Page 35 of A Summer Thing
Chapter Twenty
Declan
The bell chimes above the door of the coffee shop I work at, and without having to look, I already know it’s Jude.
Like a crackling of electricity humming in the air, a slip in the atmosphere robbing a fraction of oxygen from the room, a warmth brushing up my back and settling over me like sunshine hanging over a dark cloud, I feel his presence with a tangible difference in the space around me.
I always thought that idea was a load of crap. That you could be so in tune with someone you could feel their energy, their mood, their existence, even from thousands of miles away.
But here I am, making a liar of my thoughts. At least within the space of this coffee shop.
“Hey, Little D,” he greets, and the smile in his voice has my own lips ticking up at the corners, too.
I turn from the counter, where I’ve been taking muffins off a cooling pan and lining them on a tray to go inside our display case, and face him.
“Hey, Brooklyn.” My smile stretches wider. “You’re early. I still have fifteen minutes of my shift left,” I say as I look down at my watch.
He shrugs. “I wanted to beat the traffic, so I headed over early. I was just over at Elijah’s shop working on our next design.”
“The tattoo shop?” I ask. “You’re getting another tattoo?
” My eyes rake over his exposed skin, nearly every inch of it covered.
I’ve seen him shirtless a good handful of times, so I know there isn’t any space left beneath that specific piece of clothing, either.
“Where?” I ask, the question flying out of my mouth as my imagination runs wild.
The only places I haven’t seen on his body that might not be covered are… well…
He chuckles through his reply. “There are a few untouched places, Little D. This will be for the back of my thigh, though.” His firm grasp wraps around the back of his leg. “Right here.”
“Oh,” the single word comes out on a breath.
I ignore the flush rising in my cheeks. “That’s—cool.
” I spin on my heels and turn around, putting a muffin on a small plate for him before turning back around and sliding it across the counter.
With my finger pressed to my lips, I signal for him to keep quiet about it.
It’s not that my boss would care—she loves me, and we’re allowed to have a few treats every shift—it’s just to pull that devastatingly gorgeous smile of his out further, and it works.
“Thank you,” he says. “What kind is it?”
“You’re welcome.” I beam. “It’s my favorite—a cinnamon roll muffin with an icing crumble on top.”
He brings it to his mouth and takes a bite, swallowing half the thing down in one go. His gaze lightens as it widens. “Holy fuck,” he whispers, “that is really good.”
Satisfaction—or something else too embarrassing to name—weeds through me. “Right?” I say. “The best thing on our menu, without a doubt.”
He nods as he takes another bite down.
“So,” I decide to switch topics while he enjoys my favorite treat. “You said your brother owns the tattoo shop, right?”
He swallows and clears his throat, before responding with, “Yeah, he does. Why do you ask?”
“Do they do piercings there?” I edge forward.
“They do…” His features pull together as his words trail off.
I gather my courage up in a pretty little bundle, a bouquet of bravery as I say, “I’ve been wanting to get my nipples pierced...”
He nearly chokes on his last bite of muffin, before swallowing it down with a dip of his head. “Your nipples?” He flushes. “You want to get your nipples pierced?”
“Yeah,” I manage. I can feel my blush spreading down my neck, tightening around the word as it leaves my mouth.
“You’re serious?” he asks.
I nod, a smile breaking through on my lips.
I like making Jude fluster. And that’s exactly what he’s doing right now—flustering.
His eyes widened in what looks like a bit of shock, struggling to find his words as his cheeks continue to fill with a tinge of pink.
He shifts his solid weight from one foot to the other, and my smile stretches wider.
Despite my own nerves and amusement, this isn’t a whim decision. This is something I’ve wanted to do for a while now, and I think the only place I’d feel comfortable doing it is somewhere Jude knows and trusts, like his brother’s tattoo shop.
“Alright,” he says, releasing a deep breath, his hands trapped in the front pocket of his black hoodie. “Fuck it. Let’s go right now, when your shift is up.”
I squeal in excitement, and I catch his soft smirk as he turns and walks toward the door.
Finishing up my shift, I hang up my apron, meet Jude by the exit, and he leads me outside with his hand wrapped around mine. As soon as we’re out of the coffee shop, he turns on me, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me up into a hug, crushing me against his chest.
