Chapter 18: Eighteen

"Let me cook you lunch."

"At my apartment?" I laughed. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" He handed me back my cleaned sandals so I could slip them on, before moving to retrieve his spare shirt. But it was just a plain navy t-shirt, not his usual dress shirt. God. That man was beautiful.

"I think I can behave. Besides, with your legs how they are, I'd rather you not have to stay standing to cook." Honestly, I was probably just going to eat a bowl of cereal, but I couldn't pass up the chance to spend more time with him.

"And how do you plan on me getting home without walking?" He raised a brow, along with the corner of his lips, before gripping me just below the ass and lifting me from the counter. My giggle filled the space, and I clung to his neck for dear life.

"Hold on a moment." He chuckled, rearranging me to where he was carrying me bridal style. "There. Much better." He said in finality, patting my ass with his lower placed hand.

"Joel! You can't carry me like this. People will talk." He shrugged, as if he couldn't care less.

"I'm just helping an injured student get home."

"And how about my economics class? Are you going to carry me there, too?"

"Of course not. I'll be contacting Davis to excuse you for the day. You'll be back Tuesday." My jaw fell open.

"But, Joel! I already skipped this Tuesday. I can't-"

"Hush, and get your bag. You're hurt. This is a legitimate excuse." He leaned down to where he had set my bag on the counter so I could grab it. I did so quickly, placing it atop my stomach, as if it could hide me from the stares I knew I would receive from fellow students and teachers alike.

And the stares were heavy. Double takes and whispers surrounded us throughout the building. At least there was a service elevator we could take. That limited some of the exposure. Of course, Joel acted like it was a totally normal day for him, ignoring every set of eyes on us.

I was relieved to see his Camaro parked directly behind the art building. We wouldn't have to cross campus like this.

I swore up and down that I was fully capable of walking, but he wasn't having it. Was this another one of his tactics to stake a claim?

Regardless, I was thankful. It felt nice to be cradled against his hard chest like that, with everyone to see. If I closed my eyes, I could even pretend that our bizarre relationship wasn't hidden from the school. We were proudly holding onto one another.

Pathetic.

.

.

.

"Can you tell me more about yourself?" He stopped his humming, continuing to ground the beef for our tacos.

"What would you like to know?" Everything. But I digress.

"When was the first time you had sex?" He froze, and for a second I thought I may have upset him. But then he started laughing, the deep and husky sound filling my kitchen just as much as the drool-inducing smell.

"Of all the things you could ask, why that?"

"Nu-uh. I asked first." He set down the spatula he was using, turning to lean on the counter across from me with a grin.

"When I was fifteen." Holy shit, that's young.

"Damn. How many girls have you slept with?" He raised his brows, eyeing me speculatively.

"Jennifer, that's not going to make you feel very good." He was right, but I didn't care. He knew that he was my second. I wanted to know where I stood.

"Tell me." I insisted. "Please." I straightened my back. How about one hundred girls? There, if I set my thoughts high, I would be less disappointed.

He sighed, reaching for the box of gum in his pocket.

"I don't know. Maybe ten? Fifteen?" Maybe? My face fell and he stepped forward. In one fluid motion, he wrapped me up in his arms, placing a kiss on the top of my head. "I told you you wouldn't like it. I went a little wild during my first year of college, but if it makes you feel any better, I was usually wasted on something when I did it. So I don't remember half of them."

"Wait, what do you mean something?" Was he implying things other than alcohol?

"Geez, woman. By the end of this conversation, you won't want to see me ever again."

"Just tell me." I pouted, tugging his shirt up a tad so I could rest my palms on his hot skin. The contact was helping.

"Just pills and weed. Nothing too crazy." 'Just pills and weed.' What the hell? That's crazy to me! "Now how about you? Have you always been the good girl you are today?" I bit my cheek, searching my mind for anything, and I mean anything remotely wild that I could tell him.

But I had nothing.

"The most dangerous thing I've ever done was take you home." I admitted, defeated.

"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?"

"I don't know… Maybe I've wanted to rebel a bit more. I've just been scared."

"You've been pretty damn crazy with me, so I think that's changed."

"You just make me that way." I retorted playfully, and he chuckled, leaning down to nibble my neck. I fought my urge to moan, and continued. "I'm serious. I've never done anything reckless. Hell, I don't even drink much. I've never been drunk. The day we met was the worst it's been, and I was tipsy. But now I feel like the time for all that is over. I have to be an adult soon."

"This is like a midlife crisis for a hormonal twenty-three year old." He snorted.

"Joel. I'll fight you." I threatened weakly, making him laugh louder.

"Yea, I bet you will." He pulled me forward, bringing his hand down on my ass with a pop.

"Don't patronize me! Help me."

"Help you?"

"Yea."

