let's go girl, this ship is sinking

Will probs go back and edit this, but it's my first short story I've written in awhile, so I wanted to go ahead post it.

"How'd you end up with that tattoo? He questioned, tracing his fingers around the bottle of Cheerwine colorfully imbedded in her shoulder. He loved her soft pale skin; it was the perfect canvas for ink.
“I gave an artist money, and he tattooed me, same as everyone else.” She replied simply. He laughed.
“What I mean is, why a bottle of Cheerwine?”
“Why not?” She smiled and cocked her head, biting into a peach. Juice ran down the sides of her mouth.
“Did you get it as a memory from home? Your own tiny symbol of North Carolina pride in the big city?” He sat up, looking at her from across the bed.
“Something like that, yeah.” She bit in again; a little too close to her hand and sent peach juice sliding down her forearm. She licked it up from her elbow to her wrist, maintaining eye contact. He shuddered and took a deep breath.
“You are so beautiful. You know that?” He crawled over and kissed his way up her arm, the same trail her tongue had taken. It was still sticky, and he could feel the peach burning his lips, as he was slightly allergic. This time, it didn’t bother him. She laid down, her head in his lap.
“You’ve been telling me that since high school, but thank you. I get told things by men all the time, a genuine ‘beautiful’ is refreshing.” There was a pause. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, nuzzling his way to her ear.
“Please quit your job.” He whispered, pleadingly. She sat up slowly, pushing her auburn hair back and sighing.
“You know I won’t.” She kissed his mouth, and continued working her way from cheek to ear.
“Then why aren’t you charging me for it, huh?” He asked briskly, sliding his head away from her lips. “I don’t get it.” She sat back against the pillows.
“Chefs still cook on their own time. Artists create draw and sculpt for fun. It’s my trade, my art. Some have even said my calling.” He digested the words uneasily before he spoke again. It showed on his face.
“You didn’t answer my question. Why me?” In his head, he couldn’t fathom why a woman so beautiful who charged hundreds by the hour let a man as plain looking as him got special treatment. He looked across at big green doe eyes that were calculating an answer. She climbed across the strew comforter and pillow, sat on her knees and leaned right in his face.
“Because it was always you. When I wasn’t cool, hated myself, was spotted with acne, or was a raging bitch to everyone, you still did everything you could to try and spend time with me. Once I started working up here, I realized that I wasn’t going to be tending to the types of guys who genuinely make efforts to stay in touch with their high school crush. The men I work with have intense disdain for that sort of unrequited love.”
“Is it still unrequited?” He whispered, unable to maintain eye contact. She kissed his eyelids.
“Yes and no. It’s love…but not quite.” He looked up at the ceiling in a way that made her think he was looking for an answer.
“I can’t understand. I can have you clawing at me and screaming my name, but I- you don’t…” Tears welled up in his eyes before he could finish. She lifted his chin up with her forefinger and looked him dead in the eyes.
“Understand. It was fantastic. It always has been between you and me. I mean it. You’re wonderful, and I care deeply about you. You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
“Then marry me.” He nearly demanded, with full eye contact. Neither spoke for a moment. “Marry me, quit your job. We’ll go to Copenhagen. Or Kingston. Cairo or Buenos Aires. Anywhere, we could go back home, even, to North Carolina. Say yes, Marilyn Jane Westford. Say yes.”
“You already know the answer.” Her eyes were apologetic as she squeezed his hand. She got off the bed, looking around for her clothes. He watched her slide into last night’s skirt and top, stuffing the underwear in her small clutch. The lace was poking out of one corner, despite her efforts.
“I don’t understand you. I never will.” He watched her struggle back into her heels from last night.
“You don’t have to.” She leaned down and pressed her lips to his for what seemed like an eternity. His eyes begged as she walked toward the door, plastic key card in hand. She turned her head around to look at him before she left.
“You told me once that I was like Cheerwine with the way I got everyone drunk off happiness. That made me think, because soda is terrible for you. It looks sweet, tastes great, but it’s all camouflage for the poison. I got the tattoo as a warning label. Your analogies were always in depth and dead on. I’m no exception.”