Текст книги "Quarterback Bait "
Автор книги: Celia Loren
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Chapter Twelve
Ash
July 23rd
I ran down the hallway, flip-flops thwacking against the tile. It was hot in the school, and cool sweat dripped down my back like the trails of ice cubes. Nobody bothered to turn on the AC during summer. Or on a Sunday, for that matter.
Which was just as well. High-school had looked like hell to me, so why shouldn't it feel like it, too? This would hopefully be my last trip to Lee, anyways. I needed some final, blasted piece of paper to secure my early enrollment at UT—my very last test scores as a high school student.
I was starting to get excited. But as with most moments in my life in which great change had been promised and later reneged, I was also wary. I'd been to a few college parties, after all, and been largely unimpressed with the pickings on display. There was definitely an extent to which the cheerleaders and the football team at university seemed like the cheerleaders and the football team in high school. And I wondered: would the popular kids at UT be as capable of cruelty as they had been while wandering these hallways? Was I actually preparing to enter into some new world in which I was to be taken seriously?
“Hold up, cowgirl!” cried a familiar voice. And lo, it was Mr. Dempsey—idling around the school like always. He wore a wrinkled Weezer t-shirt and square-framed hipster glasses. In the month or so since I'd seen him last, he'd grown out his goatee and the grey-flecked mop of hair on his scalp. The new look suited him, I had to say.
And for my part, I was finally allowing some of the Texas in. At Carson's urging, I'd started to take advantage of some of Austin's amazing food, which had helped me fill out my typically narrow hips. I'd ceded to the weather, also, allowing myself to be dragged out to the Austin hot springs once or twice with my sister and her bohemian bunch. We'd lay out on the rocks so long that even after multiple applications of sunscreen, I'd become the teensiest bit tan. Which was a first.
In begrudging prep for the wedding, I'd also allowed my sister to “do something about that rat's nest.” She'd hooked me up with a stylist friend of hers, who'd tamed my Winehouse-level bouffant into something sleeker—a razor-length bob that fell to my chin. I felt older and more comfortable in my slightly altered skin, less like a person who liked to hide in her hair. I felt, at last and fully, like I'd expected to on my eighteenth birthday. Like a woman.
“Damn girl…” Mr. Dempsey said affably, immediately biting his lip after the fact. “I'm sorry. That's no way to talk to a student.”
“Former student,” I corrected. “Don't forget, I'm outta here. No senior year for this lady. I'm early enrolling in UT.” I hoped he couldn't see the moisture collecting in little pools below my armpits, or beneath and between my breasts. I opened my mouth wider, to keep from panting. “I'm just darting in to grab my official transcript, or some shit. Who knew college had so much red tape?”
Dempsey laughed. I realized, as he tossed his hair back, that I'd never learned his first name.
“Hell, we're gonna miss you around here, kiddo!” We both laughed at that. “Well, I will, anyways. Hey, how's your summer going?” He'd fallen into a slow lope beside me. We were only a short jog from the counselor's office and I had somewhere to be, but it was so nice to see a familiar face that I decided to let it slide. We'd mosey.
“It's alright. Trying to get ahead on the reading list. Tutoring some middle-schoolers for extra cash. Hanging out with my sister when I can.” The words sounded lame on my tongue, so I finished this litany with a roll of my eyes. He laughed again, and I remembered I had once thought Carson and Dempsey could make a good couple. Suddenly, I was less sure.
“My mom's getting married.”
“Oh, wow! When?”
“Umm. Today.” Now it was my turn to laugh. In the back of Landon's best friend's pick-up, my borrowed dress was currently bunched up in a white dry-cleaner's bag, waiting for me to slither into its silky clutches and become Maid of Honor. The dreaded L and his thug-y friends were out in the parking lot right now, waiting for me. It hadn't been my idea of a thrill to hitch a ride to the ceremony with the Hulk (a.k.a. my step-brother-to-be), but my mother had insisted it would be good bonding time for the pair of us, who had so far done very little to create a harmonious picture for our parents. Also, Carson—that scheming B—had complained of car trouble.
“Like, right now? You're going to your mother's wedding?” Mr. Dempsey rolled his eyes, and stretched his pale arms over his head. He wasn't much taller than me, a fact I found comforting. “Woof. You like the guy?”
