Page 88 of Midnight Ink

I look over at him. “Not quite finished. You know I draw slow.”

“You take your time. Nothing wrong with that.”

I just stare at his page, at myself through Ian’s eyes. “Ian.”

“Yeah?”

I shut the sketchbook, rolling on top of him and fitting myself between his thighs. I cup his face, my thumbs brushing under his cheeks, grounding us both here as his hands slide over my hips, his fingers gently tracing the curve of my ass. Tentative at first, like he’s asking permission. “Can I?” he murmurs.

I nod and feel him brace my weight in his lap before flipping me underneath him. He leans in slowly. When his mouth meets mine it’s slow, not hungry or desperate like our kisses from the other night. Instead, he’s mapping the shape of me.

I breathe him in and settle under his familiar weight. Something in my chest eases as this feeling washes over me. Soft relief and his softer skin. Our kiss deepens. Slow and unhurried. His lips move against mine like he’s afraid to rush. I feel it everywhere. My hands slowly caress his back. My thighs draw up around his waist when I feel his weight settle onto me completely.

Thunder outside rumbles, low and distant, but I don’t care about the storm.

I don’t care about anything but the way he feels against me.

Ian doesn’t make a move to do more. We just lie like that, tangled together, kissing so long I lose track of time. Eventually he breaks away, resting his forehead against mine. Then he drops down next to me and moves to pull the comforter up around us.

On his side, he traces my jaw with a soft smile.

“This is me taking it slow, Jules.”

I fit him into my arms and kiss the top of his head.

Ian may think this is slow, but it feels like a sudden plunge. I’m unable to do anything but fall, knowing that he’ll most likely break my heart.

TWENTY

JULIAN

Neon and fluorescent lights line the boardwalk. It’s a little dizzying. It feels like a completely different world down here, the smell of rain mixed with fried dough and greasy food clinging to the air.

I’ve never liked fast rides. They make my stomach turn and my pulse feel too loud. It’s a little overstimulating, but Ian’s fingers haven’t slipped out of mine since we began to walk down here. It’s giving me a point to focus on. Every now and then he gives me a soft squeeze.

“Did you go to fairs growing up?” I ask him.

He glances at me with a smile. “Yeah, my parents took me when I was a kid. My dad didn’t ride much, but my mom always came with me.

His dad. The words hang between us. Ian never talks about him. I know he died when Ian was in high school, but that’s about it.

“You don’t talk much about him,” I say carefully, afraid to pop this bubble.

Ian’s quiet for a moment. The noise around us swells and crashes. Someone is shouting. A loud bell rings through the air. A thrilled scream splits between us. Finally, he exhales. “He got sick when I was in high school. There wasn’t much the doctors could do. He always avoided doctors at all costs.” His jaw tightens. “It wrecked my mom. She’s happier now, I think. We don’t talk much, though.”

“Not a good relationship?”

“No.” He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just distant. Even when he was alive, she really didn’t know what to do with me. When he died it was like she was stuck in the house with a stranger she was responsible for.” He flips his arm, revealing numbers inked into his skin. “That’s his birthday and the date he passed.” I look at the ribbon around a bleeding heart. “What about yours?”

“I don’t really know much,” I admit. “My mom and gramma raised me until my gramma passed. I was in elementary school when she died. They were more than enough. I’ve never felt like I was missing anything.”

“Your mom sounds incredible,” Ian says softly. “I wish I could’ve met her.”

That makes my chest ache. “She would’ve told you to keep my ass in line.” I laugh a little. “She was worried about me a lot. She was an amazing mom, but she didn’t understand how my brain works. She thought I was just hyper and unfocused.”

“You have ADHD, right?”

I nod. “We fought about school a lot. I understood the material I was learning growing up, it just all fell apart with tests and homework. Everything I’d learned would evaporate in a written test, but if you asked me a question, I knew the answers. Reading assignments were my number one enemy. I just couldn’t focus on them. I could reread the pages a hundred times and still absorb nothing. I tried planners, notes, nothing worked. I thought something was wrong with me.” I swallow. “Then, when I was a freshman in college, I had this professor who recognized patterns with me. She gave me different assignments. Not written homework or reading, tangible things I could manage and keep my focus on. It was like everything clicked for me. Once I stopped fighting my brain and forcing it to do something it isn’t wired to do, I felt like everything just made so much more sense.”