A few minutes later, I’m finished.

I release a breath I barely realized I was holding, and then relax my shoulders. I stand up and look at the drawing on her body. It starts above her right breast and curves over to her bare, unmarked shoulder.

“Come look,” I say and bring her to the bathroom.

She appraises herself in the mirror, nodding several times as she admires the pink blossoms, the red leaves, and the brown branches. “This is amazing. You are seriously talented, Trey. You might almost tempt me to have you do one on me too.”

“Thank you for letting me practice on you. You know what the cherry blossom tree means?”

She shakes her head.

“In Japan, it’s a symbol for the preciousness of life. With tattoos, it represents femininity and beauty, so it’s perfect for you,” I tell her, watching her eyes shine in the reflection. She is so beautiful. I press my lips to her neck, kissing her, and then licking off her sweat. I watch her reaction in the mirror. Her eyes flutter closed, and she draws in a quick breath. “Especially now,” I whisper. “It’s even more perfect for you now.”

Her lips part, and she moans lightly.

“And this reminds me that I have unfinished business with you.”

“What’s that?”

“Something I was remiss in doing last night.”

She opens her eyes, meets my gaze in the mirror. “What would that be?”

I spin her around. “I wanted to be inside you so much last night that I couldn’t wait. But now I can do my favorite thing. I love going down on you,” I tell her and she inhales sharply, licks her lips and nods a yes.

I run my fingers along her hipbone, that spot that drives her wild, before I fall to my knees, and pull down her underwear, helping her step out of them.

I look up at her, and she’s ready, her eyes are hazy, and she reaches for my hair, threading her fingers through me, pulling me close. I lick her softly at first, because that’s how she likes it. She needs the tease, the kiss, my lips against her and kissing her wetness like I do her mouth, before I plunge my tongue inside her. She cries out, clasps a hand over her mouth, and yanks hard on my hair.

I know this won’t take long, and I love when she loses control like this, because I’m the only one she’s ever been like this for. Ever, ever, ever. I make quick work of her, cupping her sexy ass, burying my tongue inside her. She rocks her hips against my mouth, fast, and then faster, until she’s fucking my face just the way I like it. This is my favorite place to be, and I couldn’t be happier to hear her pant and moan as I kiss her senseless until she comes, hard. She tastes so fucking good on my lips.

After her legs stop shaking, I stand up and run my finger across her jawline. She shivers against my touch, her eyes all wild and drugged.

“I love everything about the way you taste,” I tell her.

“You do?”

I nod. “Everything. Do you have any idea how many times I thought about doing that to you during those six months when we were just friends?”

She shakes her head. “No. How many times?”

“Every single night. I can’t get enough of it.”

“I think it’s your turn now though,” she says.

I don’t argue with that as she strips me, takes me in her mouth, and I lose my mind with pleasure.

Later, we’re naked on my futon, and Harley lays her hand on my thigh. “So listen, remember those cards I told you I found?”

“Yeah.”

“I went back to my mom’s and I did what you said.”

Oh shit. I flash back to the day she went there, when she tried to talk about it and I was far too focused on fucking her to listen. But I want to listen now. I want to know.

“What did you find?”

“More cards,” she says, and then she jumps up and grabs her purse.

She digs into her purse, and shows me several cards. I study each one, tracing the words as if I can decode them. Stories of the sand, the beach, and a girl. Like this one: She could build them as high as the sky, with sand turrets and towers that reached for the clouds. Only, there were no clouds where she was, underneath the bluest of blue, so different from the places she was used to . . .

“It’s kind of a cool story,” I say.

“Yeah, I love it. And that’s all the more reason why I want to find them,” she says, and tells me how she and Kristen hunted for a name, an address, any sort of information. “I really want to know where they are. How to reach them. I want to talk to them, Trey. So what do I do?”

I push my hand through my hair, running through scenarios in my head. Sites to try, names to research, documents to look into, but the reality is we’re here in New York, and her grandparents are probably somewhere in California, and she doesn’t even know their last name. She can’t waltz into the hall of records for the county and dig around till she finds the info. I wish I knew a detective, or an investigator to track them down, but then it hits me.

There’s one person who just knows stuff. Who can find things out.

And I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this because two months ago he was my worst enemy, but he might be the one who can help her. And it takes every ounce of guts and restraint to get the words to travel from my brain to my throat to my mouth to my lips, but I want this for Harley, and I want to show her I can move on.

“What if you asked Cam to help find them? He could probably figure out their names somehow, right?”

She blinks several times as if she doesn’t recognize me, as if I’m some strange robot inside her boyfriend’s body.

“Are you serious?” Her mouth hangs open, the shock still lingering.

“Give it a shot,” I say, even though there’s a part of my brain that’s smacking me for suggesting this at all. But I ignore that part because I know this is what she needs. “I want you to find them and he’s one of those people, right? He’s the kind of person, for better or worse, who knows how to figure things out. Just don’t wear your socks and Mary Janes when you go see him, okay?”

She shakes her head, and laughs. “I burned those motherfuckers.”

Harley

The receptionist doesn’t remember me. But I recognize her instantly from the last time I walked through these doors three months ago. Her stick-straight blond hair is blow-dried in the same perfect bob, exactly as she looked when I told Cam I’d work for him again.

She has no idea what goes down behind his closed door. She probably has no clue about his secrets.

But maybe she has her own secrets too. Maybe she has darkness inside her that she hides behind her perfect hair, and her pink, lip-glossed, closed-mouth smile. Maybe she’s struggling to fit in this world.

I smile broadly. It’s all I have to give a stranger, but sometimes it’s all someone needs for their day to be better.

“Hi. I have an appointment to see Cam Jackson. I’m Harley Coleman. And you have gorgeous hair.”

She touches the ends of her hair briefly, and her smile reaches her eyes for the first time. “Thank you,” she says crisply. Then she calls Cam’s office to let him know I’m here. She says he’ll be with me shortly.

I nod and take a seat. I’ve never taken a seat here before. I’ve never waited before. But I have to be okay with that because I’m no longer the star in Cam’s stable. I’m not in his stable at all, and I need to be grateful for whatever help I can snag from that fixer of a man. I open the book I have an essay test on later this week and re-read some of the passages full of symbolism, since the professor said he’d focus on that in the exam.

Ten minutes later, the receptionist tells me I can go to Cam’s office.

I stand, and smooth out unseen wrinkles on my green T-shirt with a cartoonish owl on it. My hair is cinched in a ponytail, and I have on jeans and combat boots—the reminder of who I am is as much for Cam as it is for me. My purse is on my arm, the gift for him inside.