Page 74 of Pieces Of You

She sighs, then reaches up to run her hand through my sweat-covered hair. “You make me feel beautiful. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her smile is lazy. “Want to shower with me?”

35

Holden

I never really understood whatcouples did between dates and sex. I assumed at some point, they’d probably have to talk to each other or just… enjoy being in each other's presence? It had always been such an odd concept to me. But, lying in bed while Jamie sits with her back against the wall and her legs over mine, silently flipping through the catalog, I finally understand it.

The sunlight filtering through the blinds hits her eyesjust right, capturing the lightness mixed with darkness, encompassing everything she is. She’s in a pair of my boxer shorts—her underwear too wet to wear, so she says—and her dress replaced with the t-shirt I’d worn to school. And if this isit… if this is how people whofeelthings like spending their time, then yeah, I get it. I could watch her exactly like this, all day, all night, and never get sick of it.

“I can’t even imagine growing up in a place like this,” she says, showing me the double page spread of the catalog that’s nothing but images of the farm. “I would sleep under the stars every night.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I guess I took advantage of it.”

Her focus moves from the catalog to me, my bare chest to be exact, and her eyes narrow.

Mine do the same. “What?”

“The blinds are creating this shadow on you, and it’s—” She breaks off on a sigh. “I wish I could draw on you right now.”

“Onme?”

“Yeah,” she says, reaching over to stroke her finger across my torso. “You’d be the perfect medium.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Draw on me.”

Eyes wide, she asks, already getting out of bed, “Are you serious?”

I nod, watching as she goes to her bag to grab a marker. She sits directly on my lap when she returns, her legs bent on either side of me, but there’s nothing sexual about our positions. And while I’d love to be inside her again, the prospect of watching her create something excites me even more.

With the tip of the marker pressed into my flesh, she starts at the middle of my collarbone and makes her way down, tracing the outlines of the shadows caused by the blinds. “It’s water-based,” she says, glancing up at me momentarily. “It’ll come right out.”

I wish I could tell her that I don’t care. That I’d almostpreferif it were permanent. But that would be weird. So, all I do is nod. And then I shift her loose, damp hair away from her eyes and behind her ear so I can watch her face as she creates magic with her fingers.

We don’t speak as she works, the marker sliding across my skin effortlessly, and I don’t look at what she’s doing.

I look at her.

It’s strange—this feeling of calm mixed with restlessness that beats through my chest and settles in the pit of my stomach. I’ve never felt it before, and I don’t know if I want to feel it again.

“Why drawing?” I ask, cutting through the silence.

The marker pauses mid-movement, right above my breastbone, and Jamie peers up at me through her lashes. The setting sun highlights the embers of her eyes, the freckles across her cheeks. She clears her throat before refocusing on her task. “That’s an odd question.”

Is it,though?Maybe. And considering she doesn’t live in my head, I can understand her confusion. I contemplate how to explain my need for her to answer. At least this one thing. “Mia has an eating disorder.”

Her gaze snaps to mine and then right back down. She doesn’t speak. I don’t want her to.

“It’s bulimia,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “It came out when I was home for the summer… but I guess she’s had it for a while, years now…” I push down the knot in my throat. “Ever since I left her.”

Jamie’s eyes are slow to meet mine. Hold them. “You mean when your parents divorced, and you had to move?”

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