She took his hand in hers and examined it. The fingers were tapered, calloused from guitar strings, the lines so deep she could have read his palms by Braille.

“I broke that, too,” he said, moving his wrist in a circle, their fingers still interlocked. “Got a pin in it.”

“Me, too.” She held up her ankle and he let go of her fingers, sat up, and took her foot in his hands, ran a finger over the scars, massaged the back of her calf. “Does it still hurt?”

“No, it was a long time ago. Gets stiff sometimes. Does yours?”

“Sometimes. Luckily it’s my right.”

“You’re a lefty?”

He nodded, lay back down, and looked into her eyes, and she held his wrist, trying to sense the pain under the surface of his skin. Everyone had so much hidden pain; it made them more beautiful, she thought. Ever sighed and then, without thinking, she moved her hand between his legs. Her fingers grazed thick denim.

“Not much to tell about that part. I met a girl. We were eighteen. Together eight years. Haven’t been with anybody since.”

Izzy closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest. She could feel his heart beating—yes, it was still there. And now she felt his hands touching her eyelids with a tenderness that she’d already almost forgotten existed at all.

“Your turn,” he said.

She moved her hand from between his legs, and he touched her hair, her temples, the bridge of her nose. Now he touched her chin, ran a finger over her lips. He caressed her throat and her clavicle bones and her shoulders. Ran a finger down the inner flesh of her arm to her wrist, so that she prickled all over. He laid a palm flat on her belly. The desire writhed, then.

Now he was lifting her T-shirt, gently exposing her breasts. His other hand moved toward her jeans, tugged at the waistband, tugged them off of her without unbuttoning them—she’d lost that much weight in the last few weeks. Izzy had a brief thought—she was glad she’d stolen the underwear—before Ever’s fingers slid beneath the waistband of the lace covered with tight, satin knots of pink roses.

Meet ze Monsta

Meet ze Monsta

Izzy heard a key in a lock and opened her eyes, trying to remember where she was. Light poured in through a panel of glass in the beamed roof. Dog had jumped up and managed to fit himself against the curve of her back, his legs dangling off the side of the couch. He lifted his head heavily and blinked sideways at the door.

Ever eased in with a canvas bag of groceries in one arm, and Dog unfolded himself and ran to Ever, tail wagging. “You okay?” Ever asked her. “Know where you are?”