Kaylee's lips press together. Her voice gets soft. Uncertain. "Yeah. I guess... I guess she's kinda broken at the end. But I like to believe she's okay. That time and love are enough."
"Me too."
She turns toward me. There's something in her eyes, but I don't know what it is. "Why do you love action movies?"
"I can't go after that. Your answer is poetic. Mine is boring."
"Then make it poetic."
"I'm not the writer. If you want something pretty, well, check out your temporary tattoo in the mirror."
She shakes her head. "I want your boring answer."
"The boldness of them grabs my attention."
"Hmm."
"Don't hmm me."
"You do it all the time."
"Still."
She laughs. "You're a hypocrite. But I guess I'll forgive you." She sinks into the leather. Her voice gets earnest. "I do forgive you."
"Thanks." My shoulders relax. Then my back. My jaw. A wave of easiness floats through my body. I need her forgiveness. I need her friendship. Hell, I need a lot more than that, but it's all I'm gonna get.
Her voice perks. Back to teasing. "You're going to make it up to me."
"Am I?" Loose the shorts and the panties and spread your legs. I want to look at that soft pink cunt before you come on my face.
"You're going let me pick which dumb action movie we watch. Actually, it won't be dumb."
"The Hunger Games doesn't count as an action movie."
"Yes, it does. It has fight scenes. It has people killing each other. It even has explosions."
"Okay. But I get to pick the next one."
"I bet the plot will be incomprehensible."
I can't help but chuckle. "Maybe."
She leans back against the couch. Crosses her legs. "You're too smart to enjoy that."
I turn toward her. Soak in the way her lips are turning upward, the brightness in her eyes, the softness in her shoulders. "Says who?"
"Me. Obviously." Her eyes spark.
It lights me up inside. "It's not the same for you. You're a writer. You see the strings."
Kaylee shakes her head. Her cheeks flush. "I'm not a writer. I write things sometimes. It's different."
"You write things. Doesn't that make you a writer?"
"No."
"No? I tattoo people. That makes me a tattoo artist."
"Well, what if you'd only done it once? Or only sometimes? If it was a hobby?"
"I'd still be a tattoo artist."
"It's different."
"How?"
"It just is."
"I hate to break it to you, but you're a writer. You're always scribbling in your notebook."
The last word makes her tense. Her shoulders go back to her ears. Her teeth sink into her lip.
She shakes it off. "It's just a hobby."
"It could be more."
"No... I don't think so."
"Why not?"
She looks me in the eyes. Her voice gets strong. Confident. "Because it's my life and I can do what I want."
I can't argue with that. But it's not the reason. "I have a proposition for you."
She perks. "I'm listening."
"I'll watch all four movies with you."
Kaylee claps her hands together. Joy spills over her expression. Her eyes get bright. Her lip corners turn upward. Her brow relaxes. "Okay. Right now? All night?"
"Right now. All night. Can you really stay awake?"
"For Katniss? Of course."
"I bet you can't."
Her eyes narrow. Yeah, bets are a bit of a sore subject. But I don't see another way to make this happen.
"Okay." She taps her fingers against her thigh. "I bet I'll stay awake. What are the terms?"
"You're registering for classes this weekend?"
"Yeah. And?"
"If you fall asleep, you have to register for a creative writing class."
"I don't know..."
"If you're sure, what's it hurt to bet?"
She presses her lips to one side. "If I win, I get to pick your next tattoo. And you get no veto power."
"Harsh."
"Well, if you're sure, what's it hurt to bet?" She smiles as she throws my words back at me.
"True." I am sure. And I actually trust her not to fuck me over. Even though I deserve it. "You're on."
Chapter Nineteen
Kaylee
There are arms around me.
Strong arms.
Lines of ink wrap around soft skin.
Brendon's sleeve.
His footsteps are steady as he moves down the hallway.
He kicks open my door.
The room is dark except for those glow-in-the-dark stars. It's perfect. Romantic. Sweet.
I'm in his arms under the stars.
He lowers me onto the bed.
His fingers skim my temples as he slides my glasses off my face. He folds them carefully. Like they're precious jewels.
My eyelids flutter together. Then apart.
He's looking down at me with those dark eyes.
He's going to leave.
He can't.
I reach up for him. Curl my fingers around his wrist. "I guess I lost."
He nods. "You even remember which movie we were on?"
No. I can see Finnick with his trident. Shit, we were in the middle of Catching Fire. That leaves two and a half movies to go.
"It's too bad," I whisper. "I had the perfect tattoo picked out." I tug at his t-shirt, pulling him closer.
My hand finds his chest. My finger traces the line.
"Right here. A Latin expression. But I won't say which one."
He smiles, charmed. But it fades. Back to stern caretaker. I think. I can only see so well without my glasses.
"You should brush your teeth," he whispers.
And take my medication.
But I can't leave.
Not with him this close.
It's all I'm going to get.
The way he's looking at me—he's dead set on this just friends thing.
I stare back into his eyes. "Make me."
He shakes his head as he pulls back. "Sweet dreams, Kay."
But not as sweet as him staying.
The next few days, I avoid Brendon. I eat in my room. Watch TV while he's at work. Insist Emma and I watch movies in her room.
Sunday is the longest day ever. Even though there's a rush at work, my shift stretches on forever. I don't get cut until ten. Don't get home, in my room, until ten thirty.
Only an hour to go.
And I'm not ready.
Shit. Where the hell is my laptop?
It's not on my desk. Or in my closet. Or anywhere under the bed.
There are footsteps in the hall. Then a knock on my door.
"You looking for this?" Brendon's voice flows into my room.
"My laptop?"
"Yeah. Can I come in?"
"Sure." We're doing normal. We're friends. And friends can hang out in each other's rooms.