Page 5 of Falling for 42
I just hope we can make the short walk to the hotel without me hooking a hand around his waist and pulling him into the shadows before letting him know I’d do an even better job of creative thinking with his hard cock in my mouth, if that’s what he wants.
CHAPTER 4
MALIK
As soon asthe hotel room door is closed behind us, I swallow hard. I’ve hooked up a fair bit, but none of those experiences prepared me for someone like Kobe.
He’s hot in a sinfully inked package that screams “get on your knees and blow me.” That and he’s older than I am. Technically, I’m a grown-up at twenty-two—okay, almost twenty-two—and I usually absolutely feel that way most of the time, especially around freshmen, but not so much with Kobe.
Hell, the fact that I even think “I’m a grown-up atalmosttwenty-two” tells you pretty much everything about my maturity. But still….
He’s lived, experienced so much awesome shit. Hell, he spent time in Japan. How fucking incredible is that? It’s possible that the amount of ink covering his skin would make some folks cross the street, maybe earn him a double- or triple-take, but all the color and fine black lines do is draw me in.
He’s fucking beautiful.
He also knows what he wants. Has legit life goals, while I’m pissing around on a basketball court, not so silently freaking out about what I’m going to do when I leave college at the end of the school year.
Everything about his certainty calls to me. Makes me want to know him better. And hell if those photos I spent eons obsessing over did him justice.
He’s so much better in the flesh. More beautiful. And his intense eyes and shit-eating grin as he pulls me a beer out of the fridge just make him more so.
“Thanks,” I say, accepting the cold beer bottle.
He smiles. “No problem. Let me get my sketchpad.”
Surprise has me pausing with the beer bottle frozen less than an inch from my lips. While I’m getting a reality check that Kobe legit wants to work with me on a tattoo idea and didn’t bring me back to his room so I can blow him or he me—honestly, I’m down for both—he’s rifling through his bag, not paying my dropped-jaw reaction any mind.
I snap my mouth closed, swallowing a mouthful of beer, allowing it to wash away my disappointment.
“So, tell me if you have any initial thoughts, or have seen any kind of designs you’ve liked over the years,” Kobe says as he sits on the bed, back to the headboard, his smiling eyes on me.
Despite the sliver of rejection sitting heavily in my gut, my lips tilt, and I take a step forward. Where do I sit? There’s a single chair tucked under a small desk. Looks like that’s where I need to head.
Another step and Kobe’s “Here” has me pausing and snapping my gaze to him.
He tilts his head toward the empty spot next to him on the bed. My heart leaps, my pulse picking up as I try to cool the eagerness I feel at joining him.
Hell, maybe more isn’t off the table after all.
While awareness thrums through me when I settle beside him, my shoulders relax. My smile widens at the open, intrigued expression directed my way.
Right, we’re here to discuss tattoo ideas.
Which I’m genuinely into and want to make happen. Just the thought of Kobe being the man to ink my skin is an added incentive.
I know, I know… I’m far too invested, and his asking me here pumped hope into my chest. That’s not changed, though. My hope. I’m still doing something I never thought that I’d be given the opportunity to do: get to know him.
“So…,” he prompts, soft but steady, his hand resting on his sketchpad, thumb tracing the edge in a way that’s entirely too mesmerizing.
Shit. The tattoo. I drag my focus back. “I’ve been thinking about something that connects to my family,” I start, running a hand over the back of my neck. “Like I told you, they’ve sacrificed a lot to get me here. First one in my family to go to college. They’ve always had my back, so I definitely feel like… I want a piece of them with me. Something that can remind me of them wherever I am.”
Kobe nods, his gaze intense but warm. “That’s solid,” he says, voice low. “What kind of images come to mind when you think of them?”
My mind flicks through flashes of home, and I settle on a memory that means more to me than I’d realized. “There’s this willow tree in our backyard. It’s huge, probably older than my grandparents, and it’s got these branches that just kind of… cover everything. Like a big canopy.” I chuckle, a little embarrassed. “That tree was the one place where I’d go to think, to get away, you know? Especially when things got heavy. And my mom, she’d always find me there, no matter how hidden I thought I was.”
As I speak, Kobe’s hand is moving, a pencil in his fingers sketching fluidly across the paper. The soft scratch of graphite fills the room, and my eyes are drawn to his hands—steady,confident. He works with an ease that mesmerizes me, his fingers strong and sure as they bring the willow to life.
“Yeah, I can see it,” he says, glancing up at me with a half-smile. “A willow tree. Protective, deep roots. And maybe….” He pauses, studying me. “Your number too. Put 42 somewhere in the branches? It’s part of who you are, right?”
