Fine Line (Inked Duet #1)

by Persephone Autumn

  Something in her tone stings when matched with her words. At times, my family annoys the heck out of me. Always in my business or making suggestions on how I handle this or that. As if they know what is best for my life. But I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. And honestly, I might be lost without them.

  “Want to talk about it?” I ask. Because I don’t want to pry something out of her that she isn’t ready to share.

  She shakes her head. “Not tonight. Too heavy for a first date.” A smile curves the corners of her mouth, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. This moment is the most solemn I have seen her.

  And I don’t like it. One bit.

  “Well, maybe sometime you can meet the rest of my family.” Her eyes widen and I fear I have just sunk the evening deep at sea. “If that’s something you’d like. Eventually.”

  The more I correct myself, the bigger her smile gets. “I’d like that.”

  The server stops in front of our table and sets the tray on a stand. Plate after plate, I laugh as the server keeps setting dishes on our table. When finished, she glances between the both of us and winces. “Anything else I can get you right now?”

  I want to laugh because I know she is just doing her job. After looking at Autumn, I shake my head and relieve the poor girl. “Nah, we’re good.” When she walks off, I stare at the five plates in front of Autumn and laugh. “This will be interesting.”

  “Don’t worry, I plan to have leftovers.”

  “Good to know. Because I don’t imagine I could even scarf down mozzarella sticks, a plate of onion rings, potato skins, a double cheeseburger with all the fixings, fries, and coleslaw. Plus a milkshake.”

  She giggles and it vibrates across my skin and warms me more than the summer sun. “I plan to sample it all. But I have to save room for dessert, too.”

  “Dessert? Dear god, woman. How can you even think about dessert already?”

  With a shake of her head, she says, “Dessert is the first thing I think about.”

  Something about the way she eyes me as she says the word dessert has me wanting to box everything up and leave. But Mom would smack me across the back of my head if I did. Lecture me until her voice scratched and my ears fell off.

  I eat my BBQ-style double cheeseburger and fries while watching Autumn in awe. Surprisingly, she demolishes a third of the food without breaking a sweat. We ask the server for a couple to-go boxes before Autumn orders a banana split made with toasted marshmallow and Smurf-flavored ice creams.

  When her dessert arrives, I gape at the heaping mound of sugary cream and fruit. Blue and white ice cream sits sandwiched at the base between a split banana and under a mountain of whipped cream, sliced strawberries, pineapple nibs, chocolate syrup, colorful jimmies, and three maraschino cherries.

  “Holy shit,” I spit out. “Are you going to eat all that?” Jesus. What is that, a thousand calories?

  “Nope.” I blink away from the mammoth-sized dessert to catch her expression. “You’re going to help.”

  “I am?”

  She slowly nods. Picking up one of the spoons, she scoops some of the confection up and brings it to her lips. I follow the spoon with my eyes and swallow when it disappears between her lips. She closes her eyes and hums. The sounds go straight to my groin.

  “Here,” she says as her eyes pop back open and she scoops more on the spoon. “You need to taste this.”

  My gaze locks on to her lips and I imagine better ways to taste dessert. More intimate ways. She holds the spoon inches from my mouth. The whipped cream and blue ice cream melt together as a piece of strawberry dips slowly in the middle. I lean forward, lift my eyes to hers, and open my mouth as she feeds me dessert. I haven’t even tasted it yet, but know it is—and forever will be—the best damn dessert to hit my tongue.

  The sweet confection melts over my tastebuds and I moan. As messy and funky as it seemed, it tastes damn good.

  “Was I right?” she asks. All I do is nod.

  We take turns feeding each other until we have scraped every last bit of dessert out of the small glass boat. It is the most innocent and provocative meal I have eaten. A meal I won’t soon forget. After I pay the check, we walk out to the Jeep and I start it up.

  “Is it okay if we are doing something else, too?” I ask.

  As much as I don’t want the evening to be over, I don’t know how she feels after eating half her weight in food. Not that I could tell when she stood from the table.

