You and Everything After

“What are you, Jack from Titanic?” she responds.

“Are you mocking DiCaprio?” I spar back.

“Wouldn’t dare,” she says, shaking her head slowly. I hold her stare for a few minutes, admiring the curve of her lips—the way the pink almost matches the color of her cheeks.

“Good. I like Leo. He’s a man’s man. If you made fun of him, we’d have to rethink things.” She laughs at my diatribe. “I’m being serious. There are two things you don’t fuck with—baseball, and Leo.”

She crosses her heart dramatically as we get to the front of our building. “Wouldn’t dare mock Leo then,” she says, unable to hold her snicker in.

“You laugh now, but were you laughing when he went all rogue in The Departed? I think not. He was badass. And what about Gangs of New York?”

“Never saw it,” she says, and I grab her wrist, spinning her around to face me at the elevator bank.

“Seriously?”

“Never saw The Departed, either. Just Titanic,” she admits.

The elevator opens, and we move inside. “That’s just…well…shameful. That’s what that is. No wonder you don’t understand the full power of the Leo,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s it. When I go home for break, I’m bringing back my DVDs. We’re fixing this.”

“Whatever,” she says, skipping ahead of me when the elevator opens.

“You know what, I don’t want to draw you any more. Not if you’re going to have that attitude,” I joke, and she turns to face me, her face the most fucking adorable pout ever.

“Nope, not going to work on me. No drawing for you,” I say, and she comes closer, sliding one leg over my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck, seducing me. It’s totally working. I was only kidding to begin with.

“Nope, you’re seduction powers are useless,” I say, a breath or two before her lips dust over mine.

She whispers, “Please…”

“I don’t know, it’s going to take some convincing,” I say, taking her top lip between my teeth.

Just then, she reaches down lower in my lap, rubbing along my hard-on and completely jarring me from this little fantasy we’ve created. I am fully present in the now, and suddenly, the last thing I want to do is draw.

“Please? Draw me, Ty. Please?” she’s running kisses down my neck when we hear the elevator ding down the hall, and Nate and Rowe’s laughter fills the silence. Instead of getting up from my lap, Cass remains seated—her hand staying in place while she moves her other finger over my mouth, keeping me quiet while we listen if Nate and Rowe go to my room. When we hear the other door shut, I nip at the tip of her finger, and she leaves it in my mouth. So fucking sexy.

“Get inside. I’ll draw you. But then, I’m undressing you and living out all kinds of fantasies,” I say, and she hops up from my lap, opens her door and practically pulls me inside with her.

I didn’t expect her to strip. But she did. She’s actually playing out that scene from Titanic, lying topless on her bed, rings of her hair teasing at her nipple. I so don’t want to be drawing right now. Why is this pencil in my hand?

“If I find out you can’t really draw, and this was all some ploy, I’m going to be pissed,” she says, only half kidding.

“One, I never asked you to get naked,” I say, pausing and gawking, mouth wide open. “Sorry. Little distracted. And two, I can draw. So hush and don’t move so I can get this over with,” I say, pulling her spiral notebook to my lap so I can begin sketching and shading.

I’m doing my best to block my view of most of her body with the notebook so that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to get a decent portrait of her face done before I completely lose my mind. “How long have you drawn?” she asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Shhhhh,” I say, and she whispers an apology. “I’m teasing. You can talk. I already have your lips and face. I started drawing for fun in high school. Superheroes and stuff like that. My mom is really good at this stuff. She’s an artist. I guess I picked up a few things.”

“Do you paint or do other stuff?” she asks, something tickling her nose and forcing her to crinkle it so she doesn’t move. I lean forward and run the back of my knuckle down her nose for her. “Thank you,” she says, the redness creeping up again at my nearness. I can’t believe she’s just lying there for me to take—and I’m drawing. What the hell?