Page 32 of The Intimacy of Skin

A perfect mixture of sweet and savory. I had to chase my bite with a napkin to my face, wiping an embarrassing amount of sauce off the corner of my mouth. “Price, this is so fucking good. What even is this?” I mumbled through a full mouth. My manners had vanished the moment I saw the food spread.

“I’m glad you like it. Have you had duck before?”

“Is that what this is? It’s so fucking tender.” And juicy beyond belief. Better than any meat I’d ever eaten.

He seemed satisfied with that answer, a humble smile on his face as he delicately cut into his portion. “I’m surprised you haven’t had it before. I thought hunting was big in the South.”

“Eh.” I shrugged. “Hunting was huge, sure. People were more excited about deer and dove season than duck in my hometown. There was more opportunity with deer, though.”

Price was a slow eater, I’d learned. Or maybe I was just fast. His plate had more than half left on it, whereas mine had dwindled to maybe three forkfuls. “Hunting is still a thing here, though not near as much.”

People hunt in the city? Maybe it was presumptuous of me, but I always thought hunting was more of a Southern hick-esque activity. I never saw the appeal, and thankfully, neither did Mom.

Willow, on the other hand, also hated it but was dragged to the deer stands whenever possible by her dad. He thought it would be a fun father-daughter bonding activity, and she thought it was torture.

“What’s this sauce?”

“It’s an apricot chutney.”

“Sounds fancy.” Too fancy for me to enjoy.

I felt almost out of place in my raggedy tee that I’d had for four years too long.

My jeans were ripped and tight enough that they’d make any conservative woman who walked past me clutch her pearls and gasp.

The rips weren’t for fashion, and the unfortunate sizing wasn’t to make my ass and thighs look better.

Honestly, I didn’t give enough of a shit about myself to care about trends.

Price, on the other hand, always seemed to be put together in a way I never could be.

With his perfect hair that paved the perfect path to show off his gorgeous cheekbones, to his wrinkle-free, perfect-fitting clothes that looked new and taken care of.

Price cooked meals that deserved to be placed on a pedestal in a food-centric museum. He was the competent manager at The Arch that everyone could count on. I’d seen his schedule, which meant I knew just how busy he was. Plus, his apartment was nice.

Like, it was nice, nice. Well, nice to me.

Everything I’d seen had a modern touch with quartz countertops, sparkling clean white walls, and gorgeous hardwood floors that would make slip if I only wore my socks.

The kitchen was stocked, every inch of space full of some sort of gadget aside from the detached island he used as a workstation.

This man had his life so put together that it’d be a sin to knock him down.

“Crew?”

My head snapped up at my name, Price standing at the other end of the table. He was holding my empty plate in his hands. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

He jerked his head towards the living room. “I’m just putting this in the sink. Your bag is on the couch. I’ll meet you there.”

Something queasy and borderline evil swam in my gut, a feeling I’d long despised.

I was nervous.

All it would take would be a slight hint of fear, and it’d be just like when I was thirteen.

My brain was a pro at getting emotions mixed up with others.

I knew I was nervous. I knew Price was safe.

My body didn’t know. It didn’t understand that being exposed or feeling vulnerable wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Instead, it took it as a threat.

The folded paper shook with my hands, trembling back and forth without a single gust of wind to explain it. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, deciding to ignore Price as he sat on the couch. I could see him from my peripheral vision, a white sheet much like mine clutched in his hands.

He turned to face me, placing a calming hand on my bouncing knee. Had it been bouncing this whole time? I wasn’t sure. Why was I so fucking nervous? Maybe it was because I knew what would come after this. The inevitable had once again bested me.

Without uttering a single word, we swapped papers and unfolded them at the same time. I scanned down the list, noting every negative written on the side. Price would see that mine looked the same.

I’d had an STI before—always minor, always treatable.

My line of work was not only dangerous, but I chose to do my business with some of the nastiest Johns out there.

I knew a few that would swap shit out or use defective condoms on purpose.

A particularly vengeful John was how I’d gotten crabs a few years ago.

My breathing was too loud. Price hadn’t said anything, and I was drowning in silence, waiting for him to say something. The heat kicked on, a gentle whoosh filling a part of it, though nowhere near enough.

