Page 64 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“First of all,” I say, scooting up on the bed with her so our bare shoulders are touching. She’s sitting up, leaning back on the headboard, and her hands are in her lap. She’s breathing fast and heavy, but that’s normal for the level of fear she’s experiencing. “It’s a fantasy, OK? Just keep that in mind. It’s just a fantasy.”

“I don’t think I need to see it, Nolan. Just untie me.”

“Just wait,” I say, holding the pieces of paper in my hand so she can’t see the first one yet. “It’s got a nice beginning. And a nice ending.” I wink at her, which elicits a tiny smile. “It’s the middle that people have a hard time with.”

“So you have shown other girls this?”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Be patient.”

I have the stack of drawings doubled over, not creased, just so she can’t see the first one until I’m ready.

“Mr. Romantic,” I say. “Just keep that in mind, OK?”

“Got it,” Ivy says, all her patience gone.

“OK.” I unfold the drawings so the first one is visible. “This is us. You and me.”

And it is. I always put a lot of detail in the first one. maybe because I’m nervous about the ones that come after. Or maybe I really am just a big ol’ romantic at heart.

Ivy is wearing a long dress that reveals her curves. Her large breasts, nipples pressed against the fabric because she has no bra on. My hands are the only thing of me in this picture and they are on her hips. “In my head, the dress is yellow.”

“Why yellow?” Ivy says, reaching for the picture so I’ll bring it closer.

“I like it. And it matches the rope.”

She looks at me with lots of questions but none of them come out of her mouth.

“We’re coming home from dinner. We had a nice night. This is our first real date.”

“What did we eat?” Ivy asks.

“Who cares?” I laugh. “We’re in New England, so let’s say lots of expensive seafood.”

“Fancy.”

“Well,” I say, “it’s a fantasy, right? Go big or go home.”

“What color is your suit?” she asks.

This is going well. I have a glimmer of hope. “Black. And my silk tie is yellow.”

“To match the rope,” Ivy says.

“Yes.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Nolan.”

“Don’t give up on me yet, Ivy.”

She looks me in the eyes and swallows. “Go on.”

I throw that picture off the side of the bed and it floats softly to the floor. “Now we’re in the back yard of a huge mansion. We’re kissing.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s a good kiss, Ivy.” My palm is on her throat, my thumb pressing on her chin, like I’m taking control.

“It’s… OK.”