Say it Louder by Heidi Joy Tretheway Read Free Book Online Page A

would make it more real.

    ***

    I scrub my face, brush my teeth, and before I leave the bathroom I toe one of the loose floor tiles back into place around my stained tub. Like everything else in this crumbling warren of apartments, it’s beyond repair.
    “Bathroom’s free if you need it.”
    Dave’s pacing by my couch and he looks at me uncertainly. “Thanks.” He passes me and a current of air licks at my sleeve, as if he reached out to touch me. Goose bumps prickle my forearms.  
    My bed “room” is just a mattress on pallets, with clothes stacked on shelves built from crates. I hear the bathroom door close and I whip off my leggings, then trade my long-sleeve shirt for an extra-large T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder.
    I catch myself wondering what Dave will think, and then I crumple up that thought and squish it back to the edge of my brain. I don’t have the pajama sets or pretty lingerie I suspect most girls do, but this is what I sleep in. I’m not changing that just because I have company.
    I have no clue why Dave really needs a place to crash, but I’ve been there before. I can barely fathom his privileged life, let alone a secret so terrible that he has to abandon it.
    I fill a plastic Subway cup with water in the kitchen, drain it, and look up to see Dave emerge from the bathroom, wearing only boxer briefs.
    Holy hell.
    My eyes instantly go to his chest, hard planes of muscle and a compact stomach with hair curling all the way down to … oh, no.
    I turn around to force myself to stop staring. Ever since he kissed me—check that, ever since I made him kiss me—my body’s been on high alert. And now he’s practically naked and standing in my apartment.
    This is either the best or worst thing that ever happened to me.
    Dave steps toward me and his hand reaches past my shoulder. I look up, and his face is inches from mine. Is this another kiss coming? A real, voluntary kiss?
    My breasts betray me, tightening as my nipples poke at the T-shirt. Shit.
    Dave pulls back, though, and I realize he’s only reached for a cup on the shelf behind me. This one’s from McDonald’s and I cringe a bit, wondering what he must think of me, recycling cheap plastic fast-food cups instead of buying actual glasses.
    Wait. What the hell am I saying? I don’t give a shit what people think of me. My pink hair and sleeves of tattoos are proof of that.
    Dave fills his cup with water and takes a long drink—long enough for me to covertly check out his tattoos. The words love and fear are spelled out across his knuckles.
    The tattoos on his arms intrigue me: abstract and absent of color, they’re intricate, good edges, nice balance through the stroke that gets the ink even through each line.
    “How many do you have?” I ask, trying to sound like it’s just professional curiosity. No, I totally don’t want a closer look at this man’s smooth, olive skin. The way it’s taught against his muscles, the way it hollows to a V at his waist, the way it dips to a crescent at his navel.
    “Seven.”
    My brows lift. I only see three.
    “How many do you have?” His eyes crawl across my shoulder, where the top of my bee sleeve is exposed.
    “Depends on how you count. I’ve sat for twenty-six sessions, but a lot of the work blends together when you’re doing a full sleeve.” I rotate my arm to show him an ocean wave that flows from the inside of my elbow to the back of my arm, the foam carefully shaded with detail.
    Dave catches my wrist, then slowly rotates my arm. He should be looking at the tattoos, but his eyes are locked on mine, and suddenly I’m feeling too exposed, too raw from his gaze that traps me in place.
    I move to step away from him and go to bed but he doesn’t release my hand. His pressure is just enough to maintain our connection.
    I could pull away, shake off his grasp, but his fingers warm the pulse point in my wrist, his voice is soft with a gentle request. “Show me more?”

CHAPTER TEN

    Dave