  “I’d love to. What’d you have in mind?”

  I tap my temple and smile. “Top secret.”

  “Fine,” she huffs out and rolls her eyes. “Take me on your top secret adventure.”

  I laugh and put the Jeep in gear. Music floats in the cab and Autumn asks if she can change it. I hand her my phone and tell her the code to unlock it. “Sure. The app should be open already.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see her gawking in my direction. I want to ask why, but I think it’s because I just gave her the code to my phone. If something so simple surprises her, it breaks my heart. But I have nothing to hide. Hell, I already told her about Cora the first day we met. The only skeleton I had in my closet has come out.

  Trust is a big deal in every relationship. As of now, I have absolutely no reason to not trust her. I don’t know much about her, but I hope to change that. Hope whatever keeps her from opening up—her avoidance on discussing her past—can be ripped to shreds. But everyone exposes themselves in their own time, and I need to give her the space to do it at her own pace.

  She scrolls through the app and selects a song. An upbeat rock tune spills from the speakers and I can’t help but bop to the sound. After the next song, I pull into a parking lot and weave through the rows until I locate a spot.

  “The park?” she asks.

  I cut the engine and glance over at her in the dark. “Yep. Tonight is Movies In The Park night.” She bites her lip and shrugs. “Every two weeks, the park hosts a movie night after the park closes to foot traffic. You bring your own blanket or chair and they supply the movie.”

  “Really?” There is a lightness to her voice. A level of wonderment. And I love that I put it there.

  “Really.”

  I slip out of the Jeep, open the back door to grab the blankets and my jacket, and round the back to help her out. A man in a bright orange vest wielding a flashlight approaches and directs us down the path for the movie. We walk across the lawn in silence, weaving between the people already set up and waiting for the movie to begin. Twenty feet on the lawn, my knuckles graze hers and a jolt of energy zings me head to boot. My pulse whooshes behind my ears and I remind myself to breathe.

  If she affects me this easily from a single graze of the hand, it’s unimaginable how I will feel when we kiss.

  “How about there?” Autumn points to an open spot on the lawn since I have obviously stopped focusing.

  “Perfect.”

  We weave between more blankets and finally reach the vacancy. I ask her to hold the extra blanket and my jacket while I spread the one for us to sit on. Once set up, we plop down and kick off our shoes.

  “What movie are we seeing?”

  “Not sure. I didn’t look up the schedule. Mom and Dad have come to a few of these. That’s how I knew about them.”

  “Fun. I like surprises.”

  You are the best surprise of them all.

  A few minutes later, the movie flickers on the temporary screen. One I haven’t seen.

  “Oh god.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “I’m going to cry.”

  Shit. Is this bad? Should we leave? “We don’t have to stay,” I suggest. Although every atom in my body screams to stay put.

  “No.” She presses her hand to my chest and I stop breathing. “It’s a good movie.”

  About five minutes in, the title A Star Is Born pops up in red on the screen. Now I understand why she said she will cry. Jasmine told me she and Anton saw this in the theater and
she bawled like a baby, but it was worth every tear.

  We slip on our jackets as the movie rolls on. I lay back on my forearms while Autumn sits up, leaning back on her hands. My attention shifts between Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga to Autumn. I follow the lines of her profile as her eyes remain glued to the screen. The slim line of her nose. The voluptuous curves of her lips. Down to the slight dip in her chin. I would rather watch her for two hours than this movie, but I force myself to alternate between the two.

  Halfway through the movie, she shivers beside me. “Cold?” She nods. “Here.” I unfold the second blanket and go to wrap it around her.

  “What about you?” she asks as she mimics my position.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She shakes her head and sits back up. “Sit up.”

  “What? Why?” She gives me a pointed look. “Fine.”

  When I sit up, she cocoons us both with the wool blanket. My mind thinks a hundred different ungentlemanly thoughts and I tell myself to shut up. Slowly, she starts to lie down and I get the hint.

