Free In Control (The City Series) by Crystal Serowka Page A

past summers in the Hamptons, all about how he, Jay, Samson used to have the times of their lives. He didn’t go into too much detail, though, and I was convinced he left out how much random ass he’d gotten over those summers. Whenever I’d try and get him to confess, he’d tell me that Samson and Jay got the most attention. I didn’t believe that lie for a second. Wren was the hottest of his friends. He had the best body, the best personality, and the most money. How could any girl refuse a steak dinner and ask for Burger King instead?
    I felt around for my phone and was just about to dial Wren’s number when my phone rang.
    “You awake?” Wren asked, his voice still rough from sleep.
    “Unfortunately,” I said, rolling my eyes.
    “You better be.”
    “It’s way too early to challenge me, plus you’d lose anyway,” I grumbled.
    “Get in the shower. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
    In the background I could hear Wren’s sheets rustling. It was a sad fact that he wasn’t here in my bed, naked under my sheets.
    “When are you going to realize that I don’t take orders?”
    “Probably the same time you realize that it’s not acceptable to tell a stranger on the street that their shoes don’t match with their belt,” he retorted.
    “Touché.”
    The silence on the line gave me every indication that Wren was smiling. I imagined him lying on his back, the corners of his mouth turned upward as he lazily stared at the ceiling.
    “I’ll see you soon,” he said before hanging up.
    I had sixty minutes to get ready. Wren would most likely show up in forty-five. He was always early. By the time I had showered and dressed in jeans and a tank top, Wren was knocking on the door. I looked down at my battered watch, a memoir of my youth, and saw that only forty minutes had passed.
    “You’re early,” I snapped, opening up the door.
    He walked past me and into the kitchen, making himself right at home. “Good thing being early isn’t a crime,” he said as he rummaged through the pantry, “or else you’d have my head on stick.”
    “Probably more than just your head,” I muttered under my breath.
    I went into my bedroom to continue getting ready. My bag was already packed, thanks to Wren, and all I had left to do was tame my hair into a ponytail. Wren followed me, stuffing his mouth with a powdered doughnut.
    “How do you eat shit like that but never gain weight?”
    “I guess I’m just perfect,” Wren replied, wiping away the white powder from the side of his mouth.
    I wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him into me. Wren had one of those backs that artists dream of sketching. Every inch of it was defined. I ran my hands inside his shirt, caressing the softness of his skin. Just touching the skin, you wouldn’t know that it was covered in ink. The first time we had sex, I watched his back in the mirror. I remember being turned on at the intricate tattoo displayed on his skin, and the more I ran my fingers over the ink, the more I wanted to know what possessed him to get it.
    “How come you never talk about your tattoos?”
    “What’s there to discuss?” he said, averting his eyes. “Each one has a personal meaning to me.”
    “Will you tell me what this one means?” I asked, tracing his back.
    Wren didn’t answer right away, instead he just squeezed me tighter.
    “Wren?” I persisted.
    “It’s the elephants from the Salvador Dalí painting,” he answered in a hushed tone.
    “I know they’re elephants, but what do they mean to you?”
    Every image Wren chose to be permanently etched with, he picked for a reason. Whenever I’d ask him about one, it would take him time to reveal the meaning, but when he did, he explained them in full detail, going into the specific thoughts he had racing through his mind as the needle pierced his skin.
    The swallow on his chest represented hope. No matter what he faced, if he had hope, he could get through anything. On the inside of his left arm