slid his pen behind his ear and tucked his notebook beneath his arm. Taking a look around the room, he still couldn’t believe that he was here. Surrounded by off-white paint and fluorescent lighting, he found it humorous that he sat among these young, impressionable kids four days a week. He’d once taken a vow to never set foot inside another cinder-block institution. This, however, would be his one exception.

It was the love and encouragement of Erin that had pushed him to do better, to be better. He wanted to be everything she needed and everything she deserved. Not to mention, for the first time in his adult life, he could be a role model. Her son, Parker, watched and mimicked his behavior. The boy looked at Alex like he was a superhero, making him accountable for his actions. Alex loved that Erin didn’t try to change him; she embraced all of his bad and his good. It had been his idea to pursue a bachelor’s degree in business management. Hell, he’d been managing some sort of business his entire life.

When Alex was younger, he had imagined what it would be like living the straight life. Punching in and out somewhere, paying taxes and collecting social security when he grew old. Though social acceptance appealed to most, it had never appealed to him. The thought alone had always felt suffocating. But when you have someone who holds you accountable, someone who isn’t afraid to question you and desire more from you, it’s all too easy to amend your aspirations.

In the past year, his relationship with Erin had been slow moving, but for the first time in his life he was okay with that. He loved her quick temper while she embraced his childlike personality. The sex was amazing, like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Erin had taught him to connect on every level, and as far as Alex was concerned, there was no other way to live. They were equals and opposites all at the same time. It was strange to have such a positive outlook on his future, to be so unsure yet unafraid of what was to come. He was free and he was loved, what more could a hoodlum from Logan Heights ask for?

He thought about Tristan and Josie often, marveling at their ability to survive such tragedy and tricky circumstance. He wondered where they were and what their lives were like, but he never wondered if they were together. That was a given.

* * *

Confined to the shadows of the streets of Prague, Rob Nettles pulled the gun from his waistband. His pulse thundered in his ears, making it nearly impossible to hear anything else. The index finger on his right hand twitched against the trigger, and he cursed his edginess. Bouncing his head off of the brick wall a few times, he fought to maintain control of his senses, focusing on the pain of the rough brick against his scalp. He wanted to remain entirely aware of what was about to go down. This was his destiny, his death.

In the year since he’d lost Monica, Rob had been focused on exterminating this bastard. He stumbled upon this ring of human trading and child enslavement. He’d heard about it through some punk rookie when he’d returned to Manhattan. Before Monica, the idea of this would have displeased him, but he would have sat back and done nothing. Now things were different. The idea of children being bought and sold and mistreated enraged him. He took it as a severe dishonor to everything Monica had ever worked for.

For months, Rob had been climbing his way through the organization, feigning indifference to the suffering of innocents. He endured so many pain-filled nights alone that he could not survive it any longer. If he thought the world was dark before he met Monica, it was downright abysmal now that she was gone.

Rob had been planning this suicide mission for a while, his resolve never faltering. Finally nailing down the leader’s schedule, he waited in the most opportune place for an ambush. The man would be vulnerable for a few seconds, and with Rob’s accuracy, a few seconds was all he needed. The only problem was that the man’s guards would then descend upon him.

Echoing footsteps signaled their approach, and with self-loathing conviction, he stepped from the shadows and nailed his target before being perforated by their retaliation. He smiled at this, exhaling long and slow. He welcomed their punishments, each bullet bringing pain and absolution. He silently begged for forgiveness and pictured his Button’s smiling face. Rob embraced his death and all that it offered him, peace and the end of heartache.

* * *

“What makes them glow?” Josie asked, leaning against the scratchy bark of the old tree and trying to follow the fireflies’ glow.

“A type of chemical reaction called bioluminescence. The enzyme luciferase acts on the luciferin, in the presence of magnesium ions, ATP, and oxygen to produce light,’” Tristan answered, running his hands over her denim-covered thigh.

Josie rolled her eyes and smiled at him, showing that she loved his superior intellect just as much as his handsome face. She watched him watching her and no longer feared judgment or rejection. She loved having his eyes on her, among other things.

“Do you think we’ll ever be too old to climb this tree?” she asked, looking down at the ground.

“Yeah, one day,” he answered. “But then we’ll come and sit beneath it. We’ll enjoy the shade and think about the days we spent up here.”

“Hmm, that sounds promising,” she whispered, leaning forward and capturing his lips.

There was no frenzied groping or sexual expectations, only chaste exchanges of love.

“Do you think I’ll ever get my memory back?” Josie asked.

“Well, we’ve tried the reminder effect of reliving memories through stories, and that didn’t work. In most cases, memories only come back by spontaneous recovery. After this long, the odds are that your memories may never come back.”

Josie sighed and watched the sun set behind the trees. Fiery gold and orange painted the sky.

