“f**k off, Donny,” Patrick had called, and Donny had snickered on the other side of the doorframe.
Nina lay naked against him, one leg entangled with his, her stomach pressed to his hip. She had her eyes closed but didn’t sleep. She smiled as Donny’s footsteps receded.
One of Nina’s fingers drew patterns on Patrick’s chest. Swirls. Mazes, perhaps. He’d never felt quite so peaceful.
“I wish I could draw you,” she murmured sleepily. “I’d be able to get it right this time.”
He frowned. “You must miss it,” he said. “Art, I mean.”
A pause. “A little.”
“I’ll find you some supplies,” he said immediately. “You can paint and draw until your fingers fall off.”
“Awfully generous of you.”
“I have a mind to keep you here by any means,” he murmured, following the underside of her breast with his
