Yes, bittersweet indeed.
Sort of how I’m feeling this morning. Because beneath the artwork Brady sketched on my skin and the night we spent tangled together whispering dirty things to one another, I’m still lanced by how he shut me down. I was right. He doesn’t want to hear what happened with my ex-boyfriend. Which means my crazy hope that he’d fall in love with me is just that. Crazy.
My mother always says that when you love someone, you want to know everything about the other person, the good, the bad, and the ugly. So if I was looking for an answer for where Brady and I are headed, I have it now.
I guess I’d hoped that after all these weeks, things would be different.
Worse, though? I’m sick over the fact that I basically begged him to fuck me without a condom. Who does that? Especially after what happened with Eric.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Sinvergüenza. My cheeks burn at the thought.
Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down. I’m not the same girl I was last spring.
A small ball of panic coils in my stomach. I think back to how I’ve taken those pills religiously in the months since that fiasco.
No, I’m good. There will be no little Brady Shepherds rolling around nine months from now.
My throat tightens.
In the moment, I just wanted to show Brady that I loved him. Because I had never gone without a condom before, and I wanted that connection with him.
I shake my head and try to focus on the positive, to focus on everything that happened after that ill-advised conversation last night.
Touching my lips that are still slightly swollen, I finally let myself smile as I think about all the ways he touched me in the tub. How he couldn’t seem to get enough of me once we’d gone bare. And finally, the beautiful images still branding my shoulders.
I want to cling to that. Cling to the hope that what happened after that conversation means more. That it means enough.
Besides, how many guys really want to hear about ex-boyfriends? And anyway, I’m the one who hesitated. I’m the one who suggested that it might not be a good idea to talk about it.
A small semblance of calm washes over me. I fill my lungs with another deep breath.
Everything will be okay. Stop reading into this.
Enjoy the now, I remind myself. If I subtract that conversation, last night was perfect. The way he talked to me and loved my body. How he moved over me and in me. How he filled me so completely, I wanted to cry from the pleasure of it all.
Squeezing my thighs together, I relish the soreness that runs through all of my limbs.
Images of him sliding into me flicker in my mind, and I feel my cheeks flush. I smile, I can’t help it, and I let myself relish those moments.
“Someone got laid last night,” my co-worker Darla drawls as she struts by me with a tray full of food.
My smile falters.
Carol nudges me as she reaches for the coffee. “Ignore her. She got her panties in a twist because someone didn’t tip her.” Her knowing eyes pass over me. “It’s okay to be happy, Katherine. And if it involves doing the horizontal mambo with that handsome biker boy you’ve been living with, even better.”
She winks and walks off before I can say anything.
Ugh. I hate people knowing my business, but I don’t have time to worry about it because my phone buzzes in my apron. It’s my sister.
“Tori, what’s wrong?” I say under my breath as I turn down the hall toward the bathrooms.
“Why do you always assume something’s wrong?”
“Because the only time you call me is in an emergency. Or if you need money.” Mentally, I start calculating how much I have in my bank account in case this phone call comes with a big price tag.
Tori attends a small Catholic school that’s expensive as hell, but she’s on an academic scholarship that covers her tuition. Except my family can’t afford what the scholarship doesn’t cover—books, supplies and uniforms—so I try to bridge the gap. As painful as it is to foot the bill sometimes, she’s safer there than at our nearby public school, which is overrun with gangs.
“Relax, Katherine. Mom wants to know if you’re coming home for Christmas. You know, since you blew us off for Thanksgiving.”
Pressing the bridge of my nose, I sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe I can drive down for a day or two.” Brady is working on my car today, so if it’s up and running, I might be able to head to Corpus.
Little butterflies ripple in my stomach when I think about how I woke up this morning with that beautiful art on my back. He drew a hummingbird fluttering out of a starburst. He said it’s because I remind him of the sunrise.
My stomach does a crazy flipflop when I think about how he rasped those words in my ear before I left for work.
“Hello?” Tori squawks on the phone.
“I’m here.”
“Are you sure?” Tori asks. “I’ve had to repeat myself three times. I said that Dad really wants you to come home. And just so you know, you should call Eric back already. He’s been blowing up our phone this last week.”