Page 18 of The Vows We Keep
He does anyway, and I see text across his ribs that saysWe Found Wonderland. I want to ask him what it means.
“Do you want to takeyourtop off soIcan have a better look?”
I shake my head quickly and look away. “Most definitely not.”
“Why not? You’ve already told me you don’t have a problem with no-strings sex. I bet we could have some fun. And we have the house to ourselves.”
I clench my thighs; thankful he can’t see because of the table. “What I need you to do is draw the three men you buried.”
Colton chuckles. “I’ll win you over eventually. I’d bet a hundred bucks that my dick will meet your pussy before our little interlude is over.”
“Can you just focus on the drawings?”
He leans forward, his chest up against the table. “Little hard to focus, because now I’m totally thinking about all the things they’ll have to say to each other.”
Despite my best efforts to bury my smile, I know the corners of my mouth twitch to give me away, and I hate that I am softening against my best survival instincts. “Genitals don’t talk.”
Now he folds his arms across his chest and leans back, farther away from the pen and paper in front of him. “See, that’s where you are wrong, Catalina. If my cock gets hard, it’s saying to the pussy standing opposite, ‘Hey, I see you and you’re fucking hot.’” Dramatically, he dropped his voice an octave lower to impersonate his penis. “And then the pussy responds, getting wet, which says”—he speaks with a shrill voice—“‘Hey, I see you too, and I’d really like you to get in here.’ And then—”
“Okay. Stop. No pussy and cock hookups. No interpretive conversations of everything they’re going to say to each other. Just you and that pen. Drawing pictures.”
“For the record, you’re no fun, Catalina. And I’m getting really hungry.”
“You’re right. I’m no fun. Remember that. We have no food. Just draw.”
Colton pushes up his sleeve, picks up the pen, and starts to draw.
And it’s ... mind-blowing.
He’s so talented.
The three men take shape on the page, and he calls out ink details beautifully.
“You’re so good at that,” I say.
He looks up, as if surprised by my presence. “I’m a tattoo artist, remember?”
I’ve only ever met Los Reyes club presidents, but they never work. He also told me he was on cleanup duty that day. It’s something they would never be caught doing.
Something skitters down my spine that this man is not who I think he is.
I keep my thoughts to myself as he works. But now, I’m looking for other details. Does any of the ink I can see tell me anything about who he is? There’s a hyperrealistic pomegranate on his neck. He couldn’t have done that on himself though.
On his forearm is a nautical themed sleeve of tattoos. An old diving helmet, a compass. I run my fingers over the frothy blue waves that splash in-between.
Colton glances my way, and I remove my hand. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Heat simmers between us until Colton continues with his sketches.
When he’s finished, he slides the artwork across the table to me. “You recognize any of these guys?” he asks.
I study the first one, but I don’t recognize the wide eyes, square chin, and faux hawk. The same with the second picture.
“Might have a couple of details wrong,” Colton says, “But that’s the general idea.”
“I don’t know either of the two.”
