Inodded. “It’s crazy how different we are.”
“Howdo you figure? Doesthishave some crazy, deep philosophical meaningbehind it?” He reached across the table with his opposite hand and tapped myexposed shoulder. It felt like a jab, but I still nodded. “Oh, so you’retelling me you weren’t some little goth kid who just really likedThe Crow?”
“No.”I shook my head, smiling and wishing it didn’t feel so sad.
“Oh,well,” he tipped his chair back, wobbling on the back two legs, “you can’tleave a guy hanging, Thumbelina. You’ve gotta tell me what insight you’recarrying around on your back, hidden from the world.”
“It’sstupid,” I insisted. “I was really young when I got it.”
“Howold?” he asked, cocking his head.
“Sixteen,”I stated matter-of-factly.
“Shit,I was sixteen when I got my first too.” He uttered the words as though this bitof information was another piece to connect us to each other. “Mine doesn’tlook nearly as good as that does, though. Do you get it touched up?”
Inodded. “Yeah, I’ve had it redone since then.”
“Huh.”He eyed me with the glare of someone who was impressed. “So, tell me. I don’tcare how dumb it is. I gotta know.”
Witha sigh, I rolled my eyes and said, “I got it to symbolize my freedom.”
“Yourfreedom?” He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Oh,we’re going here, I guess. “My parents were pretty oppressive. Theyhated that Sam and I were into all this loud music and going to concerts. Ionly got to go because she took me.” Talking about Sam felt hard in the moment,remembering the fun we used to have, the things we used to do. I bit my lip tochoke down the bubbling emotion. “Getting the tattoo was sort of an act ofrebellion, I guess, but it really meant something, too. I felt free when I waswith her. She didn’t give a fuck about anything. She never did.”
“I’msorry,” Sebastian replied, and I looked up to find sympathy darkening his eyes.“I don’t know if I’ve ever said it, but I am. I’m so fucking sorry foreverything that you’ve been through, and I’m even more sorry that you haven’tbeen given the chance to cope.”
Ishook my head, clutching his hand. “I have though, in a way. With you. Youremind me of her.” It was the closest I could let myself go, to tell him whathe did for me. “You remind me of the life I wanted.”
Liftingthe corner of his mouth into a rueful smile, he stood up and tugged me to myfeet. “Too much booze makes you emotional,” he noted pointedly, repeating myearlier sentiment.
“Maybethat’s the idea,” I whispered, my voice passing over a boulder of foughtemotion. “Where are we going?”
Hepulled me toward the door, carrying his jacket and balled-up tie. “Does it matter?”
AndI found that, tonight, it didn’t. Not as long as I was with him.
***
Sebastianhailed a cab with the deft of someone who knew what they were doing. I nevercould without feeling overwhelmed, but he raised his hand with a confidence Iwould’ve envied had I not been with him. But I was.
Thedriver asked, “Where to?”
“CentralPark,” Sebastian replied, and the cabbie ran the meter as we barreled forward.
Ihated cabs. They always felt like certain death. But tonight Sebastian wrappedhis arm around my shoulders, pulled me into him, and I laid my head against hisshoulder. I felt safe in his arms, against him, and I questioned for a fleetingmoment if I was willing to let that end.
“Doesn’tthe park close?” I looked to his eyes, shooing my thoughts away long enough toask, and he nodded.
“Butnot until one in the morning. We have a couple of hours,” he clarified.
Afew minutes passed in silence, spent listening to my worried mind, telling mewe shouldn’t be doing this. This was beyond sex, albeit lovely, but I couldn’tafford to do this. Not with him, not when I knew I needed to end it. But beforeI could relent, before I could tell him it was all a bad idea and we shouldturn around and go home, we pulled up to the gates of Central Park and Sebastianwas paying the driver.
Hehelped me from the car and led me to the open gateway.
“Canwe play a game for a little while?” Sebastian asked, taking my hand in his andfitting his fingers between mine.
Mystomach rolled with unforgiving nerves. “What kind of game?”
