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“Don’t you want to know.”
“I do.”
He leans his elbows on the table. “I do.”
“Are they on your booty?” I giggle. I don’t know why, but I’m feeling a little silly now that I’ve made my escape from campus, and at the moment I just want to make him laugh.
“No.” He laughs, a low, dry sound, but still a laugh, and I feel like a champion. “My ass is ink-free.”
“Mine too.”
“Yes—I’m aware of that.”
I bite my lip and look down at the table, hoping he won’t notice my face flush. I can’t believe the sex we had last night. I had no idea that it could be that way—and with an almost-stranger.
“Is the illustrious ‘You’ your only tat?” he asks.
“I’ve got one more.”
His brows come together. “Really? It must be well-hidden.”
I blush a little, thinking he’s seen almost all my hiding spots—even in between my ass cheeks. God.
“I guess so.” I lift my wavy hair up off my neck. “It’s right back here, can you see that?” I point to the spot. “Kind of behind my ear.”
He leans forward again, and I get a silly little thrill from being the one to dictate what he does, even for such a small moment. He reaches out and traces his finger over the soft skin just behind my ear, where curving text spreads over the area where my sisters’ cochlear implants sit: ‘HEAR NO EVIL.’
The server arrives bearing bread sticks and water, and Kellan sits back in his seat. I notice that his face looks very serious. Almost angry. As the blonde girl sets the breadsticks on our table, his eyes never leave my face.
“Pizza should be out soon. Can I get you anything else?” the server asks.
I look at Kellan. He inhales.
“Beverage?” he asks me. He means in addition to the water she just brought.
“I’d also like a medium lemonade,” I tell the server. Her eyes brush over Kellan. “You?”
His gaze is still on me. He wrenches it away and lifts it to her. “Sweet tea.”
The waitress saunters off, and I grin. “Sweet tea? You like sweet tea?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile—or even smirk. “Y’all got that one right.”
I giggle. “You don’t say it right.”
“Say what right?”
“Y’all.”
“How do you say it?” He looks sullen, like he wants to be stormy but I keep interrupting the storm with sunshine.
“It’s supposed to be y’all—so like if you were going to say ‘awww, that puppy is so cute,’ you need that ‘awww’ sound in there. Kind of like...” I clear my throat and use a low voice. “Y’awwwwllll.” I smile. “What you say is more a ‘yal.’”
Now he smirks. “You mean a y’all?”
I shake my head. “There’s a subtle difference. Not so subtle even.” I tuck my hair behind my right ear, where the tattoo is.
“Yesterday,” he says slowly. “You mentioned hospitals. And your dad and sister. I know your dad passed away.” His lips rub together, like he’s shifting his jaw thoughtfully. “What about your sister?” His voice is low. His face is hard. He knows, somehow. Of course he does.
