I pushed open his bedroom door, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The only light came from his dim table lamp. I could make out Clay over at his desk, his back to me.
He had no idea I was standing there. Not that he could hear anything with the music reverberating around him. I could see he was hunched over, his head down. Looking around his room, I felt it was soClay.Stark, not revealing much about his personality. Basic gray walls and a dark-blue comforter on his bed. Television on an oak dresser. No photographs or knickknacks that would help someone know the person he was.
But there, on the other side of the room, tucked away from everything else, was a little strip of wall above his desk that was literally covered with sheets of paper. I knew they were different pictures that Clay had drawn. Some in pencil, others in ink, some in charcoal. Depictions of animals or random bridges. Some were things as small as a tiny flower, others were people he saw in town. Then there were the dozens he had drawn ofme.
I had been embarrassed the first time I saw a drawing he had done of my profile. Because there was no way I could ever be as beautiful as the way he had depicted me. Yet I couldn’t help but feel flattered that he saw me that way.
Each of those pictures was done in his passionate yet precise hand. They seemed to say more about who he was than any poster or piece of furniture ever could have. It was like he shoved everything that washiminto that tiny space. As if he were scared to let too much out.
I walked over to his stereo and turned the volume down. Clay jumped and quickly rolled down his sleeves. He looked over his shoulder, a strange look of panic on his face. “Mags! What are you doing here?” He struggled to make his voice even. I watched as he grabbed a tissue and dabbed at something. I frowned, instantly suspicious.
“I just wanted to see you.” I was very aware of the fact that Clay hadn’t made any move toward me, which was unusual. The first thing he typically did was hurry over to me and kiss me senseless. I was definitely getting the impression that I had interrupted something I wasn’t supposed to see.
“You just saw me an hour ago. You could have just called, you know,” he said with a pseudo-nonchalance. His subsequent laugh was entirely too fake.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that I needed to make an appointment to see you,” I said blandly, moving toward him. Clay quickly got to his feet, closing the lid on a small wooden box on his desk. “Am I interrupting?” I asked him, trying to see around him to his desk.
Clay took hold of my wrist and pulled me over to the bed. “Of course not. I was just listening to music.” He seemed nervous, which sent my suspicions through the roof. He clumsily buttoned the sleeves of his cotton shirt, something he never did.
What was he hiding?
“Do you want me to go?” I asked him, not liking his attitude. Clay’s expression changed and he looked at me with tenderness.
“No, don’t leave. I always want to see you,” he said softly, reaching over and putting his arms around me.
I let him pull me to his chest as he nuzzled my hair. “You smell so good. Like apple pie.” He buried his nose in the tender spot behind my ear, kissing the skin gently. My body responded instantly like it always did, but I resisted the urge to get lost inhim.
“Yeah, it’s my shampoo. So, you were just listening to music?” I let my question hang in the air. I pulled away from him and walked over to his desk, where he had been sitting. I tried to be subtle as I scanned the items lying there. All I could see were his schoolbooks and bits of paper. And that small wooden box. I put my hand on the lid and Clay was suddenly at my side.
He placed his hand on mine, putting an end to my snooping. He pulled my hands to his chest and laid them there. I could feel the beat of his heart beneath my palm. A tattoo on my skin.
“Yeah, I was taking a break from my calculus homework. It’s been doing my head in,” he told me, pulling my chin with his fingers. I held back, not letting him kiss me. He would not distract me with that tantalizing mouth of his.
“Well, you’re acting kind of weird. Like you’re hiding something,” I said, getting to the point. I wasn’t one to beat around the bush. I could feel him stiffen slightly and then forcibly relax himself. He pulled my hand toward his bed and he sat down, scooting back so he was leaning against his pillows. He crooked his finger at me and gave me his best come-hither smile.
“Come lay with me, Maggie,” he purred. Oh, he was playing dirty. Going all sex-god on me so I’d stop asking questions. Well, he wasn’t fooling me for a minute. I rolled my eyes, but moved to lie beside him anyway. I was so weak.
“Don’t think I can’t see right through your tactics, Mr. Reed,” I said as he kissed the top of my head.
“I’m pretty transparent, huh? Excuse me if I can’t think of anything else but getting that shirt back off of you,” he said huskily as he played with the hem.
I smacked at his hands. “Stop it.” I giggled as his fingers inched under my shirt.
I elbowed him in the arm playfully and froze when I saw him wince. He quickly wiped away the expression, but I saw it.
“You okay?” I asked, sitting up. Looking at him closely I could see that he was a little paler than usual and there was a definite strain in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” he said breezily, reaching for me again.
It was then that I noticed a red spot on the underside of his sleeve. “What’s that?” I asked, touching it with my fingertip. It was wet. Clay looked at it and pulled his arm away.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Maybe some paint or something.” He moved to the side of the bed. Paint? I didn’t think so.
“That doesn’t look like paint to me,” I stated, trying to pull his arm back so I could get a look. Clay frowned and jerked his arm back again, roughly this time.
“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition? I said I was fine. You know, I’ve got a lot of homework, so why don’t I just see you in the morning?” He sat down at his desk and pulled out his calculus book, effectively shutting down our conversation.
I pulled the book away from him and he looked up at me, anger apparent on his face. “What the hell? I’ve got shit to do, so why don’t you just head home?”
