Page 52 of Pink Ink

Having an intellectual discussion with Reyna is making my cockthrob.

And unless I move, she’s going to see the bulge in my slacks, and I’ll have an appointment with the dean first thing.

Reyna must know something is wrong, because she frowns when I lean forward to balance my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands together.

“What’s the other part? What’s sentimental about it?” Bloody hell, did my voice just break?

Her eyes drop to the floor. “Mom liked to ‘make things pretty.’ Growing up, she was a big fan of dressing me up in pink, and she found it hilarious when I’d throw a tantrum over it.” She smiles sadly to herself, looking back up at me. “But I was atomboy.” She puts it in air quotes. “I was into scary movies and sci-fi and all the other things little girls weren’t meant to be interested in.”

Reyna leans back in her chair, more relaxed than I’ve seen her before, as if we’re old friends sharing stories.

Another thing I’m enjoying too much.

The boner is here to stay, but I like hearing about her life far more than a professor should of their student. It’s a part of her she hasn’t put on paper, and she’s giving me a piece of her just for me to hold and study, and I want so much more of it.

“Mom was the old-school type with traditional ideas for some things. You know, like how girls should be playing with dolls, and always sit withtheir legs crossed, and wear cute dresses and always look put together. Get married and start a family, even if she didn’t…”

She drifts off. I want to pry, but it’s not my place to.

“Anyway, one night Mom caught me watching a movie I wasn’t supposed to. She said it’s not for girls because it’s too scary. I asked her what would make it less scary, and she answered, ‘If the blood were pink.’ I guess I recalled the conversation when I decided on my project.”

“This is why it’s always best to hear it straight from the source.” I clamp my teeth to stop my lips from curling. “And the ink? You titled your project Pink Ink, yet you’ve never used it in any of your films.”

“No one’s ever asked me that before.” Reyna might as well have sucker punched me, because it would have the same effect as seeing the smile that splits across her face. She glows like the power of the heavens is radiating from her.

I understand now why people speak of being knocked off their feet because of a smile. I never fully saw the beauty in the movement of muscle beyond how the contrast creates dimension and provides the subject with emotion.

But under the harsh light from the screen monitor against the warmth of the surrounding lamps, I see it, and it really is beautiful. I could stare for hours and never stop feeling that glow penetrating the darkness of my soul, and as I watch her lips move, I understand addiction, crawling back to the high that could ruin me.

“Ink leaves a stain, but if you scrub it hard enough, it’ll disappear from the naked eye, but traces of it will always linger as long as you know where to look. It’s a reference to grief and the everlasting stain of death.”

My chest is heavy listening to her speak, because I know I’m well and truly fucked. I’ll never come back from Reyna. Never recover. Never move on.

I need to run as bloody far as I can get and put an ocean between us so I can have a fighting chance of purging this sickness from my body.

She lifts a shoulder. “And to your second point, ink is a bitch to work with and doesn’t have the same consistency as blood.”

My first guess was that she intended to use ink but quickly backtracked.

“Did your mother support your affinity for the dark when you got older?” I can’t stop myself from finding out more.

That glow dims, and I regret asking. “As I grew up, she was happy as long as I was happy, but I knew she never understood my interests… or how I came to like them.”

“How did you come to enjoy looking at and re-creating murders?”

Brown eyes lock on mine, and without a hint of embarrassment or regret, she answers, “I think I was born with something off-kilter about me.”

And that may just be my favorite thing about her. “Some people were made to be that way.”

“That might be worse because that means there’s someone to blame.”

I frown at the discomfort building in my chest. This is getting too close and personal for my liking. I’ve been in her presence for too long, and it was a reckless decision on my part to approach her out in public.

I stand, shucking my coat on to leave like I should’ve done ten minutes ago.

“Let me walk you to the subway.”

Reyna shakes her head, fighting me on every turn as per usual. “I’ll still be here for a couple more hours. I want to finish this assignment tonight, if I can.”