“If I add sex to my list of things I hate, can we do that again?” An impish grin spread across her face.
“That was you hating sex? What are you like when you’re enjoying yourself?” I leaned down to pepper her cheek and neck with kisses, finally settling on her lips.
Avery exhaled, suddenly seeming vulnerable and embarrassed. I touched her cheek, trying to think of something to remind her I was different.
“Is it lame for me to ask to see you again right now?”
She relaxed, settling against the mattress. She shook her head, pursing her lips to ask when. Before the word slipped from her lips, I said, “As soon as possible. Tomorrow. In the morning. Actually … is it cool that I just stay?”
“You want to stay the night?”
I shrugged. “Waking up next to you sounds pretty fucking amazing.”
She pretended to think about it for a few moments and then leaned up to peck my lips. “Yes.”
I scanned her eyes for a moment and then rolled off Avery and made my way to her bathroom to dispose of the condom.
Flipping on the bathroom light, my eyes instinctively squinted at the intrusion. I bent over the sink, splashing cold water on my face, avoiding my own reflection. Small hands slid around my waist from behind, causing me to jump.
Avery’s reflection appeared in the mirror, her hair disheveled and sexy, her mascara smudged below her emerald eyes. Long, elegant fingers ran over my striped tattoo, and my muscles tensed as her nail dragged over the fresh ink.
“That looks new.”
“It is. Still a little tender. I actually got it because of you.” The moment the words tumbled from my mouth, I closed my eyes tight and gritted my teeth. What the fuck, Josh? Why would you open that can?
I leaned against the edge of the porcelain sink and reached out for her, trying to play off what I’d said.
She stiffened in my arms. “Me? This isn’t like a line for each person you've …” She covered her face. “You were so sure this would happen that you already … oh, God.”
It took a moment to understand why she would be embarrassed. I leaned back, but she wouldn’t look at me. “Avery. What are you …?” When the realization hit, I frowned. “Jesus, it isn’t some kind of tally to show who I’ve slept with. I’d have to be one cocky son of a bitch to get a tattoo before I’d even slept with you.”
She peeked at me through her fingers and then dropped them from her face. “Then why is that—” she pointed at my side “—because of me?”
It suddenly felt hard to breathe, and I stiffened when she touched the stripes again. The truth was weighing heavily on me. What would Avery think when she heard about my past? She had a right to know, at least partially, where I had come from. Now that I had opened my big fucking mouth about it, there was no turning back. Avery knew she was involved, I’d just fucking told her, and she would want to know. She deserved to know if she was going to chance being with me.
My mouth felt dry, and I swallowed back a couple decades of insecurity and anger. Kayla had died because of me, and it was my fault our family had fallen apart. My parents still hadn’t forgiven me. How could I expect Avery to understand?
She reached out to my bare hips and pulled me toward her, looking up. “Talk to me,” she said, quoting me from earlier in the evening.
I cleared my throat. “How much alcohol do you have?”
With my hair in knots and my insides wonderfully sore, I stretched in bed, the floor peppered with tossed undergarments. My apartment was familiar but unfamiliar. The sheets smelled like a sweet combination of my lotion, Josh’s cologne, spilled cheap wine, and sex. I glimpsed at the clock, grateful it was my day off.