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.