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No. I can see Finnick with his trident. Shit, we were in the middle of Catching Fire. That leaves two and a half movies to go.
"It's too bad," I whisper. "I had the perfect tattoo picked out." I tug at his t-shirt, pulling him closer.
My hand finds his chest. My finger traces the line.
"Right here. A Latin expression. But I won't say which one."
He smiles, charmed. But it fades. Back to stern caretaker. I think. I can only see so well without my glasses.
"You should brush your teeth," he whispers.
And take my medication.
But I can't leave.
Not with him this close.
It's all I'm going to get.
The way he's looking at me—he's dead set on this just friends thing.
I stare back into his eyes. "Make me."
He shakes his head as he pulls back. "Sweet dreams, Kay."
But not as sweet as him staying.
The next few days, I avoid Brendon. I eat in my room. Watch TV while he's at work. Insist Emma and I watch movies in her room.
Sunday is the longest day ever. Even though there's a rush at work, my shift stretches on forever. I don't get cut until ten. Don't get home, in my room, until ten thirty.
Only an hour to go.
And I'm not ready.
Shit. Where the hell is my laptop?
It's not on my desk. Or in my closet. Or anywhere under the bed.
There are footsteps in the hall. Then a knock on my door.
"You looking for this?" Brendon's voice flows into my room.
"My laptop?"
"Yeah. Can I come in?"
"Sure." We're doing normal. We're friends. And friends can hang out in each other's rooms.
It's not like I'm thinking about him on my bed.
Naked.
It's not like I'm obsessed with his dirty drawings.
And the smell of his shampoo.
And all the lines of ink that wrap around his arm.