I conjured the Pastor, who'd looked a little more than halfway handsome in our kitchen that morning. He'd elected to wear his Purple Heart, over a rented dark blue suit. His thin, greying hair was pressed back, and he'd shaved. Watching Landon pin the boutonniere on his father, I thought I could once again glimpse a little bit of the man he used to be. The man from the photos.
Still, this seemed like far more information than Mr. Dempsey required. “He's kind of a nut,” I sighed. “Runs a storefront church downtown. That's where they're getting married, actually.”
“Huh.”
“But he makes her happy,” I polished the words with a practiced smile. This was my line of defense, from now until the day I'd leave the house: he makes her happy. And he really did seem to. Anya had been more normal these past few weeks than I'd ever seen her. No signs of an episode to speak of.
“Look at you. So mature.” By now, we'd reached the front door of the office. An abbreviated staff clicked around inside, answering phones, checking e-mails. The wardrobe for summer school administrators seemed to be way more permissive than the school's dress code the other nine months of the year. I spied the jiggling, bare arms of the office secretary, Ms. Dove, as she struggled with the copy machine.
Beyond Mr. Dempsey's tiny fro, I could see some of my caravan, lurking beyond the school's front doors—Landon, Denny, and the tall hot stick figure Landon had brought as a date. Landon's friend Denny had admitted that he was an alum of Lee High—and it was easy enough to imagine him skulking around, teasing the likes of me with the other meatheads. In true jock form, he appeared to be busy chucking tiny pebbles at the school's upper windows. Denny's smile had a cruelty to it, but to watch Landon throwing stones was like watching a little boy playing a game. He was all smiles. Meanwhile, his pouty-mouthed girlfriend—the one from the photographs—leaned against the brick wall and scrolled through her iPhone, looking bored.
“That's your crew, huh?” the AV teacher asked, his voice lower than I remembered it ever being as his eyes swiveled in the direction of my own. I snapped back to attention. I really did have to run. We'd be late to the ceremony if it took forever for me to get a copy of my transcript.
“My stepbrother-to-be and some friends, yeah,” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “They really liked high school, if you know what I mean.” Mr. Dempsey smirked. He glanced back at the gang, his eyes narrowing in Denny's direction.
“That little shit looks familiar, actually. Demon-something?”
“Denny? I dunno him so well, he's a friend of Landon's.”
Landon. His name still felt strange on my tongue. After the incident in his room, I'd barely spoken to my stepbrother. I was starting to think we would just always be like this, smoothing over the events of one crazy night as if it had never happened. It made me sad, but at the same time I wished I could forget our whole initial attraction. It would be easier to just be sorta cordial frenemies.
“Well I'd hoped one of those strapping young fellas out there was for you,” Mr. Dempsey ventured. He smiled at me shyly. This was something I was just beginning to realize, that very summer—how everything a man said could seem so flirty, if you were listening right.
“You know, I'm going stag.” I bit my lip. Over his shoulder, I could see Landon and his Kardashian-doppelganger fall into an easy kiss. He put his hand in her hair. She thrust her tiny waist against him. An idea rang through my mind like a bell.
“This is really weird,” I started. “But—you're not doing anything right now, are you? Do you want to be my date to the wedding? I mean, since I was never your student. And I'm definitely eighteen now.”
I blushed. So did Dempsey. It had been impulsive to ask—impulsive, like those ice cubes, sliding down my spine. But at least if I'd ruined this relationship, I wouldn't run the risk of seeing Dempsey every single holiday for the foreseeable future. What did I really have to lose?
“Let me get my blazer,” the AV teacher was saying. Suddenly, I felt light fingertips around my sweaty waist. He looked straight into my eyes. And I have to admit: there was a sexiness to him, some intriguing, adult pull. His face was unlined, and wholesome as an apple. And hell, for all I knew, he was a student-teacher probably in his early twenties.
“I'll meet you at the car,” I said, raising an eyebrow. Wait till Carson sees me. “And thanks. You're really doing me a solid.” I almost felt like my favorite self again—the bawdy, theatrical, fearless self I'd been working so hard to hide from the Pastor and Landon. I rose to my tiptoes and kissed him lightly on his stubbled cheek, before ducking into the office.
Chapter Thirteen
Landon
July 23rd
“Oh no, don't change it!” cried the old guy, drumming his fingers against the back of my headrest. Zora was fiddling with the radio, and she'd just breezed by some 90s band I barely recognized from back in the day. I snuck a look at my lady, in shotgun. She looked testy, at best, to be taking orders from a stranger in scruffy cords, and chose to ignore the suggestion, finally landing on my least-favorite trigger tune: Steal my Sunshine. I thought to catch Doll's eye in the rearview mirror, but caught myself in the nick of time. She probably didn't remember, anyways.
