The thought makes guilt crawl up my throat because what if one day he looks at it and regrets me?
What if one day he wakes up and realizes he spent all his time chasing me, and I was never worth all of this?
“Do you want to look at it?” he asks, pulling his sleeve up before resting his forearm on the table in front of me.
I lean forward, studying the intricate honeycomb design. It’s beautiful and so different from any tattoo I’ve ever seen. The dark hexagons interlock across his skin, some filled with golden honey, others with it dripping out of them. There’s a little bumblebee at the top, and as I study it, I realize my initials are hidden in the wings, which somehow only makes me feel worse.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
I swallow, not wanting to say how I really feel about it. I love it. It's so him, and it's so us, but we aren’t anusanymore, are we?
“It's—” I stop myself.
He tilts his head, studying me.
“Linguine carbonara,” the waiter says as he stands next to the table.
I raise my hand. “That’s mine,” I say, leaning back against the booth to give him space to place the plate down.
The smell alone makes my stomach rumble, and I forget everything Zach and I were talking about.
The waiter hands Zach his martini, and the second he’s away from the table, I grab my fork and start to shovel the food into my mouth. I’m too hungry to be polite, and too insecure to keep our conversation going.
“It’s so good,” I say, closing my eyes and practically melting into the booth.
I keep chewing, letting the taste explode in my mouth. When I open my eyes, Zach’s staring right at me with a look of amusement on his face.
“Something wrong?” I say, sitting up a little before shoveling more food onto my fork.
He shakes his head, trying to hold back a smirk. “No. No. I was just reminded of something from high school.”
“What?” I say once I've swallowed my food.
“Remember the first time I let you have some of my burger?”
It takes me a second before it clicks, and I stare at him wide-eyed.He’s talking about the time I moaned so loudly he thought I’d never had a real orgasm. He was right. I never had. Not until him.
He shrugs. “At least this time I know I can make you sound better than that.”
“Zach,” I say with warning tone even though my thighs clench a little under the table.
“Sorry. Can’t help myself when I’m around you, but I’ll try.”
I grit my teeth and focus on my meal, swirling the pasta onto my fork and eating, albeit a little slower and quieter than before.
“So, you and Drew seemed friendly. I didn't realize you kept in touch after that dinner in sophomore year.”
“We've seen each other at a few NFL events over the last year. He's a good guy.” He pauses and shifts back in his seat. “He and Bella went through some shit and spent some time apart. She's just come back from living in London.”
The words hang there, and I know exactly why he's saying them. The parallel is impossible to miss.
“Don't,” I warn.
“Don't what? I'm just telling you about my friend's relationship. Making dinner conversation.” The picture of innocence.
“You're making a point.”
“Am I? What point would that be?”
