Page 51 of Look, Don't Touch

“If you believe that, then how do you explain all those extreme emotions that just turned your pretty face into a velociraptor’s?”

I want to kick my legs and scream, not at the top of my lungs, but just a good long belt.

“New emotions are great. They mean you’re growing; you’re evolving.”

“Like a Pokémon?”

“Like a non-traumatized person does when they’re young.”

“I can’t imagine going through this along with puberty.”

“It’s why teenagers are the worst.” She leans back in her seat. “I think this new development is fucking amazing.”

“It’s weird,” I counter. “But it doesn’t matter. Nothing will come of it. It’s not the point anyway.” I breathe to continue, but she cuts me off.

“What if there was a way? Would you want to get to know this man on a more intimate level?”

“He’s had anal beads stuffed so far inside me they tickled my belly button, Astor.” I pin her with a sweet glare. “What’s more intimate than that?”

She glares back. It’s not sweet. “You know, Dr. Fitzpatrick.”

I do.

I bite my bottom lip. I shouldn’t have thought about it. About him. But he’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past five days. Nope, that’s not exactly true. I’ve been thinking about him, and I’ve been thinking about Mr. Judge and his mysterious eyes and his big fucking hand around mine.

Go figure, I don’t give a shit about any guy, and wham, I’m fucked in the head over two.

“Hail?”

“Huh?” I don’t bother looking at her, afraid she’ll see the guilt and total confusion in my eyes.

“The sheer fact that you’re giving it thought is a huge milestone.” Her tone is soft and kind. It hurts. It hurts because it’s true.

“We should drink to it.” I sit up. “Let’s go.” The moment my feet hit the ground, I move to stand.

“Not so fast.” Astor settles me with an open palm. “You asked him to take the blindfold off.” Her eyes are alight. They sparkle in the light of the day. “Did he?”

I lean forward and hand her the envelope with the note beside it. “After the concierge untied me, she said he left this for me.”

She plucks it from my fingers as though it’s a winning lottery ticket. Her glimmering eyes narrow on the note for a beat and then go wide. They narrow once more and then bloat as much as alive eyes can. “Holy shit!”

“Yep, holy shit.”

Next Time, I promise

“Next time, I promise.” She reads the words he wrote for me. As if I hadn’t tattooed them onto the roof of my mouth by saying them so often.

This note is written on the same exquisite paper used for the first note. Its ink is the same rich, deep color as the first. The strokes are sure and steady just like the first.

“He wants to take a step with you. He wants to be vulnerable with you. And he’s the one who donated the money in Matt’s name.”

I stand and hold out my hand for the note. “Ready for that drink now?”

“Yeah.” She gasps. “Maybe more than one.”

“Same.”

“You’re not one to be on your phone so much,” Nat says, pointing at the offending tech clutched in my hand as though it’s the fountain of youth.

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