Zora was rolling her eyes and huffing, in want of attention, but I didn't have the time or patience to work on my girlfriend just then. It was bad enough that Pop had basically forced me to give Doll a lift to the church, mandating we make contact—but she'd decided to bring along some old fogey as a date. The dopey guy in my rearview mirror was all sheepish hipster grins. They were scrunched up close to one another, because the truck rig only had two seats in the back and Denny had taken one of them. I watched her laughing softly, coyly, as he murmured things into her ear. Like a goddamned sleaze ball. Fucking loser apparently didn’t even have a car of his own.
“Jesus, Landon! Watch the road!” Z cried out, in the nick of time. I jammed on the brakes, sending us all tumbling forward. The car behind me honked with fury, but my eyes sought out Doll first. She was patting her pretty hair down, in the rearview mirror. Tugging up her V-neck t-shirt. I watched him mouth something to her, his skinny arms rising as if they could protect her: Are you okay?
That fucktard.
“I don't know why you're being such a baby,” Z said to me, putting a smooth elbow on the cup-holders so as to bridge the gap between us.
“He's like a hundred! She's the baby.” I fought to keep my voice low, but in his seat catty-corner, I could see Denny snickering. I bet he was loving this.
“She's a consenting adult. And I was talking about your Dad, anyways. Jesus.” Z narrowed her heavily lined eyes in my direction, and for an exhausting second, I thought she was about to pin me. Then I watched her gaze drift back towards the side-view mirror, and thusly, herself.
I clutched the steering wheel and gritted my teeth. We weren't ten blocks from the church, but I'd forgotten to take the sneaky back-roads route because Doll had gotten me so distracted. She smiled in the mirror, showing her teeth to that stranger. I balled my fist.
I mean, I knew I had no right to be mad. She was entitled to skip off into the sunset with whatever other hoity-toity person she could find to enjoy her own insufferable company. She was so proud, so holier-than-thou. Why this cranky girl kept refusing to vacate my daydreams was anyone's guess. I caught a whiff of Zora's perfume from the passenger seat. She sure loved a special occasion, my girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Fuckbuddy. Whatever-we-were. Why, I wondered to myself, couldn't I have hitched my wagon to someone—easier—this summer? And not easier like the obvious way, but rather some chick like Yvette: a beautiful, unchallenging woman who knew what she wanted and wouldn't ask too much of me. Someone with a good head on her shoulders and few demands. Somehow, I'd managed to pack this truck with women who knew exactly how to drive me batshit crazy.
At long last, I deposited the five of us in the empty parking lot outside Pop's church. His twenty or so other regular parishioners all seemed to have made it out for the big day. I wondered who'd be doing the honors, considering Pop was the only Pastor at the Holy Congregation of the Ascension. I supposed he had friends inside, preparing to pop out of the woodwork and lend their congratulations. And this must be the son we've heard so much about, the congregants might say. You must be a proud man, Father!
“You're never allowed to drive my truck again,” said Denny, as he reached up to pluck the keys from my fist. “Fuck if I care your Saab's in the shop.”
I nodded dully, sliding the emergency brake up. It took a swift elbow in the ribs from Zora to get me out of the car, where apparently Doll needed to change into her wedding clothes. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, trying my damndest not to imagine her movements. Her tiny body, pressing up against the familiar terrain of the truck...her big naked breasts, swinging in the reflection of my rearview mirror... her pale, taut, back flush against the car seats.
The fogey, playing the gentlemen, hopped out of the car and came to stand next to me on the sidewalk. Jerk barely reached my shoulders. He looked shrimpy, like he'd never clocked an hour at the gym. What could she possibly see in him?
“You're the football guy, right?” Old Man River said, in an irritatingly chirpy voice. Catching a slice of Zora's expression, I nodded. I guessed it would be showing my hand to be outright impolite to my stepsister's wedding date.
“She's talked about you,” he said. Then, he lowered his voice and leaned toward me. I caught a whiff of some froufy, adult cologne. “I'm Nate Dempsey. I hope this isn't too weird for you. Ash and I are friends from the school, and she just kind of invited me last minute. I'm really grateful to be included.”
