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“I really do love my sister,” I murmured. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t.”
“I know.” His pencil stopped for the space of a second, and blue eyes met mine. “You don’t need to explain anything to me.”
“I— okay.”
“And by the way, I wasn’t kidding.” His gaze switched between me and the paper. “I bet she’d love to trade places with you.”
“Yeah, yeah. You think every girl on campus would love to be in this room while you call them names, right?”
The charcoal skittered across the paper. “She’d love to trade places with you, period. I’m sure of it. She has to be the perfect one at all times. At least you get to fuck up, even if your family doesn’t like it.”
“You were just talking about making herwatchus. Now you’re taking her side?”
His lips twitched. “It wasn’t personal.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” The photo in his closet filled my mind: the tense dad, the faraway mom, the three boys with their own agendas. A cluster of pale faces and wintry blue eyes.
“Brothers.” His pencil slowed. “I have two younger brothers.”
“Do you get along?”
“Sure.” His tone signaled that the subject was closed.
“What’s the story with your parents? You’re wearing your dad’s ring—”
He dropped the pencil and touched a finger to my lips. “Enough.”
“You don’t have any family pictures on your walls,” I pushed.
He tore the paper from the pad. “And you do?”
“Of course.”
He shook his head. “Christ, you think about them all the time, don’t you? They’re always looking over your shoulder. Take those pictures down for a week. Put this up instead.”
He handed me the sheet torn from the pad.
I stared at the portrait. Me, sprawled on his bed, my pigtails a mess. Makeup smudged under my eyes, my breasts bare and delicately shaded, the tuft of hair between my legs a black splotch. A little smile on my lips.
And the look on my face, so fuckingknowing.
Mirrors didn’t lie, though I could try to lie to them. Patrick’s pencil, on the hand, only told what he saw. But right now, drawing me in his room, he’d captured the bare truth.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “You’re an incredible artist.”
He shrugged, brushing away my gratitude.
I set the picture on top of my cheerleading uniform as he returned the pad and pencils to the closet. I noticed he placed them on the top shelf, carefully, instead of pushing them to the back.
Climbing back into bed, I turned toward him. “If I take down the pictures of my family, will you take down your posters of Italy? I know something happened there.”
He stretched out on his back and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve already gotten rid of what I need to. I don’t want to forget that year.”
“And I can’t forget my family.”
Abruptly, he pinned my wrists against the pillow.
“Try it, Christina,” he whispered in my ear. His tongue traced the outer shell. Dammit, I was defenseless against the pleasure that shot through me. “Otherwise I’m going to have to give you an even bigger spanking the next time you come in here upset, and tell you another fantasy, and it’s going to be a lot kinkier. I’ll be happy with how hard you come, but you won’t be.”
