Page 113 of When You Had Me Adapting

“Morning, J.” She smiles, stretching her arms above her head with a yawn.

“Morning, you hungry?” Her eyes trail my body down to the outline of my cock. Her tongue pops out of her mouth and wets her lips. “I meant breakfast,” I chuckle.

“What did you make?”

“French toast.” I walk around her bed and place the tray of plates and mugs across her lap. “I couldn’t find the syrup, but you had whipped cream, so I hope that’s okay.”

“We’ve been on an ice cream sundae kick lately.” She laughs. Turning the can over, she places a huge dollop on top of hertoast. She swipes her finger through the sweet cream and sucks it into her mouth, moaning around it.

Fuck me.

“Whipped cream is perfect,” she says. Her lips form into a smile that has me questioning if I should forgo the French toast and have her instead.

“Have I told you that you’re gonna be the death of me?” I laugh, climbing back into the bed next to her.

She takes a bite of her breakfast and sips her drink. “This is delicious, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I take a bite and thank the universe that it doesn’t taste like garbage; it’s actually pretty good.

“So you never said, did you finishWhen He Was Wickedwhile you were with your uncle?” she asks.

“Not yet, but I’m almost done. I’m really liking it so far.”

“Good, I can’t wait to hear what you think.” She smiles at me and I take another bite of my food. She gestures toward the ink covering my left forearm. “What’s that tattoo mean?”

“The camera is one of my favorites that I use in the field, and then I had my tattoo guy turn some of my favorite memories into photographs.” I point to one of the photos. “This one is a family of Vancouver Sea wolves. After mom died, Eli, myself, and a couple of other guys went up to Vancouver to research the wolves. They’re a really cool species. This was my favorite photo I took on that trip.”

She smiles. “Is it a mother wolf and its cub?”

“Yeah, it reminded me of my mom.”

“That’s really sweet. She would have loved it. What about this one?” She points to another photo inked on my arm.

“Humpback dolphins. It was a super small team and we went to the coast of Morocco to learn about their behavior. I related to them so much. They’re pretty elusive animals and usually steer clear of people. At that time, I didn’t have many friends.”I chuckle to myself. “On our second boat trip out, we spotted a small pod of them and I realized they really weren’t all that alone and I didn’t have to be either.”

She lets out a little hum and takes another bite of her breakfast. “I like hearing about your adventures. Is this one the Bix?” she asks, pointing to a picture of two small parrots.

“Sure is.”

“And what’s this one?” She points to the final photo. “There isn’t an animal.”

“It’s the night sky above your parents’ house the night before I left for D.C.”

She sets her plate on her bedside table and inspects my arm.

“I found the star map of that night and had him duplicate it,” I explain.

“Is that a shooting star?”

“It is.”

“But, I thought you didn’t believe in shooting stars?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why do you have one tattooed on your arm?” She looks up at me, her eyes a little glossy like she’s putting the pieces together. Her fingers trail over the stars permanently on my skin.

“Because that night was the last time I was truly happy.”

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