mountains。?
?I?m your friend;? Nate offered quietly。
Georgie rubbed the back of her head against his leg。 ?I know。? She laughed; her not…too…small
chest jiggling up and down inside her tight white T…shirt。 ?Want to bake some cookies??
Nate bed a lock of her hair up into the air with his fingers and then let it fall; strand by strand;
back into his lap。 Blair had long hair; too; but it wasn?t as straight or as silky as Georgie?s。 It was
funny how girls could all be so different。 ?Can I kiss you?? he asked; not really having intended to
sound so formal。
?Okay;? Georgie whispered。
Nate bent over and brushed his lips against the bridge of her nose; her chin; and finally her lips。
She kissed him back hungrily and then pulled away and sat up on her elbows。 ?This is what Jackie
calls ?feeding your craving。? You?re doing something that feels good temporarily instead
of ?healing the wounds。?
Nate shrugged。 ?Why is it temporary?? He pointed up at the skylight; which was pletely
smothered in snow。 ?I?m not going anywhere。?
Georgie scooched her feet up under her and stood up。 She disappeared into the bathroom and
Nate could hear a cabinet door open and the sounds of pill bottles rattling and water running。 Then
she came out; brushing her teeth; her light brown eyes all lit up like she?d just had an epiphany; or
at the very least a good idea。 ?There?s an old carriage up in the attic。 We can go up and sit in it;?
she announced with her mouth full of toothpaste。 She went back into the bathroom to spit and then
came out again; holding a pale hand out to Nate。 ?Are you ing??
Nate stood up and took her hand。 His body was humming from the pot and the intense
smoothness of Georgie?s skin。 All he really wanted to do was to kiss her some more。 ?Can I ?feed
my craving? when we get up there?? he asked; feeling very stoned indeed。
Georgie cocked a thin dark eyebrow at him and licked her dark red lips。 ?I might even let
you ?heal my wounds。??
Nate grinned his lopsided stoner grin。 Who?d known rehab psychobabble could be such a
turn…on!
our bodies; ourselves
?My hand is getting tired;? Jenny plained to Elise after she?d painted Elise?s head and
neck。 ?I?ll do the rest tomorrow。?
?Let?s see;? Elise said; sitting up。 Her chest was so small Jenny couldn?t help but stare at it。 Her
breasts were like the little new potatoes her dad had grown when they?d rented a house in
Pennsylvania one summer。 Small; hard; and beigey pink。 ?It looks good;? Elise said; squinting at
the canvas。 ?But how e you made my face green??
Jenny hated when people asked her questions about her art。 She didn?t know why she did what
she did; she just did it。 And her dad always said; ?The artist doesn?t have to answer to anyone but