“I’m heading home,” Tristan announced.

He stepped over to Josie and pulled her flush against his body, placing a less than chaste kiss on her lips.

“I’ve got to be at work in a few hours. I’ll call you.” Tristan nodded at Alex and headed toward the door.

“Wait, Tristan! Your book,” Josie said.

She grabbed his forgotten book and waved it at him.

“Keep it. I’ll be back.”

He gave Alex a pointed look over her shoulder and turned to go.

Josie couldn’t help the smile that swept across her face as Tristan ran down the steps, disappearing from view. She closed the door and turned to face her neighbor.

“Well, that was smooth,” Josie said to Alex, rolling her eyes.

“What?”

“That whole pissing contest you two just had. I’m surprised you didn’t just pull out your dicks and compare size.”

“I don’t wanna shame your man,” he said, giving her his dimpled smile.

“He’s not my man. Give me that,” Josie demanded, eyeing the bag of food still clutched in his giant fist.

“So what did you guys do for two whole days?” Alex asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Not that. I thought about it nearly every second, though. We just talked.”

“Are you gettin’ up tonight? My boy said your piece on Fifth is crazy good.”

Josie nodded. While she loved her art, she didn’t want the notoriety that many writers did. She just wanted to be seen and heard in a way that didn’t make her vulnerable.

“Tell him thanks. Oh! There’s something you have to see,” she insisted, leading him down the hall toward her bedroom.

“I’ve already seen your chichis, Jo. They’re amazing.”

She smacked him on the back of the head and opened her bedroom door, glancing at the papered walls of now familiar faces.

“Come on, I want to introduce you to some people.”

The movement of a celestial body across the face of another.

Mort’s secondhand table was blanketed in government documents. His celebration upon finding Josie Banks in the California Child Services system had been short-lived when the path ended abruptly. It had shown the date she arrived and listed the caseworker assigned, Monica Templeton. After a few months, she went into a foster home, where she remained until the age of eighteen. The foster parents’ home was the last known address for her. Mort visited the home and found the only resident to be the couple’s son.

“Hi, I was wondering if you could help me out?”

“Who are you?” the man had asked while leaning against the open door.

“Oh, sorry. My name’s Chris. I knew Josie before she came here. I was hoping to reconnect with her.”

“Josie? Haven’t seen her since she put my parents in prison.”

Mort feigned surprise and shifted his feet uncomfortably.

“Wow, sorry to hear that, man.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know where she is. After the trial she kind of just disappeared. We only lived together for the two months before I went away to college. Everything seemed normal back then.” The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “She’s probably one of those bums living in Balboa by now, she used to like to go there.”

“Well, thanks for your help.”

With a convincingly appreciative smile, Mort left the middle-class home no closer to finding the girl. It was a long shot, but he’d have to check out Balboa Park. Maybe Josie had run away and disappeared into the streets like so many discarded children before her. She could be living under the freeway, begging for change, or sleeping on benches. He grimaced, knowing that it would be near impossible to find her.

He reached for his phone and dialed the familiar number.

“Speak.”

“Barry, it’s Mort. I think the girl is here in San Diego, but I don’t have proof yet. She goes by Josie Banks now.”

“I’ll let Moloney know. We’re on a deadline here. Gino Gallo has asked for a meeting next month.”

Mort ended the call and blew out a breath. He had to be missing something. He was close now, he could feel it deep in the marrow of his bones. Like a mother sensing her lost child, he suspected that she was still here in the city. Mort knew, without question, that his life could never return to normal until hers was extinguished.

Josie sat on the floor of the apartment, familiar terrain for her. A tablet lay open in her lap while she sketched Tristan’s handsome features. It was easy to see the similarity to the boy’s face she’d drawn for so long—same piercing eyes, same twisted grin, same look of mischief even when at rest. He sat on the floor as well, leaning against the sofa reading the autobiography of Keith Richards. His long legs were straight and crossed at the ankles with Josie’s thrown over them. It had become habit—if they were in the same room, they were touching. As if intertwined legs or joined hands sparked some kind of current that made them truly exist.

Josie craved his touch and she couldn’t understand why they hadn’t had sex yet, or any form of it. She wanted it; her fingers ached to touch him in places she’d only yet imagined. It was obvious that Tristan felt the same way, so she failed to make sense of his need to take things slow. She longed to feel his sweat-slicked skin against hers and inhale the scent of their bodies combined. Not ready to admit any kind of emotional connection, she desperately needed a physical one. It was the only thing she was comfortable with.

She found it curious that her dependency seemed to be shifting. No longer did she need meaningless sex or drugs to numb her. Josie wanted only to submerge herself in Tristan, to soak up everything he offered. He was her new addiction.

Tristan was in a constant state of arousal in Josie’s company. Never able to completely relax, his muscles remained tense and rigid with yearning. If it had been any other girl, he would have taken her already, hard and fast, several times. But he knew that Josie used sex to avoid attachment. He didn’t want to be just another mark on her therapeutically notched bedpost. To him, Josie was something new yet familiar, something he wanted to cherish. He felt like two ancient souls, separated for a lifetime, had suddenly been reunited.

Unable to contain the sexual tension clawing at her skin, Josie slid her notebook from her lap and straddled Tristan. He gave her his lopsided grin as his long fingers wrapped around her waist. Josie smiled triumphantly, thinking that she’d already won.

“What are you up to?” he asked, dipping his head so that his lips pressed ever so softly to her shoulder.

“I need to feel you, Tristan. Just touch me.”

The sound of Josie’s words echoed around the quiet room. She winced when they hit her ears, noting that she sounded so desperate. Never having to beg for her release before, the statement sounded foreign and troublesome. When Tristan placed another kiss at the base of her throat, she decided she didn’t care. She would beg him with humbling adulation if she had to.

Losing patience with his stalling, Josie grabbed his face in both hands and brought his lips to hers. They crashed together. Tristan’s hands slid to her back and pressed her to his chest. She moaned into his mouth at the feel of his hard body pushing into her soft one.

Tristan’s lips sucked on hers, her tongue was sweet, not laced with one hint of the bitterness she lived with. When Josie rocked her hips against the button fly of his jeans, he felt every ounce of control slip away. A conflict of emotions and physical need warred in his mind.

“I want you.”

Those three little words left him breathless. Such a brazen statement from Josie sent his willpower into a faltering tailspin. He hummed in agreement, sliding his kisses down to her neck. Josie’s arms crossed between them, where she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.