Promise Me This(3)

But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to wondering about him. Wondering if there’d ever been someone real in his life. Someone who’d hurt him, made him so defensive that he now kept that part of himself tucked neatly away.

Nate laughed and clapped Bennett on the back, reminding me of how alive and unreserved he was in every other way. With his friends and his sense of humor he lived out in the open—even with his daredevil antics, how he always talked about his next rock-climbing or snowboarding adventure—but there was that one area in his life that was most cryptic.

I’d just figured he was immature, given too much too early from his wealthy family. But tonight in the bathroom, I saw a flash of something different. Something that resembled a deep ache—an unfulfilled longing in his face—a split second before he’d pushed that girl away. It was there. I knew I hadn’t imagined it.

Regardless, Nate was way too straight-laced for me with his perfectly tailored jeans and button-down shirts, even if they did hug his muscles in all the right places. And the girls he spent his time with probably all looked the same—privileged and gorgeous.

I liked at least a little gravity to the guys I dated, so I never paid Nate much attention beyond our easy and playful friendship. But tonight I’d admit it was the first time I could picture myself up against that sink, with his hot lips against my neck.

“What are you doing here tonight?” Nate asked, nudging my foot beneath the table. Damn, I needed to snap out of it before Square figured out I was having dirty thoughts about him. “You’re usually not around on Thursday nights. Don’t you have a photography class?”

I’d forgotten how perceptive he had always been as well.

“Usually,” I said, folding my napkin to give my hands something to focus on. “But we’re studying large-scale photography and tonight was independent study night.”

Nate’s eyebrows bunched together. He was good-looking, but in a boy-next-door kind of way. He had dark blond hair and whiskey-colored eyes. His body was amazing, but way too muscular for my taste. He liked to work out as hard as he liked to party.

Despite outward appearances, he fit in pretty well with this crew, who could work a ten-hour shift at the shop and then drink past midnight, only to wake up and do it all over again.

“What exactly does ‘independent study’ mean?” Nate asked, his leg going a million miles an hour beneath the table, like he needed to blow off some steam. Which is probably where that girl had come in, until I ruined it for the two of them.

Pushing that idea out of my head, I focused on my assignment. I needed to come up with the subject, stat. “I have to create a huge photo exhibit, and the professor gave us a free period tonight to begin working on it.”

“Zach’s is the perfect place to do your homework,” Dex said, smirking into his beer glass.

“You shut it,” I said and then turned back to Nate. “It’s going to be on display at the upcoming art festival, worth half of my grade, and I don’t know what the heck to shoot pictures of. Yet.”

I was going for my Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in studio art, with an emphasis in photography. I needed sixty credits to get there and was well on my way but wasn’t getting there as fast as I’d like, given the expense. But slow and steady wins the race or whatever the hell that saying was.

Like my father, my absolute true love was photography. I was excited to finally make good use of his Hasselblad 500C/M that I’d inherited when he passed away three years ago, but I had the worst creative block. So I figured a good beer would help me get some ideas flowing.

“How about pictures of the neighborhood? The only thing you ever do is people-watch at the shop,” Cory said, egging me on. He knew there was rarely any downtime at the tattoo parlor. I was one of the receptionists at Raw Ink—more like an office manager, glorified maid, or employee wrangler—and a part-time student at the university.

“I’m not people-watching. I’m just ignoring you,” I said, sticking my tongue out.

Cory was cool to work with, but kind of a mess as a person. He was gay and knew how to pick the beautiful assholes. So he was always hurting in one way or another.

Despite that, his artwork was amazing. He specialized in portraits, so if you ever wanted your grandma’s face permanently engraved in your skin, he was your guy.

Just don’t ask him to draw your current flame, his personal hot button. He’d give you a good tongue-lashing, specifically telling you how goddamn stupid you are. If you relented, he’d make you promise not to return to him when you wanted it covered up or removed two months down the road.