"And how do you propose I do that? Want me to find you a dealer and dope you up?" I had never seen him so amused. Smug bastard. I shrugged, lifting his shirt a little higher to expose the ink beneath. Swirls of color formed into a pocket watch, a large red ribbon tied to the top.

"Take me to get a tattoo."

He chuckled, but when I didn't, he held me away from him, his eyes searching mine.

"You're serious." He stated. I nodded bashfully, looking down at my feet. "No offense, baby, but you don't seem to handle pain very well. Tattoos hurt. Besides, what would you even want it of? They're permanent-"

"I know that." I scowled. He was treating me like a child again. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about what I would get. Shit. The idea of getting a tattoo in the first place was very much spur the moment. But now that it was there, out in the open, I wanted it. "Do yours mean things to you?"

"Yes. For the most part. Except this one." He stepped back, revealing a small dove just below his collarbone. "It was my first. I had it done on my eighteenth birthday. Isaac actually chose it for me. I lost a bet."

"You've known Isaac for that long?" He hummed his answer, turning back around so he could add seasoning to the meat.

"I grew up next door to him."

"Wow. So did he also major in art?" He snorted, turning to me with an amused glint in his eyes.

"Fuck no. He's a programmer." A what-now?

"Like, software?" My jaw was on the floor at this point. I could not imagine that devil of a man behind a desk punching in numbers.

"He designs code for video games. The man's a damn genius." He turned to me abruptly with an irritated scowl. "Great. This conversation has turned into me talking up Isaac while sharing all my screw ups. Bet you wish you had chosen differently Sunday night, now." I sighed, pulling my phone from my back pocket with exaggerated apathy.

"Yea, guess I'd better call my dream come true. You think he'll still be down for it?" I pulled up Isaac's contact, hovering my thumb over the call symbol.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" Joel glowered, pulling the device from my hands, then doing a double take at the screen. "What the hell? He's actually in here as 'Your Dream Come True'?" I giggled, clutching at my stomach.

"Yea, that's what he put it in as." I laughed, and Joel rolled his eyes.

"Of course he did. What am I in as?" He clicked out, scrolling to J for his first name, landing on June with a glare.

"Not important." I squeaked, snatching it back. How would I explain his contact title without sounding absolutely insane? His hand shot out for it again, but I rounded the corner, racing down the hall towards my room. I heard the click of the stove, followed by his bare feet padding after me.

Shit!

I squealed, picking up my pace the best I could with my injured ankles as I flew down the hallway. As soon as my feet crossed the threshold to my bedroom, I felt his hands grip my waist.

"No!" I shouted playfully, tucking my phone in the best place I could think of; my bra. He laughed, lifting me in his arms before tossing me on my bed.

"You should know that won't stop me." He growled, crawling over to me like the sexiest damn predator on planet earth.

"You can't! Our rules!" I said between fits. He moved to straddle my thighs, gripping both my hands in one of his and forcing them above my head.

"There was nothing in our rules about fishing a phone from a bra." He smirked, his free hand trailing up my shirt from the bottom instead of the top. I squirmed, my self-control diminishing faster than a sugar cube in hot tea.

"Joel…" I complained in a cross between a whine and a moan. He groaned in response, his heated eyes following my freshly exposed midsection with lustful interest.

"Cherry blossoms."

"What?" That was random.

"A cluster of blossoms." He rasped, trailing his hand back down to my hip bone. "Right here."

Oh. He was talking about the tattoo. Was it odd that him viewing me as a human canvas turned me on even more? Most definitely.

His lips pressed between my ribs, and he swung his leg back over so they could continue down to the spot he chose. I pulled in my bottom lip, squirming beneath his hot breath.

I felt him bare his teeth, placing a deliciously painful nibble on my cushioned skin. My back arched, and I tugged at my restrained arms. If he kept this up, I really wouldn't be able to fight it.

"Okay. One condition." I choked out, bucking my hips to get him off me. I was one more bite from begging, and I preferred to keep my dignity. He leaned back up, smiling mischievously.

"Alright. What's your condition?"

"I want you to design it." His eyes widened slightly, and he released me, sitting back on his legs.

"Really?" I couldn't read his expression. Was that a weird request? I had no idea! I didn't know how tattoos worked!

"Yes. If it's possible..." His smile returned, but it was soft, adoring.

"Yea. I mean, all we need is a digital file and they can copy it onto you. But are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He lowered his gaze, back to where his teeth left a small red spot on my hip.

"Because if you decide to leave, it'll always be there to remind you." He was so convinced, so sure that I would leave him one day. Why? What did that bitch do to break his spirit so badly?

"Joel." I sat up, my small hand finding his large one, entangling our fingers until his stormy blues met me. "I don't think I'll ever want to forget you."