“Perfect?”
“Yeah.” She sucks in a shallow breath. “But is it too much?”
“Too much how?”
“Pretentious?” Nerves drip into her voice. “It is, isn’t it?”
I shake my head.
“Are you sure?”
“Might attract the kind of guy who likes a damaged bad girl, but—”
“Really?” Her eyes go wide. She looks up at me, her expression streaked with vulnerability.
Yeah. I wish I could say otherwise, but I’m sure a Latin quote on her forearm is going to attract a certain type of guy.
Especially when the quote means I struggle and I emerge.
luctor et emerge
Sure, most guys aren’t going to see Daisy and see bad girl. She owns an alarming amount of cardigans. And those adorable wrap dresses—
She’s basically innocence, personified. At least at first glance.
Those guys don’t know her.
The Daisy who gets lost in her favorite Lorde album every time she hears it. Who squeals that’s your mom’s song every time The Cure comes on the radio. Who steals my chai at every opportunity.
Stares at her morning latte like she’s assessing it on a five point scale.
Spice, sweetness, flavor, balance.
The Daisy who lets me into her heart.
And loves me with all of it.
Even when she’s scared I’ll think she’s broken, when she’s falling and needs help getting up.
It’s not always easy. Fuck knows Thanksgiving was big. She couldn’t take all the attention on her plate. Everyone staring at her like their hopes and dreams rested on whether or not she ate her pumpkin pie.
It’s more complicated than I expected. I try to be patient, to understand, to give her the space she needs.
I don’t always succeed. Sometimes, it takes me awhile. Sometimes, we have to work through shit.
But we do.
Her trusting my love enough she’ll tell me to fuck off—
Maybe it’s weird that means the world.
But it does.
Fuck, now I’m getting sentimental. It’s not my strong suit, but when I’m with her, it’s almost natural.
Shit like I want everything in your heart rolls off my lips as easily as panties off, now does.
“Holden?” Her fingers brush my wrist. “You really think some guy at Berkeley will see this and—”
“Baby, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“You have to say that.”
I shake my head. “I’ll be honest.”
“It’s just your honest opinion?”
“Yeah.”
“Really.” She arches a brow yeah, right. “So can you admit Luna has nicer boobs?”
“Bigger, yeah? I don’t know about nicer.”
“Because—”
“Can’t really imagine anything better than the sound you make when I bite your nipples.”
Her cheeks flush. “I was thinking more the size and shape and uh…” She clears her throat. “I really like when you do that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her smile is shy. “But you were right before.”
“I was right about something?”
“We should try to keep some blood in your brain.”
I can’t help but laugh. She has the cutest way of teasing me. “Is that a yes?”
“Will it really attract douchebags?”
“You don’t attract them now?”
She makes that kinda motion. “Most of the guys in school see me as a stuffy nerd.”
“Probably makes them want you more.”
“Maybe.”
“They want to be the one who unzips those pretty wrap dresses.” I bring my hand to her waist. “Who gets to peel those pretty pastel panties to your thighs.”
“Yeah?” The look in her eyes is a dare.
I want to take it so fucking badly.
I’m ready to take it.
After this.
“You trying to distract me, kid?” Her nickname is practically a code word. It shifts my head out of fuck me now mode. I’m not sure why. Something about how innocent and impressionable she is.
Daisy is only a little younger than I am.
Those three and a half years are an eternity at her age.
She’s only nineteen.
Hell, she turns nineteen today.
“Maybe.” She smiles.
“Bad girl.”
Her smile widens. “Are you going to punish me?”
Hell yes. “Are you into that?”
“We could try. Find out.”
She’s really going to kill me. I force my eyes to the wall. Force myself to read the Inked Love sign backward. When I have a little blood back in my brain, I bring my eyes to hers. “It’s up to you, kid. I love it. I want it. But it’s your body. It has to be your call.”
She bites her lip. “It’s so permanent. So forever.”
“It is.”
“How are you more okay with that than I am?”
“Less ability to consider the consequences.”
“Maybe.” She laughs. “It looks amazing.”
“Yeah.”
“And it’s perfect.” Her voice softens. “I…” Her eyes meet mine. “I, um, I don’t really know what to say. If there’s a way to say thank you. For being patient with me. For loving me even though I—”
“Baby, I don’t love you even though you had an eating disorder.”
She swallows hard.
“I love everything about you.”
“But, I—”
“I hate that it hurts you. I hate anything that hurts you. But I don’t love you in spite of your illness.”
“You don’t?”
“No, baby. I love you. All of you. Even the broken parts. Even though they’re not as broken as you think.”