Page 141 of Breaking the Rules
Her smile spreads over her lips. "Shit, I should become a tattoo artist."
"You could."
She shakes her head. "I couldn't take the pressure."
"I was like that at first."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"How'd you get over it."
"Booze, at first."
Her eyes go wide. "Oh."
"Then time." I check the temperature gauge on the kettle. It's getting close. "It's not for everyone."
"Glad you realize that."
"What does speak to you?"
"Besides fashion?"
"Yeah."
"I do love fashion. Being able to turn into someone else in an hour. It's funny, how differently people treat me if I'm in something like I wore last night. Or if I'm in this." She motions to her pajama shorts and tank top. "Or if I put on some trashy leopard print dress."
"You don't own leopard print."
"I do. I swear."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's not my favorite. But it has a certain aesthetic."
I'm sure she looks fantastic in any print.
"I love movies too. Letting them wash over me. And music. I have no talent. I can't play an instrument. I can barely carry a tune. I have enough rhythm to dance. But God, when I close my eyes, and I feel the bass, and I let the melody wash over me—there's nothing like that."
"Be honest: you listen to Bayside when you fuck."
Her cheeks flush. "I haven't."
She might as well screamI want to.
God, she's adorable blushing.
My balls tighten.
My pulse races.
That was the wrong thing to ask.
My body is going haywire.
It's tuned to her.