  We lay on the blanket—my front to her back—and I stop watching the movie altogether. All I can focus on is the way her body molds to mine. How she pulled my upper arm down and wrapped it around her waist and laid hers over top. How her fruity, vanilla scent wafts from her hair into my nose. And how perfect she feels in my arms. Like she belongs there. Like she has always belonged there.

  With Autumn in my arms, I close my eyes and get lost in my imagination. Lost in the fantasy of what kissing her will be like when it finally happens. Because it will happen.

  I keep my eyes closed as I splay my fingers on her belly and she weaves hers between mine. Everything about this moment, about us, continually comes together with comfort and ease. Without difficulty, I envision Autumn in my arms often. Imagine her lips pressed to mine daily. Believe this rhythmic rush beneath my sternum will only get stronger the more I see her. Spend time with her. Hold her.

  Hopefully, she believes and feels the same. That she reciprocates this unfamiliar rush of emotions.

  Before long, the movie ends. I mentally whine at the fact I have to unravel her from my arms. But I do. We fold up the blankets, hop in the Jeep, and head back to her apartment. The entire ride back, neither of us says a word. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but seems like a missed opportunity to learn more about each other. Soon, too soon, I park in front of her apartment and cut the engine.

  We sit in the dark a moment before I finally open the door and walk around to her side. Out of the Jeep, we take slow, measured steps to her front door. Not that I have a professional dating degree, but if I am reading the signs correctly, neither of us wants tonight to be over.

  When we reach her front door, she spins to face me. But she doesn’t look up. Not yet.

  “I had a really nice time,” she whispers into the darkness.

  Lightly, I brush my knuckles from her temple down to the angle of her jaw. “Me too,” I whisper. Her gaze lifts to meet mine. “Can I kiss you?” Her eyes dart between mine for a moment before she subtly nods.

  Thank fuck.

  I lift my other hand and frame her face with my palms. She sucks in a breath as I lean down, but doesn’t exhale. The red cotton covering her breasts brushes against my chest and my heart bangs its fists against my ribcage. Less than an inch from her lips, she closes her eyes just before I do the same.

  And then my lips press to hers and nothing else exists.

  The faint porch light fades away. The occasional roar of a car engine or pitter-patter of an animal scurrying across the grass in the dark disappears. I lick her lower lip and she opens up like a flower blooms. Every sense I own homes in on her.

  The residual taste of ice cream on her tongue. Her sweet perfume in my nose. How warm her body is as it presses flush with mine. The small whimper from her lips when I break the kiss. How her cognac eyes slowly open and beg for more. And how I know this will not be the last time our lips meet.

  I lean in for one last peck and love how she whimpers again when our lips separate.

  “Thank you,” she whispers. “Best date ever.”

  I hold her gaze. “Hopefully I can top it next time.”

  “No doubt about it.” I step back from her and a slight frown mars her face. I brush my thumb over her cheek. “Good night, Jonas.”

  “‘Night, Autumn.”

  Eleven

  Autumn

  Jonas walks back to his Jeep, and I want to run after him. I press my fingers to my lips and reminisce in the fire he set moments ago. A fire I don’t want extinguishing.

  “Wait,” I holler then jog out and meet him by his car door. “Please don’t think I don’t want you to come inside.”

  Although he never made such a suggestion, part of me feels the need to confess this aloud. To share what I desire, but am not ready to explore. For him to hear it from my lips—not only the words, but the subtle message behind my tone.

  “Autumn, I would never assume anything.” He caresses my cheek with his knuckles again and I melt into his touch as emotion dances like carbonation in my chest. “Much as I would love for you to invite me in, I don’t think either of us is ready for that step. Not yet.” He inches forward, the proximity of him hot on my skin. “I will wait until you’re ready.”

  I peek up at Jonas from under my lashes and wonder where the hell he has been all my life. Why I hadn’t met him sooner. A man with endless patience and unshakable kindness. A man that looks at me with gentleness and ardor.

