“Tristan? What the hell?” Josie asked, nudging his shoulder.
“Uh, what?” he asked, finally snapping out of his daze.
“Just don’t say anything to your father, he hasn’t seen it yet.”
Tristan nodded, still reeling from seeing ink on his mother’s skin. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Bitsy Ducote Fallbrook, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Ducote III, winner of Miss Teen Louisiana and debutante of high-society clubs, had a tattoo.
“It looks like it’s almost healed. How did you keep it from him?” Josie asked.
“Well, I’ve made excuse after excuse why we couldn’t have sex. Usually, we have quite a healthy sexual—”
“Oh my God!” Tristan yelled, covering his ears and running from the room.
The two women burst into a fit of giggles over Tristan’s theatrics. They laughed until sharp pains jabbed at their ribs and then laughed some more.
A few hours later, Tristan tucked himself into bed beside Josie’s small warm body. The room was still unchanged since his high school years, though the scenery had improved greatly. The thin strap of her shirt had fallen down her shoulder and he praised the garment for framing her skin so beautifully.
Josie sighed contentedly and buried her face into his chest. She inhaled him as her fingers slid around his waist and up his arm. She lingered on the small scar on his biceps, pressing down on it before moving on. The feel of his bare skin beneath her hands made her hum in appreciation. Josie couldn’t imagine existing in any place other than his arms.
“It’s so bizarre to have you here in this bed,” he said softly against her hair.
“You say that every time.”
“I mean it every time.”
Josie traced the curve of his forearm with her fingernail, before turning her face up to kiss his chin. She slid her leg up and over his hip.
“Have you ever had sex in this bed?”
Tristan laughed. “No.”
A scheming smirk graced her pink lips as her hand continued its southward journey. She placed a kiss below his ear, her hot breath fanning over his skin.
“Do you want to?” she purred. “It could be a first we could share. One that I would remember.”
Every reason that Tristan had concocted as to why this was a bad idea evaded him, and before either of them had a grasp on the situation, he had Josie’s body pinned beneath him.
“Oh, you’ll definitely remember it,” he responded, smirking crookedly at her. Tristan ducked his head and ravished her mouth with kisses. The tiny moaning sounds coming from her throat drove him to devour her even more affectionately.
“I love you,” she whimpered. “To the moon and back.”
“Only 477,800 miles worth of love? I love you that much times a googolplexian.”
“That’s not even real,” she said, giggling.
“It is too. It’s the largest number with a name.”
Tristan placed kisses along her neck and collarbone before kissing her lips again.
Josie’s hands flew to his grown-out hair, pulling and tugging at the coal-black mess. He hummed in approval and rocked his hips. Starting at her feet, Tristan bathed her entire body in kisses and tasteful benediction. He let his teeth scrape over her skin, trailed by his tongue, which refused to be left out. There wasn’t one part of his anatomy that did not hunger for Josie.
“Stop teasing,” she pleaded.
This was a new first, something they would share and equally recall. He wanted every detail of it to remain clear and unhurried. He wanted Josie to treasure it always.
After they’d exhausted every pleasure to be had, they settled beneath the cool sheets, curled together like woven ribbons. Tristan let his fingers roam Josie’s satiated body. Just as his hand trailed from her knee up to her thigh, the clouds parted and the most beautiful moonlight bathed their bodies through the open window.
He was reminded of the lunar beams that had revealed Josie hiding among the iron railings of her fire escape not so long ago. Just as it did then, the light seemed to reveal and bind them to each other.
Josie sighed and pulled herself closer to Tristan. She ran her hand up over his hip, past his fingers, and around his biceps. She watched as his breaths became slow and steady as he drifted off to sleep. His face was perfection as far as she was concerned—hair that she loved to run her fingers through, eyes that always saw through her bullshit, and lips that spoke words of adoration. The feel of his body wrapped around hers was intoxicating and she couldn’t remember ever wanting anything or anyone more than she wanted him. But what was most intriguing was what lay inside this amazing, complicated man. All of his memories, his intellect, his unwavering love and devotion for a girl like her is what made Tristan her perfect and beautiful addiction.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Danielle and Chap, who endured many evenings listening to the click-clack melody of a MacBook keyboard. Thanks to Becca, who, through three different colored fonts in a shared Google document, helped with the mapping of this wild ride. To the readers, especially Bridget and Ricky, who endured the first, second, and third drafts of this manuscript, I apologize and thank you. From coast to coast, much love to my Fuckery Book Club girls–defenders, motivators, and pimps extraordinaire. Gracias to Jerry, my official Spanish Mexican Slang Consultant. To the watchers of the internet, thanks for not putting me on a high profile list somewhere for the things I research.
A special thank-you to the two ladies that I met in the swamp, where we toasted a beautiful sunset and drank wine off the library’s reference cart. Rose, who fell in love with this story from the very first page, and whose enthusiasm and editing eye made it better with each pencil mark. And Rachel, my cape-wearing, fine-print-reading, top-notch-negotiating, corgi-loving, voice of reason and pusher of all things me.
Lastly, I’d like to recognize all artists, whether they express themselves through written word, enamel paints, or inked skin; anyone fighting the demons of addiction, who have the strength and will to overcome; and those who were once victims, but who refuse to wear that label, you are all an inspiration.
About the Author
SEASON VINING is a writer, a bookworm, a cook, a night owl, and always a student. Beautiful Addictions is her first novel. She lives in Louisiana, where she works as a graphic designer. To learn more, visit her on the Web at www.seasonvining.com.