Page 26 of It Should Have Been Me

“Old habits die hard,” he whispers, his lips moving closer to my ear. His warm breath causes goosebumps to tickle down my arms. “You look at me like that...and I’m going to react.”

“How am I looking at you?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

“You’re looking at me like you want something from me.”

His forefinger traces a path along my collarbone, then down the middle of my chest. My nipples harden against the soft knitted fabric and my breasts feel full and heavy, like they’re craving for his hands to cup them, squeeze them. Old habits really do die hard because I don’t stop him from touching me.

Keeping his eyes on mine, his hand travels lower down my stomach, the shells lightly clicking together as it moves between the tassels. His finger slips beneath the waistband of my shorts, and when he yanks my pelvis against his, a needy gasp escapes my lips. It’s out now. I can’t take it back and his lips tilt up in a cocky grin.

“It’s not something I would expect from someone assatisfiedas you,” he taunts. “Or maybe...you’re not satisfied. You need something more stimulating, Cat?”

And that’s my cue to end it before he starts reading into something that isn’t there. “If you’re suggesting that getting naked with you is more stimulating, I can assure you I’d much rather knit that scarf.”

I give him a naughty wink, and he chuckles. “Solid burn, Savage. You think knitting would be more stimulating?”

“More stimulating than this conversation. And, honestly, the knitting needles would feel thicker in my hands.”

“Fuck off!” That gets an outright laugh out of him and the sound of it fills me with the type of giddiness I think I’ve only ever felt with him. He places his hand over his heart as if he’s genuinely offended. “Why are you always so brutal?”

“It’s not that. It’s just that your ego is so fragile. You’re too cocky for your own good. Now, stop with the inappropriate touching and back up off me, Soldier. I would actually like to go to the beach sometime today.”

“Yeah.”

He reluctantly steps back. I grab the beach bag, then we head out to his car.

My day at the beach with Scott is...odd. There’s familiarity, yet there are times when it feels like we’re strangers. I see bursts of how we used to be, but then it’s clouded with the reminder that we’re not those same people anymore. He’s grown. I’ve grown. We’ve grown on two separate paths, so we’ve outgrown each other. Something about that makes me sad.

We surf for the better part of the afternoon. I’m a lot better than I was when he first taught me, but I haven’t done it in a while, so I’m a little rusty, slipping off the board a few times.

After we’ve had enough of the water, we change into dry clothes and take a walk to a small café. We eat lunch, then return to the beach to watch the sunset. I kick off my flip-flops and sink my toes into the warm sand as I sit down. Reaching into my beach bag, I pull out a small ice cream container.

Scott gasps dramatically as he sits down beside me. “What could that be? Tell me mystical ice cream container, what do you contain? Because I know it’snotice cream.”

I giggle and peel off the lid. “It’s pineapple...with chili powder.”

“My favorite,” he says, taking a piece. “I like this better than mango.”

Scott generally doesn’t like fruit. He only makes an exception for bananas in his protein smoothies or as a post-workout snack. But he never says no to fruit coated with chili powder. He loves the combination of sweet and spicy.

I untie my hair and shake out my curls, allowing them to dry in the late afternoon sun. I feel Scott’s eyes on me and for a moment, he just stares at me, a strange expression on his face.

“Is...everything okay?” I ask warily.

“Yeah...sorry, uh...” He gives an uncertain smile, raking his hand over his head. “I haven’t seen you with your hair curly since you got back and...it’s just...it’s nice.” And then he awkwardly moves along. This has happened for the last two days, and I realize that we are now seamlessly transitioning between being tense and comfortable around each other. “So, where’s your favorite place that you’ve been to so far?” he asks, resuming the conversation we started at the café.

“I don’t have a favorite. Each place has its little quirks that make it unique and special. I stayed in Japan for three months and everyone there is so disciplined. It’s a complete culture shock, but I loved it because the technology there is out of this world. But then I also stayed in this tiny rural village in Cambodia for two months where there was no electricity and I loved that because the people there welcomed me like family. I learned so many life skills there, like how to fish...and milk a cow. It was amazing andsohumbling. I can’t choose a favorite.”

“That sounds awesome.” He takes another piece of pineapple. “How does it work, though? Do you just sculpt wherever you are and ship it from there?”

“No, a lot of the time I move to the city where I’m actually doing the project. Some of them are massive, others are murals, so I need to be on site to do them. I prefer to take on corporate clients who want my art across multiple locations. That way, it’s a steady stream of incomeandI get to travel, but those types of contracts are hard to come by. That’s why this project I’m starting in a few weeks is exactly what I’m looking for. I chased it for ninemonthsbecause it’s so lucrative. They were skeptical about giving me the contract because I’m only one person, but I worked my butt off to prove myself...and I got it.”

He smiles, and I can tell that he is genuinely happy for me. “If it’s even possible, you’re even more passionate about your work now. That fiery determination is burning even brighter than before.” He looks down for a second, and the moment is sort of bittersweet, but he snaps himself out of it and continues the conversation. “So, how much can you make from one project?”

I shrug. “Well, it depends on the size, whether it’s a private or corporate client. Most of my clients these days are chain stores or hotels, but sometimes I land a good private client that wants something custom-made. My last one took about eight weeks because it was massive andveryintricate, but if I convert it to dollars, I got...just under ninety thousand for it.”

“Shit! Ninety thousand?” The words burst out of him in shock. “And that’s just one project? No offense, but who spends that kind of money on...art?”

“Scott, you of all people know that the rich don’t know what to do with their money, so they spend it on all kinds of things, and that’s why I love Europe. It may just be my personal experience, but people there just have a deeper appreciation for art and they’re willing to spend more. I guess that’s the reason why I managed to build a client base there so quickly compared to here. But, yeah, not everyone needs to get a return before they decide to buy something. Some people just want something...pretty.”

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