Page 122 of I Blame the Rival

The words pierce my chest and I have to bite my tongue to keep from calling this whole thing off. My flower wants to do this, so I have to honour that.

But first I needto ease her mind.

Taking a marker out of the packet, I uncap it and offer it to her. Lacey takes it with wide eyes, watching me pull my shirt over my head.

“I’ll go first then.”

Chapter 24

Lacey

I am the world’s worst artist.

Giggles escape as I draw a stick figure on Skylar’s back. He’s lying face down on the bed while I’m straddling his waist, precariously balancing over him as I attempt to add another stick figure to the collection.

“How long does this take to wash off?”

He shifts beneath me, “A couple days, normally. A week at most.”

The thought of Skylar walking around with my hideous drawing for a week has laughter bursting out of me.

“Do I want to know what you’re doing back there?”

“Shh, I’m working.”

When Skylar offered me the chance to draw on him, I didn’t know what to think. It was obvious he was doing it to help merelax, but I didn’t see how scribbling ink all over his body was going to reduce my anxiety.

Turns out, drawing on someone else is really fun.

A smile lights up my face as I give my stick figures some clothes. It wasn’t just the art that helped to reduce my stress, it was Skylar himself. He didn’t just give me free reign to mark his skin, he also gave me time and space to get comfortable being naked around him.

There isn’t a scrap of material on my body and yet the discomfort from earlier is nowhere to be found.

More giggles float out of my mouth as I write our names under each one. Drawing a little heart to connect the two, I re-cap the marker with a flourish.

“All done.”

He shifts beneath me and I quickly scramble to the end of the bed so he can sit up. The stick figures ripple along his back as he pushes himself off the bed and the sight has my face breaking into a wide smile.

“I think I outdid myself.”

Skylar glances at me with bright eyes before walking over to the mirror hanging on the far wall. He studies the drawing, twisting his spine so he can read the two names scrawled underneath each figure.

“Am I the one on the left or right?”

I laugh, climbing off the bed and walking over, “You’re the one with short hair. Here, let me show you.”

He watches me through the mirror, his eyes following my fingers when I gently brush stick figure number one.

“This is Skylar. He’s an unbelievably fast runner but pretends he doesn’t exercise very often.”

He huffs out a laugh and I feel it vibrate through my fingertips. Trailing my hand along his skin, I gently tap stick figure number two.

“And this is Lacey. She’s a terrible runner but pretends reading counts as cardio.” I smile, tracing the warped shape linking the two figures, “And this is our heart. Broken when we’re apart but perfectly complete when we’re together.”

Skylar meets my gaze in the mirror, his eyes a beacon of happiness when that beautiful face breaks into a smile. My heart slams against my chest as I stare at him, stare at the boy I saw in that photograph all those weeks ago.

The one who shared his joy with every facial muscle.

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