It took me a few hours after Nico left to realize what exactly had happened in the stairway. My mind was fogless and I felt exactly like I should have the second Mallory left. The guilt and sorrow battled against each other in my stomach, but they both came out as victorious, leaving me defeated. I replayed the moment in my head over and over again until the images were burned into my scalp.

There were so many things I said that I regretted. I liked her pink hair, tattoo, and her lip piercing and the weird way she dressed like a bubbly modern version of a Tim Burton character with her black and white dresses and her fishnet tights with a shitty band t-shirt. I liked that she did not only look different, but she was different.

I took a deep breath and kicked my feet on my coffee table, slouching on my couch like a pile of shit. I should have kissed her. Fuck. I should have tasted her and told her I was sorry the second the words left my mouth. Or before I ever insulted her. I should have kissed her at the restaurant when it was just us and it felt so right to reset the list. To have her in my life for another thirty days.

What the fuck am I doing?

It was Thursday night and I had been on my couch for two hours thinking about kissing a girl like she would magically make my all problems go away. But in fact she would make them worse. She is just a fuck, a steady fuck. I tried to convince myself, but it didn’t work. It never worked because the guilt and sorrow violated my body again, reminding me exactly how a normal person should feel.

I shouldn't care if I hurt her … but I did. I did so much that it physically hurt me. I dropped even deeper into my couch and crossed my arms even tighter, hoping this feeling would go away soon, but it didn’t. I probably stared for at the blank TV for about an hour until I came up with something to do.

“Fuck it!” I grunted.

* * *

I inhaled sharply and knocked on the door.

You fucking idiot, you shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn’t be doing this ... You should NOT be doing this …

No one answered so this time, I knocked even harder on the door. I heard some muffled voices when Bruce finally opened the door. He was dressed in slacks and a dark shirt and Sara was dressed in a 50s dress, like she had come straight out of Grease.

Bruce was shocked, but not so much Sara, she was intrigued eyeballing my clothes.

“Mr. Kelly? Hello,” his eyes shook under his words.

“Hello, I’m here to see Mallory. We have some things to discuss for work.” I dove straight into it showing him my bag in my hand.

“Oh, she didn't tell us you were coming or else we would have prepared some food.” He looked at his wife who shook her head yes without knowing what exactly she agreed to.

“No need. I won’t be long.”

“We were just about to head out for our date — Oh, come in. Come in.”

He stepped out of the doorframe and allowed me to step in. I wonder if he would he be so generous if he knew about Mallory and me? Probably, he seemed like that type of man. A man who rarely gets mad, and if he does it would have to be for a serious problem. On the other hand, Sara snaps like a twig with every emotion that passes through her body.

“Ummm- Mallory should be upstairs. Do you want me to tell her you are here?” He pointed at the intercom.

“No, I texted her,” I lied.

“Okay, great. And you know her room is ...” Bruce let his hands talk to the directions to her room, but I knew exactly where she was.

“Yeah, she gave me a tour at the party.” I tried not to smirk.

“Okay, great. Help yourself with anything and we’ll be back in a few hours.” Bruce went outside but Sara stopped in front of me.

She pinched her chin and scanned my body. Looking at my old Vans, slim black jeans and then finally to my black short-sleeved button down with flowers on it, more specifically blooming pink and red carnations with a few petals poking out from behind.

Her expression said it all: “This is you? This is what you wear outside your expensive work clothes? Interesting …”

“I didn’t take you to be a floral man, Mr. Kelly.”

I returned her compliment with a nod. She locked the door behind her and they were both off. I looked around the house and headed upstairs, skipping two steps in the process. I felt my nerves hit me once I got to the last step and headed down the long hallway toward her room clutching my bag. I didn’t even see her but my heart was racing. It was probably because I’d never done this. Dropping in out of nowhere, unannounced and apologizing for my dumbass behavior.

Mallory’s door was barely closed and her music, “Welcome to the Jungle,” was playing through an old Bluetooth speaker. I let myself in, waiting for her to yell and snap the second she saw me, but she didn’t even notice me. She was looking out the window, her legs inside but the top half of her outside as she rested her elbows on her roof with a cigarette between her lips and a pencil between her fingers while sketching something in a notebook.

She looked so peaceful at this moment. Her messy wavy hair, her baggy sweater that fell off her shoulder to expose her black sports bra strap and her cozy shorts. Her so-called imperfection lit me aflame, from the small dimples on her thick, firm legs to the tiger marks running down her side. She looked so peaceful I didn’t want to disturb her, but I did.

I knocked loudly on the open door and she jumped yelling up, “Shit! I thought you left.” She hid the cigarette and looked back. She froze when she saw me, like she saw a dead man enter her room. I might as well have been in her eyes.

Her wide, shocked face quickly turned to fury.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She took a long drag of the cigarette and flicked the ashes. I hate cigarettes; they never did anything for me. So I was a little surprised she was a smoker.

I fished out a pair of new fishnet tights and an old band t-shirt that hadn’t fit me since high school from my bag, but she didn’t blink.

“You said you wanted new fishnets, right?” I walked over to her bed and tossed the gifts on it, hoping that was all I needed to do to get her back to me.

