Playing (Inked Hearts 2)

Kaylee laughs. "Five. It's not romantic until you get to five."

"You're going to regret those words."

"I don't think so." She breaks a square of chocolate in half and places it on her tongue. Her eyelids flutter together as she lets out a soft moan. "This one is my favorite."

"I know."

She picks up the tea and takes a long sip. "This too."

"I know. I know you."

"Yeah. You do." She taps her fingers against the thermos. "But, um, did you... did you read my note?"

"No." I reach into the backpack and find the neatly folded pages.

She stares at me like I'm crazy as I hand them to her. "But I..." Her voice streaks with surprise. "I left this for you. To apologize."

"You were desperate."

"Maybe."

"Yeah."

"Don't you... don't you want to read it?"

"I'm fucking dying to read it." I stare into those soft green eyes. "I want every thought in your head, Kay. But I can't take them. I need you to give them to me."

"I did."

"Because you want to let me in. Not because you think it's the only way."

"Oh." She unfolds the paper. Her attention drifts to it as she rereads her words.

I give her space. Suck every bit of sweetness from a strawberry. It only makes me more desperate to taste her.

"I... I want you to read it. This." Her voice rises from a whisper. "I do. I'm sure." She just stops herself from handing the paper to me. "Or... I could read it. I want to."

I nod. Fuck knows I want in her head.

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "Okay. Here goes nothing." Her attention goes back to the page. Her voice shifts into something soft and rhythmic. "I don't even want to write this, but I need to get it out. It's not like I can tell anyone. I certainly can't tell Em."

She presses her lips together.

"I looked at Brendon's sketchbook. I know it was fucked up. I'd die if he was reading this, if he was reading anything in here. But I had to know if I was right about the way he looks at me or if it was all in my head. And I was right. It was full of pictures of me. Stripping. Naked. Bound. He wants me tied to his bed. Or at least, he thinks about it."

Guilt seeps into her voice. It's in her eyes, her shoulders, her jaw.

It was fucked, her looking at my sketchbook.

But it was nothing this bad.

Her fingers curl into the paper. "I stopped thinking about him for a while. Last year. When it all started. But then when I started feeling better, it was worse. Harder to get him out of my head. Then when I changed things last month... All of a sudden, I think about sex all the time. It's not always with him. Sometimes it's Kit Harrington or Chris Evans or some faceless guy. But a lot of times it's Brendon." Her cheeks flush.

"I think about you too."

"All the time?"

"Every fucking night."