“You look a bit old for a high school senior.”
“How's that?” Denny looked up from his corner of the pavement, where he'd been steadfastly preoccupied kicking rocks. He snorted and grinned in my direction.
“You look a little older than high school, man. All I'm saying.” I bit my lip. The truck bed wobbled back and forth, and I heard a cute little squeal from within. Doll was clearly struggling with some part of her dress. A part of me wished I could tap on the window and offer my aid. Untangle that bra strap. Smooth down those hose.
“I'm not too much older than you are, actually. And what can I say? Your sister's mature.”
My nails were suddenly digging into the flesh of my palms.
“Step-sister, bro.”
“Whatever you say.” We stood shifting on the sidewalk for another few moments, awkward as hell. Then the ancient one opened his trap again. “She had a really shitty year at that high school. We got to be close. I totally understand this protective brother vibe, Landon, but you don't have to worry about me. I'm one of the good guys.”
He even sounded like a creepy teacher. All amiable and calming, like a person trying to talk someone off a ledge.
“I think Ash is a doll. Honestly.”
I didn't even realize I'd done anything weird until I got a cue from Zora again. Her eyes had lifted from her cell phone, and now appeared to be boring their way through my face. Denny had appeared right at my side, suddenly—though I saw his attention was fixed on the side of his truck, where a decent-sized dent now lived above the driver's door handle.
“What the fuck, Landy?!” he shouted. It was then that I connected my pulsing fist to the damage. “You fucking Spazmo today, or what? Why are you punching my truck?”
Before I could come up with even the glimmer of a lie, Doll emerged from the opposite door of the cab. She wore a silky, purple, sleeveless dress that clung to her frame. She had a bright white daisy tucked behind one ear. Her lips were shiny, bearing just a trace of pink. The dress looked made for her body. As she walked towards our group on the sidewalk, the swampy air seemed to bend around her. It was like she was gliding through water—silent, impossible, lovely. The exact vision from my recurring dream.
None of us three guys said a word at first. Then my girlfriend cleared her throat.
“Come on, goons,” said Zora, in her iciest, she-wolf voice. “Don't want to miss your Dad's wedding because of some pair of legs, do we?”
Chapter Fourteen
Ash
July 23rd
My mother looked surprisingly good in her polka-dotted white chiffon dress. Carson had deigned to help tailor it, and the fabric magically seemed to make curves of her nonexistent hips. When she said “I do,” Anya's face broke open like a raincloud, and I felt for an instant that maybe—just maybe—all this marriage hullabaloo was for real.
The Pastor, in his rented tux, didn't look half so trucker-y as usual. His greying hair was slicked back from his face, and without the shadow of his baseball cap covering his eyes, I was more than a little shocked to learn that his cheekbones were strong and his jawline pronounced. I couldn't quite understand what she saw in him, but when I saw his eyes also go liquid at the sound of the tinny wedding march sounding from the out-of-tune piano, I felt relief. Perhaps things wouldn't go to shit after all.
Mr. Dempsey—or Nate, as he'd told me in the truck—seemed more emotionally affected than the whole congregation slapped together. He fidgeted beside me, and I snuck a peek of a fat tear hovering on the lip of his eyelid as the newlyweds sashayed down the aisle. I smiled to myself. He was definitely cute, in a hipster kind of way. He was older, and sort of a teacher, sure—but he was kind. And I figured I deserved to have someone who was kind to me.
Carson shot me a strange look from further down our little bridesmaids’ aisle (for the “church” was too small for us to stand up next to our mother, like proper attendants). At one point, I caught her trying to mouth a question in my direction. She had a right. I had basically brought a stranger along to my family's most intimate moment to date. But my sister's curiosity was nothing compared to the unrelenting gaze of Landon, who hadn't stopped staring at me since I climbed out of Denny's truck in my bridesmaid gear. I was aware of his eyes on the side of my face throughout the whole ceremony, despite him being clear on the opposite side of the church, flanking his Dad. Beside him, his haughty, beautiful girlfriend kept her mouth in a rigid line—but he didn't even glance her way. I didn't know what the intention of his gaze could be, but I felt the whole, concentrated force of his wet brown eyes on my body as I bent to pick up a hymnal, as I slid a tendril of hair behind my ear, as I walked down the aisle to receive communion.
