Page 60 of Untouchable

Or at least, I think she does.

“I like to sketch, it’s something I picked up back when I would hang out in my uncle's garage before I started working there. I’d use the oil from the ground and my finger to paint pictures on old cardboard boxes. Then one day he bought me a sketch book. Apparently, my mother chewed him out, and said if he sent me home one more time covered in oil she’d steal all of his wrenches.” I laugh, remembering how scared he looked.

“That’s sweet. I’ve never seen you sketch before, I assumed it was a new hobby.” I look over at her, taking in her wild blonde hair and face free of any product and my chest grows warm.

“I only bother taking the time to sketch the most beautiful things I see.” Her head snaps in my direction. “And that doesn’t happen very often.”

I see her swallow, and she sets her cup on her bare thigh. “How come?”

I smirk at her, and she glares at me. “Because you’re always gone.” She shakes her head and looks away, a nervous laugh falling from her lips.

“Well, I also noticed I didn’t have a mouth. Was it a passion piece about how you like me better when I’m silent?” I know she’s joking but it doesn’t make me hate the idea that she thinks I like her quiet, any less.

“No. I—” I stop myself, feeling like I’ve already bared enough of my soul to her in the last twelve hours alone. Then she looks at me, a waiting look in her eye, and I fold. “I’ve never looked at your lips long enough to get them right.”

“Oh. Wh?—”

I cut her off, her lips making a perfect littleO.“Please don’t ask me why.”

“Okay…” She bends over in her chair, setting her mug on the ground, then crosses her legs and turns in her chair to fully face me. “Go get your sketchbook.”

I look at her questioningly. “Why?”

“You’re going to finish that sketch.”

“Katarina, I?—”

She sighs, rolling her eyes. “I promise to stay over here in my chair and be as still as I possibly can be while you get them right. Reserving the right to swat bugs when necessary.” I laugh at that, then stand from my chair.

“Fine.” The smile on her face will never not be one of my favorite things to look at. I go into the house, seeing Mikey and Bodine both slayed out most ungracefully on the couch, fast asleep. Grabbing my bag I head back outside, quietly shutting the door behind me. Katarina claps her hands together softly, wiggling in her seat as I pull my pencils out and flip to the picture of her. I have to catch my breath when I look up at her, wondering how I ever kept myself from looking at her. I squint, trying to get the visual I want to finish this and her eyes widen.

“What?” she whispers, like the volume of her voice will change the fact that her lips are moving. I chuckle and set my pencil down.

“Nothing, I just…” Knowing I won’t be able to say what I need without sounding crazy, I lean forward and run my thumb along her bottom lip, pulling it out slightly, before pulling away again. “Okay. Be still.” I glance up at her and see her smirking, and that’s when I finally envision the finished product in my mind. She remains completely still while I finish the sketch, and when I’m finished I think it might be my best work yet.

“Done.” Her face lights up.

“Really?” Her posture straightens like a meerkat and I laugh. Then she reaches out for my book and I pull it away. “Let me see!” she demands.

“No.”

“Ace, please?” I hesitate for a moment, knowing I’ll more than likely end up showing her anyway, but I take another minute to enjoy it—just in case she hates it. Then I turn it around, and watch her face carefully as she takes it in. Her eyes roam over the paper, her lips barely parting as her once playful features grow more serious.

“My eyes…” she says, making my heart beat faster as the real ones meet mine. “They’re the only thing colored in.”

“I don’t typically color my sketches.” I turn the book to look at them again. “But it was the only way to properly capture the depth to them.”

“I love it. You’re an amazing artist.”

The obnoxious laugh that escapes me makes her giggle. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, hugging her legs closer to her.

“I’m a car guy, Reaper. Not an artist.”

“Come on, Adrian. You’re not that small-minded.” She stands from her chair, places her hand on my shoulder, and smiles down at me. “Who says you can’t be both?”

She walks away, leaving me wishing I didn’t make such stupid fucking rules for myself. Because all I’ve wanted to do since I touched her lips, is kiss them.

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