"Bullshit." It really is. "Why do you have so many tattoos?"
"Same reason."
"You want to mark your body?"
He nods. "Honestly?"
"Yeah." I press my lips together. He's going to tell me something he doesn't tell anyone. I need that. Every drop of it.
"At first, I wanted to piss off my mom. To prove to her, and myself I guess, that I'd never be a khaki wearing, golf playing yuppie."
"Did it work?"
"Yeah. She wrote me off right away."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was for the best. It hurt less when they..." His voice trails off. Like he doesn't believe it.
It must hurt. Even if things were tense. Just thinking about Grandma—it makes my entire body heavy. Which is why I'm currently rocking a nice state of denial. As long as I don't know the details, I can pretend things will be okay.
"It's more than that." I trace the lines on the back of his hand. His wrist. His forearm.
He nods. "It's a rush."
"And?"
"I like feeling in control."
Heat floods my cheeks. My chest. My sex. "Like you do during sex."
His expression gets intense as his eyes bore into mine. "Kay—"
"You don't talk about this with Dean?"
"You and I aren't friends like me and Dean."
"Well, yeah, I'm not an asshole. If you're embarrassed or something—"
He raises a brow try harder next time. He motions to the backpack, swiftly jumping over the subject. "It is perfect for you."
"Because it's feminine?"
He nods. "And innocent."
"Yeah?" We are friends and friends can talk about sex. "Like an untouched flower?"
"Didn't realize you were into that."
I nod as I slide the backpack off. Examine its pockets. "You know me. Boy crazy."
"You've dated."
This really is a nice backpack. Laptop pouch. Plenty of space for books. "Mostly double dates with Emma."
"You want to go on those?" There's an edge to his voice. But is it because he's looking out for me or because he's jealous?
"Sometimes." I try to focus on the pouches on the table. They're perfect for makeup. School supplies. Tampons.