“Are you okay with that?” Tristan asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I accepted that a long time ago. As far as New York goes, I don’t want to know those details. I’ve got you and your family to fill in the good stuff.”

When Josie’s skin chilled from the night air, they climbed down from the comforting branches and headed inside. Dinner was amazing, as always. Bitsy had been taking cooking classes and loved using the two as guinea pigs.

“Where’s Dad?” Tristan asked, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

“He’s on call and had to go in for a while. I guess you’ll see him in the morning,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“So, Tristan, how are classes going?”

“Great,” he answered. “I tested out of the lower-level classes, and with my schedule I’ll be graduating by this time next year.”

Josie smiled at him, radiating so much pride. She didn’t understand how Tristan had been led astray by Moloney, how he’d sacrificed so much. Then she reminded herself that it had been for the love of a girl that he’d done those things and suddenly it was much easier to comprehend.

“That’s great, sweetie. And you, Josie?”

“I’m good. I’m doing a mural for this bank downtown. It’s weird to be doing legit painting in the middle of the day. Art classes are a breeze, but the general ed classes are fucking killing me.”

Josie slapped her hand over her mouth before mumbling an apology to Bitsy.

Bitsy nodded and they all went back to their dinner. When the food was finished and the dishes washed, the three of them sat in the den around the television.

“You two don’t visit enough,” Bitsy announced during a commercial break.

“Ma, not again,” Tristan begged.

Josie giggled as Bitsy hit her son with the glare that only mothers possessed.

“Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Tristan. I know school keeps you busy, but I expect at least one visit every month. You only live across the river. You could call more too.”

“Okay, okay,” he relented. “You heard from Dad?”

“Yes, he won’t be home until around midnight,” she answered.

Bitsy looked around, as if searching for onlookers, before rising from her chair. She sauntered toward the two, a devilish grin on her face.

“Can I tell you two a secret?” she whispered.

The pair looked on in curiosity as Bitsy began to unbutton her jeans.

“Mom! What the hell are you doing?” Tristan exclaimed, mortified by the thought of his mother undressing before him.

“Oh, calm down, Tristan. I just want to show you this.”

Bitsy inched down her jeans to reveal a small red heart tattoo on her left hip. There was a white banner across the heart proudly displaying the name Daniel.

“Holy shit!” Tristan yelled.

“That is awesome!” Josie replied, inching forward to get a better look. “Damn, you’re legit now!”

Bitsy laughed and refastened her jeans before settling back down into her chair, more than satisfied. Tristan sat motionless, just staring wordlessly at the space where his mother had been.

“Tristan? What the hell?” Josie asked, nudging his shoulder.

“Uh, what?” he asked, finally snapping out of his daze.

“Just don’t say anything to your father, he hasn’t seen it yet.”

Tristan nodded, still reeling from seeing ink on his mother’s skin. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Bitsy Ducote Fallbrook, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Ducote III, winner of Miss Teen Louisiana and debutante of high-society clubs, had a tattoo.

“It looks like it’s almost healed. How did you keep it from him?” Josie asked.

“Well, I’ve made excuse after excuse why we couldn’t have sex. Usually, we have quite a healthy sexual—”

“Oh my God!” Tristan yelled, covering his ears and running from the room.

The two women burst into a fit of giggles over Tristan’s theatrics. They laughed until sharp pains jabbed at their ribs and then laughed some more.

A few hours later, Tristan tucked himself into bed beside Josie’s small warm body. The room was still unchanged since his high school years, though the scenery had improved greatly. The thin strap of her shirt had fallen down her shoulder and he praised the garment for framing her skin so beautifully.

Josie sighed contentedly and buried her face into his chest. She inhaled him as her fingers slid around his waist and up his arm. She lingered on the small scar on his biceps, pressing down on it before moving on. The feel of his bare skin beneath her hands made her hum in appreciation. Josie couldn’t imagine existing in any place other than his arms.

“It’s so bizarre to have you here in this bed,” he said softly against her hair.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time.”

Josie traced the curve of his forearm with her fingernail, before turning her face up to kiss his chin. She slid her leg up and over his hip.

“Have you ever had sex in this bed?”

Tristan laughed. “No.”

A scheming smirk graced her pink lips as her hand continued its southward journey. She placed a kiss below his ear, her hot breath fanning over his skin.

“Do you want to?” she purred. “It could be a first we could share. One that I would remember.”

Every reason that Tristan had concocted as to why this was a bad idea evaded him, and before either of them had a grasp on the situation, he had Josie’s body pinned beneath him.

“Oh, you’ll definitely remember it,” he responded, smirking crookedly at her. Tristan ducked his head and ravished her mouth with kisses. The tiny moaning sounds coming from her throat drove him to devour her even more affectionately.

“I love you,” she whimpered. “To the moon and back.”

“Only 477,800 miles worth of love? I love you that much times a googolplexian.”