Zayden disappears as I look around at the tiny foyer and the walls covered in family photos. There's a set of stairs to my right and a small pathway to the living room on my left.
I move inside and scope the room out. It's small, but the wall is painted with a rich eggplant and the furniture, while small, is perfectly sized and carefully arranged to give the place the maximum amount of space. Somebody's hung a shelf behind the sofa and covered it in chihuahua statues. Makes me smile.
I spot a picture of Zayden and a redhead that must be his brother. He called him a lumberjack when he was talking about him, and I see that the description is dead on—right down to the flannel shirt he's wearing. Next to that, in a silly black and white frame with grinning pink skulls on it, there's a picture of two little boys that match up to the men next to them.
I pick up the frame in my hands and feel a warm smile chasing across my lips.
Zayden is so goddamn cute in this shot, wearing a little Mohawk and grinning big. He looks like he's maybe eight or nine in the picture, his hand wrapped around a plastic hammer while his brother clutches a yellow foam lightning bolt. They have the same mouth, same chin. Despite the difference in hair color, it's easy to tell they're related. No wonder I thought Zayden's nieces and nephews looked like they were his.
I have a weird idea that it'd be kind of fun to make babies with him. Someday, of course. Not now. Way, way, way later. I'm kind of thinking my first baby will be at thirty-five. And don't give me all the silly medical facts; science and medicine evolve everyday.
“I totally kicked his ass that day,” Zay says as I jump and almost drop the picture, setting it quickly back on the side table and shoving hair over my shoulder in a wave. Was I just fantasizing about making future babies with this guy? Like that would ever happen. Zayden's made it pretty clear that he's not interested in having a relationship; I think I've made the same clear. And I meant it. I did.
Don't get all virgin cliché and start falling for this guy, Brooke.
“Kicked his ass?” I ask as Zayden moves over to a closer door I hadn't noticed before and opens it to reveal a bathroom. “Were you guys sparring or something?”
“Rob was playing as the god Zeus, and I was supposed to be Thor. He kept getting pissed at me because I was saying Shor instead, and we ended up getting into a real fight.” Zay waves me into the bathroom and lays a towel down on the toilet, gesturing for me to take a seat. “He gave me my first black eye, and I knocked two of his teeth out.”
“Yikes,” I say as I sit, but I'm smiling anyway. I like hearing Zay's stories, getting to know him better. And why shouldn't I? All his girlfriends probably heard this story and he claims to not even have liked them. So he dates people he hates. Totally weird. I find that it bothers me more than it should, like why were they worth dating and I'm not even at that level?
I blink those thoughts away and sweep my fingers through my hair, suddenly nervous about the whole idea of getting pierced. Although you already let Zayden pierce you in the most intimate way possible, so why not?
“Were your parents pissed?”
“Oh hell yeah,” Zay says as he opens a silver kit filled with medical supplies. “They made me and Rob work, like, forever doing obscure chores to pay for that dental work. Have you ever had to sweep the street in front of the house? The actual road for an entire block. Who does that?”
I laugh as Zayden comes over to stand in front of me, reaching up to take my chin in his hands. I can see in his eyes that he's in total work mode right now, but the touch of his hands makes me remember the other night—not to mention our exhibition experiment. Oh God.
I feel my eyes flutter closed and Zayden exhales sharply.
“Stop that,” he says, but he sounds goofy and playful, like he doesn't much care if I tear his pants open and start sucking his cock again. And I kind of want to. I … actually really liked it. “I've been fantasizing about this since the day I met you. Now hold still.”
Zayden looks at me for a few seconds and then grabs some black gloves out of his kit, snapping them onto his fingers in a way that's oddly erotic. I want to feel that latex on my body—and not just inside of it.
Fuck. Who thinks about condoms like that? I'm being totally weird.
Zayden grabs a white antiseptic wipe and then comes to stare at me again.
“Right or left?” he asks, and I pause. I have to really think about that for a minute.
“Do you have a preference?” I ask. “I mean, it's your art.”
“And it's your body,” he says, but almost like he wishes it were his, too. “Let's do the left. Then me and you can be piercing buddies.” He waggles his own pierced brow and I smile.