Finally, Price cleared his throat and gripped my knee. “We’ll still use condoms for penetration. Thank you for doing this, Pretty Boy.”

What in the fuck was I supposed to say to that? “Yeah, you’re welcome for getting a printout showing my cock was good for sucking bare.”

Of course, I didn’t say that. Instead, I nodded sharply.

“Let’s go to the bedroom. Did you shower at home?”

Part of me wanted to say no just so I could freak out for a bit longer. The other part wanted to scream yes, so I could feel his strong, soft hands on my skin again.

But if I freaked out now, I’d never let myself live it down. I nodded, grabbing my bag before following Price to his bedroom. We passed two doorways on the way there, both doors open wide to show a bathroom and what I assumed to be a guest room.

Price’s room was nothing like I had expected. For some reason, I was prepared to be met with muted beige walls, off-white curtains, and perhaps a few pieces of black and gold accents.

The moment he opened the door, I was assaulted with color. The walls were painted a light blue, and a rich orange along the trim. Paintings of every style were hung strategically, most of them bright and eye-catching.

His bedspread was a mixture of blue and orange, too. A rug lay in the center of the room, a repeating floral print with reds, blues, oranges, and yellows that brought everything together.

I thought back to Price’s office, remembering the sticky notes, organizing tabs, and various office supplies he harbored. There had been little pieces of himself there I had missed.

The bedroom was meticulous. Nothing was out of place, and no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find a single speck of dust.

“Do you like it?” Price gestured in front of himself.

I found myself walking further into the room, stepping past the threshold to peruse the little knickknacks that sat on top of the nightstand by his bed.

“It’s amazing.” I looked over at him with a smile.

I truly meant that. Usually, a spread like he’d chosen would be harsh on the eyes, but everything was artistically placed. “Are you secretly a home designer?”

He barked a short laugh, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. I had some help from a friend when I first moved in.”

Gliding my fingertips along the luscious duvet atop his bed, I tried to think of who he could’ve been talking about. Price had never mentioned any friends before. “You know you’re not getting your deposit back, right?”

“Pshh.” He plopped onto his back, sprawling out on the left side of the bed. “I wouldn’t have gotten it back either way.”

“True.”

Price watched me as I explored. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me with every step I took. Whether I was stalling for time or truly invested in his bedroom, not even I was sure.

I turned my head as I heard him pat the spot beside him. “Set your bag down and come here.”

The closest thing to me was a large ottoman that sat in front of the foot of the bed.

Dropping my bag on top of it, I inched closer, seating myself right on the edge of the bed.

The mattress almost swallowed me whole, soft and pliable beneath me.

I could only imagine how it felt to lie on it.

It was leagues better than what Willow and I had at home.

“Don’t be shy.” Price pulled the blankets up, situating himself underneath them and leaving an open spot for me. “Get under here.”

With how he was positioned, it was like he was inviting me to cuddle with him.

I didn’t cuddle.

This felt like a trap of some sort. An alluring, comfy-sounding trap that made my survival instincts stand on edge.

Slowly, I turned further towards him. “Uh, what are we doing exactly?”

“Cuddling, of course.”

“I don’t cuddle,” I said way too fast.

Price had caught onto the pain in my voice, choosing to latch onto it. “Then who was in my arms when I woke up in your bed?”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I cursed in my head. “That was my demonic doppelg?nger. ”

“Right, okay. Let me put it this way.” He raised onto one elbow, holding his head with his palm. “You didn’t use to cuddle. You do with me, though. We’re working towards a goal here. You have to get used to the feel of me before you can accept what I have to offer.”

Why did he have to throw logic where logic didn’t belong? The memory of waking up next to him hadn’t stopped replaying in my mind since it happened.

Neither did the memory of the fear I had felt. It was like something was crawling along my skin, making little holes on its way up my body.

I knew without a doubt that if I started this, those little holes would become tears, and my true self would rip out from underneath them. Once he saw that—once Price saw the real me—it would all be over. My facade would come crashing down, breaking the walls I’d built to protect myself.

But wasn’t that why I’d begged Price for this? There was a tether between us that was pulling and pulling, bringing me closer to him. I wasn’t strong enough to stand my ground. My body was exhausted.