Page 44 of Pieces Of You

“Jamie,” he deadpans, and the tone in his voice has me cutting my bullshit real quick. I look up at him, see that same heat in his eyes from earlier today, and I remember that I’m standing in front of him in my sleep clothes—an oversized shirt and underwear, andnothingelse. My damp hair’s loose, and a droplet of water streaks down my temple. Or maybe I’m suddenly sweating. I can’t tell. “I didn’t realize…” His voice breaks, and he clears it, twisting a strand of my hair between his fingers. “I didn’t know your hair was this long.”

“I always wear it up,” I whisper.Yeah, because that’s relevant.But I don’t know what to say or how to act when he’s looking at me the way he is—as if he wants to devour me whole. Or bend me over his desk andboneme. I swallow, thick, and say, “So… no raging orgy to attend this fine Saturday night?”

I regret it the second the words are out of my mouth because he’s reaching for his phone, his lips twisted as he holds back a smile. “I hadn’t planned it.” He holds up his phone between us. “Want me to call some friends?”

I smack the phone out of his grasp. “I’d rather shove barbed wire in each one of my holes.”

His chuckle is deep, affecting me in ways I don’t want to admit. “No barbed wire here, but I’m sure my dick will make a stellar replacement.”

I start to roll my eyes, but he tugs on the front of my shirt, bringing me forward until I’m standing between his legs. Arms loosely around me, he asks, “Are you tired?”

“Not really. I’m always wired after a shift.”

“So…” he smiles to one side. “What do you want to do?”

I flatten my hands on his solid chest and rise to my toes. Mouth right to his ear, I whisper, “Whatever you’re thinking…” I trail off, flicking his ear with my tongue, and smile when he groans, his arms tightening around me. “Notthat.”

He pushes me away. “Remind me again why my dick’s so fucking hard for you?”

“I didn’t know it was,” I say with a giggle.

He grasps my shoulders, pushing me back a step, and motions down to the bulge in his shorts. I’m successful at my lack of response when he shoves his hand down there to adjust himself. “You’re mean.”

I shrug. “It’s a defense mechanism.”

He watches me as if trying to read between the lines. It’s not that complicated. You get burned enough times; you stop trying to find warmth in other places, otherpeople.

“You want to get high?” he asks, and I shake my head, start looking around his room. “You want to drink? I think I have a bottle of—”

“Pass,” I cut in.Hard pass.

He motions toward the television. “Want to play Call of Duty?”

I grimace. “I suck at PacMan on the arcade game at the diner.”

Holden chuckles. “I can probably find some paper if you want to draw…”

“You’re sweet,” I say, at the same time I find exactly what I’ve been looking for. Ever since he brought me here the first time, I’ve wanted to do a puzzle. I found some phone apps that simulate it, but I’m sure it’s nothing like the real thing. I point toward the bookshelf where boxes of puzzles sit side by side, asking, “Can I?”

His smile is ridiculous. “Yeah?” He releases me completely. “Take your pick.”

22

Holden

Two minutes later,we’re sitting on the floor, my back to my bed while Jamie sits to the side. I mash at a PlayStation controller, and Jamie stares down at hundreds of tiny cardboard pieces, her brow furrowed in confusion. Shoulders slumped, she heaves out a sigh. “I don’t even know where to start,” she mumbles.

“You’ve never done a puzzle before?”

Shaking her head, she answers, “Not a real one.”

I drop the controller on my lap and tell her, “The beginning’s the easiest part.” Flicking the pieces around with my finger, I add, “You just need to find all the edges and corners, and then everything else will come together.”

It doesn’t take me long to find three corner pieces, and I move them toward her. She picks up each one, compares them to the box’s image, and places them roughly where they need to go. “You’re really good at this, huh?”

I shrug, focus on the television again. “I grew up doing them. Probably like you with drawing, right?” I glance at her, but she doesn’t respond, too focused on the puzzle. “I put pen to paper, and nothing happens. I can do the good ol’ generic dick and balls, but that’s basically it.”

She smiles, letting me know she’s listening, and that smile gets wider when she finds the fourth and final corner piece. “What was it like for you? Growing up, I mean. You said you grew up on a nursery?”

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