Page 28

I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.
______
It isn’t too much later that Jude finds me.
Of course,he finds me. He must think I’m a lost cause at this point.
I could feel his stare on me inside the boat, and I’m almost certain he could sense exactly what was amiss. My churning stomach, my unease, my anxiety, my need to escape the humid, close quarters.
On top of everything else he’s already seen.
The night on the balcony.
Last night.
He lowers himself down into the seat next to me, his knees spread as he relaxes into the cushioned chair without a care in the world. At least it feels that way, with the ease with which he settles in.
Pinpricks of envy needle through me, but I draw my focus back to him.
He’s shirtless now, a fitted pair of black swim trunks the only thing covering any part of him.
I urge, or more like beg, myself not to stare, but my gaze lingers on his toned body anyway. Inked, and muscled, andthisclose to completely mesmerizing. The soft black lines and subtle gray shadows of his artwork stand out even more against the sunlight, and I’m a lost cause as I take in every exposed inch.
Angels, demons, and a lightning-lit sky rage across his stomach and chest. Grainy, geometric patterns and shadows hug his neck and pour down onto one flexed arm; roses, skulls, and sharp daggers adorn the other.
My gaze slides lower.
His entire upper thigh consists of a wolf’s face surrounded by whirls of smoke that loop and weave around the other tattoos falling down his leg. Mountains, trees, and a river running through from what I can see. It’s the leg closest to me, though, that might be my favorite. Gods and goddesses depicted on his thigh, wielding powers through shadowed swirls of ink, bearing down on the evil Gods and Goddesses below, covering his muscled calf and shin. Raw emotions play out on each of their features, and the entire scene is simply… breathtaking.
Addy mentioned Jude’s junior level at OSU, and the fact that he’s twenty years old, so I can’t help but wonder how he has such beautiful, intricate work all over his body. It’s the kind of talent and artwork that would take years to accomplish.
“Have you gotten your fill?” he asks, his tone abrupt and terse, and it startles me from my daze.
But when I pull my gaze to his, ignoring the warmth rising up my cheeks, the hint of a smirk is tugging at his mouth. The corner of his lips draws to one side, the dimples I’ve seen dotting his cheeks a few times now peeking through. He’s not annoyed, just amused.
“I—well…” I trip and stumble over my words, the intimidation of him turning my thoughts into mush. I mold the pieces of them back together and straighten my spine, saying, “Can you honestly say you blame me?” I huff out a short breath of laughter. “It’s some of the most beautiful artwork I’ve ever seen, and you’re literally covered from head to toe in it.”
He grunts. Or maybe it’s a groan of laughter. I can’t tell if the look on his face now is amusement or irritation or something else entirely.
“Eli will love that,” he says. “Gorgeous girl calling his work the most beautiful she’s seen.”
My heart skips a beat over the compliment. And possibly a dozen more.
“Eli?” I ask, though my mind is still glued to that word.Gorgeous.He thinks I’m gorgeous.
“Eli—Elijah, Big E, my oldest brother,” he replies, shifting in his seat as he tugs the hem of his shorts down his thighs. They only move the smallest bit down his inked skin before retreating right back up again. And then he continues with, “I spent a lot of late nights in our friend’s garage getting tattooed by him, as you can see.” He chuckles and my eyes dart toward the sound, the vibrato of it echoing straight through me.
I nod in response to his answer, my mouth parted with an absence of words. But thankfully,or not,the boat rocks beneath us, tipping us from side to side with a violent shake. Boss—the strongest guy on the whole goddamn football team—crashes intothe water below, from where he jumped off the roof with a loud holler. A bunch of the guys cheer him on through their laughter, and the girls do, too.
Unease washes back up against my insides, uninvited. With Jude as a welcome distraction, I almost forgot why I came up here to begin with. But of course, the reminder opens the doors, anxiety trickling back into my bloodstream. I clench my hands around the seat cushion, willing the invading thoughts to recede.
“Talk me through it, Little D,” Jude says. “It might help.”
My breath catches in my throat as my eyes meet his.
And I have the unexpected, abrupt urge to cry.
How easily he can see my mess. How easily anyone else might be able to see it, too.