She didn’t blink or move; she was just angry. Mallory took another deep drag and went back to her sketchbook like I wasn't even in the room.

“Those things will kill you.” I felt like a hypocrite. No. I was a hypocrite, but only because I didn't like seeing her hurt herself.

She didn’t move a muscle so I went closer to her. Her body was warm as I approached from behind. I felt my cock throb when I was only a few inches away from her ass. I knew it wasn’t the right time to get horny, but fuck how could I not be when she was bent over in the right position to fuck her brains out? She put out her cigarette and turned around with her arms crossed.

“Get the fuck out of my room, Leonardo.” Her voice was cold and distant like her body posture.

“Look, I’m sorry. I had a stressful day at work and I took it out on you,” I grabbed her arm and thumbed her bare shoulder, her warm velvet skin spreading goosebumps all over my body.

“I’m sick of people like you,” she snapped and pushed me back, her favorite move to make when she was mad at me apparently. “You think you can say whatever you fucking want and then come back and say, ‘Look, I’m sorry’ like you didn’t hurt me. Like I’ll forgive you. Well, fuck you. I learn from my mistakes and I refuse to have another guy who doesn’t like the way I look, or doesn’t like the way I want to look because it affects the way people look at him. I am not going to change for you or anyone, so fuck off. You’re just a fucking boy toy and nothing more. So, get the fuck out of my room you greedy, miserable, full-of-nothing old man —!”

She grunted and pushed me again and again and I took her rage that didn’t hurt me. It looked like she had been holding it in for a long time. I was in the middle of her room from all of her shoving, and then she stopped and sniffed when her tears began to fall this time. Silently and angrily and burning her cheeks, they fell hard. She turned around quickly and headed toward her bed.

“Let me have it,” I stood in the middle of her room and watched her cry. “Just take it out on me, Mallory.”

And she did. She threw a pillow at me that bumped against my body and fell to the ground in slow motion. She threw another and another, never making a dent in her ridiculous pile of pillows on her bed like another it was another mattress. She cried and sniffed and muttered things under her breath that I couldn’t understand. But I let her have her therapy on me while each pillow bounced off me and landed on the ground, creating an island of white and cream sand around me. When she finally had enough, she sat on the bed, dejected, and looked at the gifts I had set down.

“Can you leave? Please,” she begged, her chin to her chest as she picked her black nail polish.

I was high again. Loving that she let herself be free and exposed herself, all messy and wild. But this time, I let the guilt and sadness eat at me so I could remember why I was here in the first place. Because I didn’t want Mallory to think I was a greedy man who cared only about money and work and appearances. Because I didn’t want to see her cry, not now or ever. It hurt me too much so see her cry because of me.

“Are you done?” I stepped over the sand and headed toward her.

She whispered “please” again under her breath, but I didn’t listen because I too was stubborn and wanted to fix what I had done.

“I lied to you.” I squatted to the floor and placed my hands on her knees. She didn’t swipe or yell or push; she just accepted my touch. She looked at me with her eyes full of ocean blues and red roses. “I didn’t give you the name Kitten because I saw your tattoo. Shit, I didn’t even notice you had one until the coffee shop. I called you Kitten because your eyes. You have the biggest, brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen that reminded me of a ragdoll kitten. Not to mention a ‘Kitten’ is something adorable, innocent and precious. And to top it all off your hair, your piercing and your body —” I inhaled sharply and moaned. “She looked like cotton candy kissed by the ocean.”

She chuckled, sniffed and rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. She didn’t say anything, but that chuckle made her feel better. I made her feel better.

“There are some things about my life that are complicated. And when you came on Monday, it was very complicated and filled with Murphy's Law.” I moved my hand up to her thighs and squeezed them, feeling the rush of her soft skin between my fingers.

She moaned and bit her lip. “I think you should go.” Her eyes had dried out and the redness had disappeared. “I want to be alone.”

“That might be a problem. I’m not going to leave you alone. But I am sorry, Mallory Scarner.” I hoped she would forgive me that easily, but we both knew she was as stubborn as can be.

She held her breath and bit the inside of her cheek, looking over at the rolled-up shirt on her bed above a fishnet package. I stood my ground, squatting in front of her with my hands still on her thighs and getting a little more turned on with each second that passed. I couldn’t help it. Her vulnerability made me want to wrap her in my arms, kiss all night long and fuck her until I made her feel safe and permanently mine.

I moved my hands along the side of her thigh then moved up until I got to her small waist, squeezing her sweater between my tight grip. She moaned and her eyes flickered with lust. I pushed her on the bed, crawled on top of her and placed my hands between her head. I watched her body rise and fall with each heavy breath.

“I’ll never ask you to change,” I kissed her forehead. “Not now,” I kissed her cheek. “Not ever,” I kissed her other cheek. “I’m sorry,” I hovered over her lips. Her breath smelled like tobacco but I didn’t even care. I brought my lips closer, feeling only her diamond piercing touch my bottom lip, which was almost orgasmic until she stopped me.

“Don’t,” she softly spoke. “Don’t do it.”

