Drinker of Ink by Shannon Castleton

Author:Shannon Castleton [Castleton, Shannon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-01-11T00:00:00+00:00

I woke like a caterpillar in Peter’s lap, in his student chair. I was curled knees to chest, as though planning to spin a cocoon on him. My pink slippers had dropped to the floor.

All the messages I sent to my legs to stand up were refused, muscles burning in total exhaustion. My thoughts kept getting buzzed by a cerebral fly trap.

“I shorted out.” I finally arranged words in my head.

Peter smoothed my hair, face tensed in concern.

He was good at smoothing my hair. Much better than Maman. He was good at holding me.

Peter Breznik was holding me.

“Do you short out a lot?” His lips pressed my forehead where my hair starts.

I didn’t think so. The words kept slipping down a tunnel. But no, I had never shorted out. “You kissed the shadowed skin beneath my earlobe and my heart exploded.” I pressed my palm over the silky-cotton fabric of his shirt. “I like your blue sweatshirt better.”

“Do you have a heart issue?” His hand covered mine.

Yes. I had a heart issue: It was holding me. “You are my heart issue, and I have never shorted out.” I shifted on his legs to loop my arms around his neck and study his face, probably like a drunk. “I want to be your koala. Did I say that already? You know how they cuddle onto things?”

His laughter burst out like a beam of light in his dimming office.

I closed my eyes. “Let’s kiss again.” I tried pulling his face down to mine.

“Easy, slugger.” Peter’s smile flashed as bright as his laughter. “I think you need to refuel. What are you dying to eat?”

“Did you not like it?” My muscles woke up and tensed on command. I pulled away to stand, but his arms remained locked around me, his grin—if it was possible, brightening. I tapped a finger at one of his shirt buttons. “I’m not good at it yet, but you know I can learn. I just need feedback and a teacher. Like writing.”

“Vivienne,” Peter glanced at my lips. “I’m not your instructor anymore, and you don’t need anyone to teach you.”

He was tugging my head gently away from him—for breathing room, I thought, for a moment of space—until he began leaning in, and in the slowest route a mouth has ever traveled, he pressed his lips to the shadowed skin beneath my earlobe again.

His breath hitched on an inhale. “I want you to be my koala.”

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