Her former slenderness has transformed into etched, broad musculature across her arms and shoulders, as if she has filled out to her full form—capable and strong.The deep curves of her breasts draw my eye, as do the striking and detailed daisies over her heart.Daisies are the friendliest flowers.
My eyes trail the connecting tattoos, shamelessly ogling her like a museum piece I want to remember forever.They’rehertattoos,herart—I recognize it at once.Her field journal sketches were so realistic that I expected the birds, bugs, and leaves to fly, crawl, or fall off the page.
The same is true for the ink on her body.My thumb runs boldly over the roses, peonies, and tangled vines along her arm, and her smile strengthens behind the distress in her brow, the worry in her eyes, and the nerves pulsing through her fidgeting fingers.
All of this from the woman I’d decided was cold and emotionless.
I release my hold on her, realizing that my touch has lingered too long.
Her hands fall to the dress she’s wearing, fisting it in her palms.“It’s my prom dress.”
So focused on her, I barely noticed her clothes.A dress?The Venus I knew only wore a dress once—it didn’t go well.That had been one of many things I’d been looking forward to with prom—Venus in a dress.She looks as elegant as I imagined she would—a sparkling, tempting package I want to touch, wonder over, and admire before giving in and tearing it open to ravish her properly.
“Um, why?”I manage to ask.
“I thought seeing me in something silly might,” she says, almost breathlessly, “prevent your lungs from constricting.”
“Silly isn’t the word I’d use.”Alternatives stream through my thoughts, far removed fromsilly.Radiant, sexy, fucking gorgeous.But I can’t find my breath to say them.
She bends slightly, motioning to the worn, muddy hiking boots now peeking out from the pink layers.
A laugh rumbles from me, because, yes, it’s a little silly to see a beautiful woman in a stunning dress while sporting old hiking boots.
“Ivy stole the shoes I bought to go with it,” she explains.“I wanted to show you that I… I planned on prom.I wanted to go.To try.”
“Then, what happened?”
“I want to explain…” Her voice trails off as she searches for words.“If you’re willing to listen and I can calm down enough to… enough to… talk.”
She hides her flexing fingers behind her back, bounces on her boots, and takes a deep breath.With so much tension and heartbreak between us, I feel the tension, too.
Though perhaps not as much as she does.
“I, um, have my inhaleranda backup, if it helps,” I offer with a short smile.
She snort-laughs—a sound I never thought I’d hear again.“Good thinking.”
She hesitates, as if finding her place in a book after losing her page.
“How about a drink?”I say, motioning to the bar.
“That’s a good idea.”
We perch on the awkward barstools.She moves what looks like water with lemon aside and orders a Vodka Cranberry from the pirate-esque bartender.I ask for a beer.The captain revs the weak motor and unties us from the dock.The bar tilts as the engine drives us toward the middle of the river.
“On a scale of one to ten, how safe do you think this boat is?”
“Three, at best.But don’t worry.I’m an expert swimmer and hold an EMT-B certification.I studied and trained…after.” She swallows hard at the word and looks away, as if embarrassed.“I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
“I know.I didn’t mean it that way.”When it’s clear that she’s too nervous to start, I say, “I, um, I like your tattoos.”
She swallows hard and manages a smile.“I like your beard.Very distinguished.”
I graze it with my fingers in that thoughtful way I use when I need a dramatic pause with my students.“It helps to look less like the middle schoolers I teach.”
Her brow quirks, and her green eyes flood with fresh emotion.“You did it?You’re a teacher?”
“Yeah, history, geography, and government,” I answer, surprised at her reaction.After what she went through with her education, I imagined she’d hate the idea.