And I listened because I knew that she knew better than me. She was thinking with a clear-ish head that was still filled with some logic. So, I kissed her neck and bit it, feeling her skin against my teeth and her taste against my tongue. She moaned and moved her hips when she finally gave up and wrapped her legs around me, feeling my cock dig into her pussy. Her logic was disappearing by the second.

“Wait. Wait — I can’t. I’m on my period,” she confessed.

I thrust into her, scraping my teeth against her neck and said, “I can be a bloodhound for you, Kitten.” I smirked and popped her my eyebrow. From the look on her face, you would have thought I shot her.

Mallory mumbled “oh my God” and turned red in the face. I rubbed into her a few more times, feeling the warmth of her pussy even through my jeans. I scooped my arm around her waist and turned over to my back to have Mallory sit on my hips.

“You’re crazy. We’re basically strangers. And what you want is some next level intimacy right there.” She pressed her hands onto my hard chest and narrowed in on the flowers on my shirt like she had just noticed them for the first time.

“Blood is natural. Periods are natural. It’s something you can’t control and I know your body is begging to be fucked with all your raging hormones.” I gripped a handful of her ass and watched her subtly humped me.

“Sure, yeah. Maybe next month,” she rolled her eyes, not meaning a word of what she said. Mallory tried to get off me but I gripped her ass harder to keep her in place.

“Stay,” I smirked. “I liked this view.

There was nothing but silence (and “Welcome to the Jungle” in the background) and heat between us while she rubbed on my cock and I gripped her ass tight moving with her rhythm. The moans were frequent and her body was on fire, but out of the blue Mallory shook her head side to side and I listened. She sat on top of me stiffly, and I waited for her to say something as I caressed her body from her hips to her waist, repeatedly, admiring her insane ratio.

“I still think you’re an asshole,” she finally spoke.

“Understandable.” I stopped my hand around her waist and pushed her down on my cock while she moaned and gripped my chest harder, wrinkling my flowers.

Mallory took a deep breath to inhale all the remaining drops of logic she had while her body wanted everything that was beneath her. “I’m serious, Leo.” Seriously horny, I thought. “Listen, I believe you — for some unknown reason — about why you called me Kitten and about having a bad day, but I still think you’re an asshole who I want nothing to do with, but also an asshole who does things to me …” She confessed shyly and moved her hair behind her ear. “So, convince me that you aren’t as bad as I think you are and we can finish our game.”

I took a deep breath and clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. I got what she meant. She craved me but didn’t like me, and that was fair. I was not a likable person and I knew it.

“This doesn’t leave this room,” I gave her a stern face, which she responded to with a nod.

“I love flowers,” I released her waist and grabbed the only pillow that was left on her bed to put on my head. “I love gardening.” I placed my hands under my head.

“What?” Mallory smiled a soft smile that made me want to kiss her for the fiftieth time today.

“My ma used to own a flower shop, Kelly’s Garden, back in Boston. And I spent all my free time with her from the time I was born to the time I was fifteen. I picked flowers. I cut the thorns and stems and leaves. I arranged the flowers in the bouquets. And I made fucking corsages.” I sighed heavily. “So many fucking corsages. Corsages by the dozen when prom season hit like a bomb. I did it all and I … and I liked it. I loved it, in fact, but at the time I didn’t know I did.”

There was a ridiculously wide smile on her face that I hadn’t seen before. A smile that she probably wasn't expecting to have today. “But you are embarrassed by it?”

I shook my head. “I like some things to be mine and only mine. There’s no reason for people to know everything about me.”

She agreed with me with a small nod. “I’m not much of a flowers girl.”

“Phffft. Bullshit, every girl is a flowers girl.”

“Nope. Not me.” She was convinced she wasn’t, but I didn’t buy it.

“Well, if you’ve gotten only roses, then yeah you're not a flower girl. They’re the generic flower of all flowers and I personally don't like them. I bet you just haven't found your flower yet.”

She looked down at my shirt and petted the flower on my chest. “Does your shirt remind you of working with your mom?”

“No, I just think I look hot.” I lied. I didn’t want to talk about my mom so I ended the conversation.

She rolled her eyes with a smile. “You look like a hipster. Like a Daddy trying to dress like his kids.”

“And I bet you love this outfit.” I bit my lip and thrust up to watch her body jump.

We were silent again, but this time I heard “Welcome to the Jungle” playing in the background crystal clear.

“So am I less of an asshole?”

“No. Now you’re just an asshole who likes flowers and gardens,” she teased me.

She got off me and crawled to the gifts. She grabbed the shirt and opened it up to reveal my old Led Zeppelin t-shirt from high school. It was a faded black and the print of the letters were cracked. It had holes in it and an orange bleach stain on the sleeve that best resembled the state of West Virginia. But that’s what gave it character, unlike her AC/DC shirt.

“Thanks for this, but I can’t take it,” she handed me the shirt looking a little hurt that I had given it to her.

“Why not? It’s a gift to replace a shitty band,” I chuckled.

“It reminds me too much of you,” she pressed her arm out further toward me to take the shirt.

Her words it hit me hard and very heavy and I finally gave in. I grabbed her by the wrist, pulled her in and finally broke a stupid rule I should have broken a week ago.