Imogen: I think so.
Patrick: I know just the thing. Trust me.
Imogen: Trust you?
Patrick: Yeah. We'll move as fast as you want. But wear a dress or a skirt. So we can keep our options open.
Imogen: What options?
Patrick: Me, getting you off, in public.
Fuck.
ChapterFifteen
IMOGEN
For a few hours, the thrill of potential public sex races through my body. I write experiment notes in my paper journal.
Part one: Casual sex. Excellent but overwhelming.
Part two: slightly less casual sex. Excellent, still overwhelming, but less.
Part three: public sex. Am I out of my fucking mind?
Bit by bit, my lust fades. My normal concerns take over. By the time I park in Patrick's complex, I'm the same confused, heavy version of myself.
I walk along the beach, to take in the beauty of the water, to remember how it felt to sit here thinkingthis is the last time I'll ever see the ocean.
That was my first thought when I came-to.At least I'll see the ocean again.
Maybe I should celebrate it, the way I did with my tattoo. Yeah, this is a mess, but it's my mess. It's part of me.
But so is my blossoming desire. And why not focus on that for a few hours?
The walk goes quickly. The tattoo shop sneaks up on me. It fits perfectly into the bustling main street. Blue Bottle, only with less java and more ink.
The bell rings as I step inside. Familiar sights and sounds greet me—red and pink string lights, white walls, framed art, the buzz of a tattoo gun mingling with conversation and alt-rock women.
Luna, the teammate who recommended Patrick, is at the counter. She looks different in her street clothes. She looks incredibly cool, actually.
Her light hair is cropped short, and she's rocking a sheer top, a leather skirt, and a perfect shade of red lipstick.
She looks like the kind of girl who knows what she wants, but then I do too.
And I do. In some ways.
I know I want this. A night with Patrick. A night in my body.
Now that I'm here, the other details feel less important. He's taking over again. The intoxication of this arrangement.
"Hey!" Luna waves. "You look hot. I love that dress."
"Thanks." My cheeks flush. "It's weird seeing you in clothes."
"Isn't it?"
I meet her at the counter. "You're not playing Billie Eilish?"