In turn, I tried not to look at him. It was kinda creepy. There was something almost violent in his intensity—and an irrational part of me wondered if he would come gunning for me like a charging rhino, were we to make eyes. I supposed he was cross because I'd brought along a stranger to his Pop's wedding, but Nate Dempsey had been nothing so far but perfectly polite. Even though he'd arrived at the church in his band shirt and corduroys, something in his bearing made him appear more formal than plenty of the other podunk congregants, who murmured and swayed along to the presiding priest even when it seemed inappropriate to do so. Nate said 'Amen' when he was supposed to, he knelt when it was required. At one point, he reached over and took my sweaty palm in his cool, dry one, and brought my knuckles up through space to his mouth. He kissed the back of my hand, lightly and without looking at me. I felt a pleasing little shock twist down my spine at his touch. It felt so familiar, and so easy. We might have been dating for years.
Landon sighed noisily at some point after the hand-kiss, and I watched a few people in his row swivel to shoot him angry glances. The priest was in the middle of a lengthy speech before the vows, and Zora looked none too pleased to see her date interrupting the preacher man. Her lips, so pretty and full, were puckered like she'd eaten something sour.
“What's the deal with your step-brother?” Nate murmured into my hair, just as the Pastor was sliding the wedding band onto Anya's skinny finger.
“He's just kind of a sourpuss,” I said, rolling my eyes. I held my chin high and my chest out, just in case the man in question was still sizing me up from across the room. Let him hear me, I figured. He'd been nothing but a jerk so far.
“He's into you,” my ex-fake-teacher finished, looking a little pleased with himself as he spoke. “Guys can always tell. He wants to get weird with you. He wants to have your bizarre cousin-sister-babies.”
I shot Nate a look, and he quickly crinkled his eyes up so I could tell he was joking. But I still felt the nape of my neck flush red. When I closed my eyes tight enough, I could still perfectly recall the feeling of Landon’s hands, roving my back. Cupping my thighs. Holding my breasts. It was hard to imagine Nate Dempsey moving across my body with so much strength and intention. But then again, didn't I like Mr. Dempsey exactly because he wasn't like Landon? Neither fickle nor bad-tempered, neither cruel nor dismissive? I smiled tightly, shaking my head to banish the sexy images. And Landon's eyes were still on me, all the way across the room.
I let my own attention slide back to my mother, who looked as thrilled as I'd ever seen her. The Pastor was a nut, but when I watched the tears stream down her face—tears of joy, for once in her life—I felt resolve stiffen in the pit of my stomach. Even in a perfect world, a world in which the Longhorn was nice to me, how could we ever be? How could we ever do such a thing to our parents?
At the end, Mr. Dempsey took a cue and wandered towards the parking lot, where a tiny crew had gathered to flick rice on Anya and her newest hubby. The humid little storefront was fast emptying around us, so only the first few rows of the congregation remained. Carson led the exit charge in some daring, billowy pantsuit that hugged her waist and seemed to sail around her gams. She gave me a look I couldn't read as she slid a pair of giant Jackie O. sunglasses over her face.
Zora was tugging on Landon's arm, but halfheartedly. She appeared to have given up on her date in some respects. Her gaze was now fixed on Denny, the thuggish boy with the big head who'd been tittering throughout the service. Yet another reason we were star-crossed, step brother and I: his choice in friends spoke very little of his ability to judge character.
“Listen, Z—you go on ahead,” I heard him murmur to her tanned, smooth back. She released his hand without so much as a backward glance. I felt the corners of my mouth turning upward. And suddenly—strangely—we were alone in the church. Him and me.
“Some ceremony, huh?” Landon said. His penetrating eyes had loosened their grip on my face, I noticed. Now, he spoke to the floor.
“I can't believe it,” I said, breezily.
“She sure looked happy.”
“Him, too.”
Landon shuffled from foot to foot. He was so muscular and balanced, however, that it looked from where I stood like he was a swaying tree. Something graceful. Something strong. Even in doubt.
“So I heard you're starting at UT in the fall,” Landon said, pausing mid-sentence to clear his throat. “Maybe I'll seeya around campus?”
“If you could stand to,” I said neatly. In this bad-ass dress, I could almost imagine that I was some fast-talking heartbreaker. A modern Mae West. He didn't stand a chance. No man did.
“Oh, come on. You're the one who's...”
I put my hands on my hips, daring Landon to finish the sentence. But at that point, his whole face shifted. His brow un-furrowed, and his mouth widened. It was just like watching my mother's face break open, except this time I went weak in the knees. Landon was smiling. He was smiling that slightly crooked, dopey, baby-faced smile he'd smiled at me on the roof of a mysterious apartment, one hot summer night.
