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“You’ll be okay if I leave for a minute?”
I stirred in protest. “To do what?”
“Wash up.” He laughed briefly. “You’re a dirty girl.”
I was too far gone to make a retort. “Go. Have a great time.”
He patted my shoulder. I opened one eyelid to watch him zip his pants. He glanced at me, his pale eyes raking over my body in the crumpled uniform, and left the room.
Gingerly, I slid off the bed and stood in front of his mirror. There was no question that I’d been spanked. My ass glowed red. My pigtails were loosened. Damp strands of hair were plastered to my neck.
I eased off my cheerleading uniform, which was wrinkled, but spotless. Patrick had been careful. Draping it over my arm, I crossed the room on wobbly legs. I laid the shell and skirt on the desk and smoothed the stretchy knit material, trying to get the wrinkles out.
Patrick caught me at it when he walked back in. He gave me a funny look, but didn’t say anything. Just peeled off his clothes and joined me in bed.
Naked, I curled up under the covers. His bulk enclosed my back. My head was spinning, a top only beginning to slow down. I didn’t know what to say first. Minutes passed, and when he stroked my hair, I moved closer. Silence felt like the best option right now.
“Do you know what day it is?” I murmured finally.
“It’s February fourteenth.”
“And…?”
When he didn’t respond, I rolled over abruptly to face him. A stare greeted me, followed by a slow blink.
“Never mind,” I groused.
He chuckled. “You’ve got expectations? Would you rather have a teddy bear, or cold hard cash?”
“Both.”
“I’m no teddy bear.” He was relaxed, his pale eyes like the still water of a lake, smiling. He combed his fingers through my hair. I wished to God he hadn’t mentioned the money.
I got out of bed and walked carefully to the desk. “Well, I brought something for you.”
Patrick sat up, the covers falling away from his granite torso. It was satisfying to see him uncomfortable. “You really don’t have to.”
“It’s nothing. Just a message.”I felt in the pocket of the pink raincoat. “Here.”
He took the paper napkin and examined it. My writing wasn’t as tiny as his, but it didn’t need to be. The napkin held only two words.
big truths
“What’s this for?” he asked, his face wary.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said airily. “Some weirdo handed me a random napkin in November and it inspired me. Now you give me something to remember you by. You have nice socks, I could go for a pair of those.”
He exhaled. “You’re a handful, you know that?”
He got up, set the napkin on his desk, and opened his closet door, pushing apart the tailored clothing that gave off a whiff of style and expense. Reaching into the back, he pulled out the sketchpad and blew dust off of it. The box of charcoal pencils followed.
“Pull the covers back,” he ordered. God help me, I did it immediately. “Relax. Don’t move.”
His pencil flew over the paper. He worked fast.
“When was the last time you used that sketchpad?” I asked. “Am I allowed to blink?”
He filled a section with quick strokes and smudged it with his finger. “August. Yes.”