Tension lines his every muscle, every marked curve and angle I can see. “You sure about this, Little D?” he asks, that tension trickling into his tone. “I could think of a thousand other things we could do instead.”
I smile, running a finger along the space between his brows to smooth away the line of tension there. “I’m sure. It’s something I really want to do, and I feel safe doing it with you.”
The tightness bleeds from his muscles as he relaxes beneath me. “Alright,” he relents. “You’re fucking killing me right now, but alright. Let’s go get you pierced.”
He grasps my hand after lowering me back to the ground and leads me down the sidewalk, his thumb lightly brushing along the expanse of mine. Back and forth, methodically, thoughtfully.
There’s been a level of intimacy between us these last two weeks that didn’t exist last summer.
The way he sweeps me up against him in these amazing, intimate hugs, burying me in the warmth of his body.
The way his small touches have grown more frequent, and more familiar—his hand wrapped around mine as we walk through the city, or placed at the small of my back through a busy crowd; tucking stray pieces of hair behind my ears; lifting my chin and forcing my gaze to his when he has something significant to say; and the way he’s kissed me, too, on every small inch of my face except for the one place I really want him to—outside of the day I picked him up from the airport.
The way we’ve opened up to each other so easily this summer, diving deeper than the summer before, or even in all the months that followed.
Our words still haven’t conveyed anything beyond that, though, and I’m realizing I’m the kind of girl who needs the words, too. Even if I can admit I’m afraid to hear them, to say them, when they have the potential to change everything.
______
We head another few blocks down the street, and then we duck underground and wait for the subway.
Jude’s arm stays wrapped around me the entire time, and we make small talk about his brother’s shop.
When it first opened, how he knew tattooing is what he wanted to do, how he got funding from a well-known and established artist in the industry who could see Elijah’s talent from a mile away.
I’m lucky enough to see his talent from right here, painted beautifully on the canvas that is Jude.
“My dad was pretty pissed at first. Especially when every time we came home, I was covered in more and more ink before I’d even hit eighteen.
” He grimaces playfully, but a hint of guilt blooms beneath the expression, too.
“But even he couldn’t deny my brother’s talent, and now the old man has even got a few pieces of his own. ”
“That’s really cool.” I smile through a breath of laughter.
Imagine that—parents supporting their kids.
I still haven’t talked to mine since I left home last year, but they did call me.
Once. I let it go to voicemail, and though I haven’t deleted it, I haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to it, either.
Maybe someday I will. Or maybe I won’t. I don’t know.
We step off the platform and onto a waiting subway, and the doors of it close almost as quickly as they opened—something I still haven’t quite gotten used to.
The panic of movement in this city.
Everything, everyone, always rushing so fast.
We ride the subway for no more than fifteen minutes, and then we’re getting off again.
Climbing the stairs, we break back out into the city, the sounds of honking and fast-moving cars filling my ears.
Jude still holds my hand firmly within his, leading the way, holding it with an air of possessiveness and a hint of surety I don’t feel because I’m still not sure how he feels.
And it’s at this very moment that I start to overthink everything.
What if all this is to him is friendship?
It’s a stupid thought to have, after everything, but it feels like he’s been holding himself back, too, and I’m not sure why.
Maybe for the same reasons I am. Maybe he’s just as unsure, just as afraid that one step over the line will change everything. Because I already know—with us—it won’t be something that can be taken back once it’s been given.
Or maybe he is dating someone back at school, and that’s why, the thought whips through me, lashing at my insides.
Shit. What if he is?
“Are you dating anyone?” I blurt the question out before my mind can catch up to my mouth.
He pulls me into his side and drapes his arm over my shoulders.
“Tell me you don’t want me to be, and it’s done,” he says with a smirk, but his answer stuns me still.
Thoughts screech like tires against asphalt as they skid to a halt in my brain.
My feet do the same, grinding into the concrete of the sidewalk.
He’s kissed me—multiple times, multiple ways, in multiple instances—has held my hand, and hugged me, for much longer than appropriate for a friendly hug.
We’ve seen each other almost every day we’ve been free since he got here; and he introduced me to his friends like I was someone special to be introduced to; and… he’s seeing someone?