There was no frenzied groping or sexual expectations, only chaste exchanges of love.

“Do you think I’ll ever get my memory back?” Josie asked.

“Well, we’ve tried the reminder effect of reliving memories through stories, and that didn’t work. In most cases, memories only come back by spontaneous recovery. After this long, the odds are that your memories may never come back.”

Josie sighed and watched the sun set behind the trees. Fiery gold and orange painted the sky.

“Are you okay with that?” Tristan asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I accepted that a long time ago. As far as New York goes, I don’t want to know those details. I’ve got you and your family to fill in the good stuff.”

When Josie’s skin chilled from the night air, they climbed down from the comforting branches and headed inside. Dinner was amazing, as always. Bitsy had been taking cooking classes and loved using the two as guinea pigs.

“Where’s Dad?” Tristan asked, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

“He’s on call and had to go in for a while. I guess you’ll see him in the morning,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“So, Tristan, how are classes going?”

“Great,” he answered. “I tested out of the lower-level classes, and with my schedule I’ll be graduating by this time next year.”

Josie smiled at him, radiating so much pride. She didn’t understand how Tristan had been led astray by Moloney, how he’d sacrificed so much. Then she reminded herself that it had been for the love of a girl that he’d done those things and suddenly it was much easier to comprehend.

“That’s great, sweetie. And you, Josie?”

“I’m good. I’m doing a mural for this bank downtown. It’s weird to be doing legit painting in the middle of the day. Art classes are a breeze, but the general ed classes are fucking killing me.”

Josie slapped her hand over her mouth before mumbling an apology to Bitsy.

Bitsy nodded and they all went back to their dinner. When the food was finished and the dishes washed, the three of them sat in the den around the television.

“You two don’t visit enough,” Bitsy announced during a commercial break.

“Ma, not again,” Tristan begged.

Josie giggled as Bitsy hit her son with the glare that only mothers possessed.

“Don’t ‘Ma’ me, Tristan. I know school keeps you busy, but I expect at least one visit every month. You only live across the river. You could call more too.”

“Okay, okay,” he relented. “You heard from Dad?”

“Yes, he won’t be home until around midnight,” she answered.

Bitsy looked around, as if searching for onlookers, before rising from her chair. She sauntered toward the two, a devilish grin on her face.

“Can I tell you two a secret?” she whispered.

The pair looked on in curiosity as Bitsy began to unbutton her jeans.

“Mom! What the hell are you doing?” Tristan exclaimed, mortified by the thought of his mother undressing before him.

“Oh, calm down, Tristan. I just want to show you this.”

Bitsy inched down her jeans to reveal a small red heart tattoo on her left hip. There was a white banner across the heart proudly displaying the name Daniel.

“Holy shit!” Tristan yelled.

“That is awesome!” Josie replied, inching forward to get a better look. “Damn, you’re legit now!”

Bitsy laughed and refastened her jeans before settling back down into her chair, more than satisfied. Tristan sat motionless, just staring wordlessly at the space where his mother had been.

“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.