I told my knees to stay strong. I set my chin.
“I'm sorry,” Landon continued, this time allowing his eyes to drift back up my frame. They took their time, those eyes. And I tried to stay graceful and strong like a tree, as I let him slide up my thighs, linger on my hips, drink in my tapered stomach, widen at my ample chest. I felt great in this dress as it was, but being looked at that way in this dress—well, I felt for a second that I could've given Karlie Kloss a run for her money. Every girl should be looked at like this, I told myself. I would store this gaze for later. That smile would be something I could pull out of a drawer and spread out like an old photograph someday when I was crinkly and old and alone.
“We're going to have to live together, aren't we Doll?” And just like that, the smile dried up like a puddle in heat. “We wanna make Ma and Pa Kettle happy, don't we?” For a second, it looked like Landon was going to take a step towards me. His aura seemed about to cross some invisible bridge. It was then that I heard a sinister chord from the untended piano. The sound made me jump, and I heard my purse land on the ground with a soft thud. Both our heads swiveled simultaneously, just in time to catch a careworn looking tabby cat leaping off the organ keys. I laughed with quick relief.
“Jesus, that scared me!”
“Aww, that's just Otis. He's the Parish cat.” This time, Landon really did bend down a bit, like he was whispering conspiratorially in my ear. “And word to the wise? Don't take His name in vain in here.”
Before I could check myself, I'd thrown a little half-assed punch in his direction—you know, the sisterly kind of punch—but Landon's athletic reflexes stopped me in my path. His palm opened to catch my fist, and I felt my fingers crumple limp against his sweaty palm. Then I looked up at him. I hadn't realized how close we'd gotten.
He was breathing hard. And he seemed about to say something that pained him. But instead of opening his mouth, I watched his fingers collapse over the top of my knuckles. His fingers were surprisingly soft. Like cool, light petals. He pressed his pads lightly on to the top of my hand, then just as quickly began to peel away. When it was just the tips of our nails touching, I let myself lean forward, rising up on tiptoe. I let my digits slide, oh-so-slowly, into the damp crevices his own knuckles made, until we were intertwined. Then I met his eyes. They were so open to me. I knew, in that moment, we could have done something very wrong.
“Hey troublemakers!” called a familiar voice from beyond the makeshift nave. It took a few seconds for me to recognize the voice as my dear sister's, but there she was. Smoking a Virginia Slim from a tapered holder, one knee kicked up against the outside door. Beyond her, I could see that the wedding crowd had begun to disperse. Our new family (and the new family member's dates) were headed to Pappadeaux's for the reception.
“Lady, your fella is looking for you,” Carson breezed. “And Landon, Missus Queen of the Damned has been screeching about you on the sidewalk for the past ten minutes.” I caught a flash of panic in his eyes, and realized we were both thinking the same thing. Ten minutes? Had we really been in here, doing and saying so little, for ten minutes?
“Oh, Jesus,” Landon said, breaking the spell. He took a step away from me, and I saw the door had closed again. Whatever freaky, forbidden thing came out between us when no one else was around could not sustain in the daylight, that much I could see. Oh well. It was like all the romantic comedies Anya and I liked to make fun of, or had liked to make fun of on the now long-gone lady movie nights of my youth: a body couldn't just wait around for some dude to come to his senses. There were too many things standing in the way.
Landon had already turned away from me when I remembered my purse on the ground, and at the same exact moment as I bent to retrieve it, I watched him turn on his heel and stoop. (Damn those gentlemanly reflexes.) Our heads almost knocked together on the ground, and laughing, I stood up to let him fetch my things. For a moment then, he was kneeling on the ground, looking up at me. The gaze and the smile flickered back across his face like a flame, as he gobbled up an eyeful of me from an angle where a scalawag could see up a lady's dress. I let him look, though. I let him linger all over me with his eyes, and I felt my heart race. I felt my panties grow hot.
“JESUS!” Carson yelled from the foyer. When I turned my head, she looked like a Cathy cartoon: all flailing arms, her long hair amplified by the humidity. Landon righted himself. The frown returned. He handed me my purse, then nodded curtly. I didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all, or get mad again. For something to say, I whirled on my big sister.
“You can't say Jesus in a church,” I huffed.