  “Jonas…”

  Another shuffle forward, his lips now a breath away from grazing my own. Oh, how I want to taste him again.

  “Please don’t feel like you owe me an explanation. Because you don’t.”

  Our eyes meet and my throat goes dry as I soak up the intensity of his gaze. The magnificent swirl of blue and green and gold, but a hint darker. They remind me of an incoming rainstorm at sunset. Not a storm worthy of fear, but one that lures you outdoors and begs you to get lost in it. To dance in the rain rather than try to escape the waterfall.

  God, how I want to kiss him again. More than I want to breathe.

  “Thank you. For telling me I don’t owe you anything.” My eyes drop to his lips and I tell myself to look back up. To focus on what I should say. To use my words. “There is so much I want to tell you. So much. But I need things between us to go slow. Not because I don’t want you. I do, believe me.” You’re rambling, Autumn. Rambling aside, Jonas gives me his smile. One full of contentment with a dash of humor. “But my past has roots. Roots I need time to dig up. And it may take time.”

  He frames my face in his hands. “Hey.” When he knows my attention is solely on him, he continues. “Like I said, we go at your pace. I’m not in any rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I really hope his words hold truth. Because what I haven’t told him could be the one thing which scares him away. Jonas doesn’t seem the type to scare easily, but it is best not to assume. Some people surprise you.

  “You’re the first person I’ve dated in a really long time,” I confess. He cocks his head, toys with a strand of hair, and waits for me to continue. “Years ago, I dated this guy who swore he’d always be there for me. But” —I swallow and hang my head— “when things got more serious than he wanted, he bailed. It threw a wrench in everything. With my parents and my sister, and other parts of my personal life.” I glance over my shoulder at the front door. Picture who is on the other side. “If it weren’t for Penny and everyone else at the shop, I would’ve stayed on the street.”

  Jonas drops his hands from my face and the immediate loss sends a chill across my cheeks. But before I dwell on the absence of his touch, he slips his arms around my waist and envelops me in a hug so potent, emotion stings the back of my eyes. He holds me close to his chest, shushes the tears threatening to fall, and whispers how everything is fine now because he is here.

  And I believe him. Right here, right now, I believe him. Regardless of h
ow little I know Jonas, some facts are undeniable. Jonas is a good man. A good man raised by another good man.

  I sense it when he hesitates to do things other men would assume is normal and acceptable. Like resting his hand on my back or taking my hand in his. Like asking for my phone number or address when he had the means to get it without my consent. Or when he asked, only minutes ago, permission to kiss me. Most men don’t ask, they just take.

  Jonas isn’t like most men. He is levels above.

  Not sure which of us initiates, but we slowly pull back from each other. Jonas lifts his hands back to my face and swipes his thumbs over my cheeks before leaning in and pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to my lips. “Although I don’t like why you were crying, you look more beautiful than ever.”

  I close my eyes and get lost in the gyroscope of emotion spinning in my chest. Before Jonas, no man ever had me so tongue-tied and wobbly. Although I have walked on my own two feet for years, with Jonas I feel as if I am truly learning how they work. How they will carry me where I need to go. Toward him.

  “Only you would think I look beautiful with mascara staining my cheeks.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t get it.” No, I don’t. Though, I won’t admit such things aloud. “It’s not that you have tear-stained makeup. It’s the reason why. That you’re exposing a piece of yourself and letting me see the parts no one else gets to.”

  When he explains it like this, I understand better. Little did I realize, I unintentionally opened myself up to him. I let him in when I never let anyone else in. With the exception of Penny. Reznor, Rex, and Iliana know minor, rough-around-the-edges details, but they don’t know anything with depth. Penny, on the other hand, knows everything. Not because I favor her over the rest of my tattoo family, but because we live together and there is no possible way around it.

  I drop my gaze from his eyes to his lips again. He won’t make me ask permission, but I want to taste him one more time before we say good night again. Taste the sweetness of our shared dessert mixed with a flavor I define as distinctly Jonas. When my eyes remain on his lips, he makes my wish come true.