“No, but I’ve always wanted them. I could never afford it. Or, well, I couldn’t afford for it to be doneright, and I need it to be perfect. The first one I plan to get is my dad, mom, and sister’s names, in their own handwriting.”
He pauses, considering his words. “You still have samples of their writing?”
“My dad wrote me letters when he was deployed. I have some letters my mom and dad wrote to each other when they first started dating, a birthday card from my mom, and a drawing Rosie made me.”
“That would make a good tattoo,” he says. “A part of them to keep with you.”
The question forms in my head—could you do it?—but I catch it before accidentally saying it. I can’t ask him that. I don’t even know if we’re friends yet.
“Where would you put it?” His voice drops, and his voice rumbles down my neck, along my breasts, making them ache.
I struggle for words. “My inner arm, maybe?”
His hand trails up toward my elbow, fingers tracing a line through my hoodie to the tender skin on the inside of my arm. He lets his hand drop, completely oblivious to the fire his fingers have left in their wake.
“Here?” he asks.
A powerful tremor courses through me and I close my eyes. Okay, he can’t bethatoblivious. “Yeah. There.”
Every sound around us fades. The hum of the refrigerator, the barely perceptible scratching noise, the ticking clock on the wall—it all goes away until it’s just Nico and me in this bubble of quiet that feels fragile enough to shatter if I say anything wrong.
I can’t take it anymore.
I open my eyes and push off the counter, toward him.
Nico rears back, taking hold of my arm to keep me at bay. “Eden, stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
In any other circumstance, this rejection would make me wish I were dead and I’d never talk to the man again out of pure shame, but I want this so badly that I keep pushing.
“Pretty sure I do,” I say.
“It’s the ectoplasm.” His grip on my arm tightens. “I know what you’re feeling, but you’re in no condition to consent to anything.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t consent to,” I snap, craning my neck to stay looking up at him. “Are you telling me you don’t have control of yourself?”
“I… have control.” His voice comes out thick.
“I want you,” I say simply, my tongue feeling heavy. All of me feels heavy. Especially where his hand is on me. “So much I can’t think about anything else.”
The blush spreading across his face is such a stark contrast to his usual pale complexion that it’s impossible to miss. “If you knew me, you wouldn’t want me.”
“I would,” I say. “I want to know you. So badly, you have no idea.”
His throat works as he swallows, jaw clenching and unclenching like he’s fighting something inside himself. Oh God, what if I’m Griffin in this situation? What if Nico’s struggling with a general want, and I’m just the closest, willing person to him?
How can I be so aware of what I’m doing, but physically unable to stop?
“Do you want me?” I ask.
His eyes look pained. But then his gaze drops to my mouth, and it darkens. “Shit, Eden, you have no idea how much.”
His voice hooks under my ribcage and tugs me closer. It’s like there’s a weighted blanket draped over me, pushing me into the ground and making everything feel hard to move.
“I know I’m coming on strong,” I say quietly. “If I’m reading this wrong, just tell me, and I’ll?—”
His hand comes up to hold my chin, his thumb pressing against my bottom lip with enough pressure to make my breath snag.
“Eden,” he says in a low voice. “For once in your life, close your fucking mouth.”
