Текст книги "Junk Miles"
Автор книги: Лиз Реинхардт
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“I’m willing to sacrifice to get into the holiday spirit. I want to be a hardcore Christmaser like you.” He kissed me softly. “Maybe you can snag me one of the pictures Thorsten took of you today.”
“It was a great dress, wasn’t it?” I sighed.
“I guess.” He kissed me again. “I just think you looked amazing. I don’t know if you realize how pretty you are.”
“Oh, I do.” I put my hands on either side of his face. “I totally use it against you. Bat an eyelash, get you to carry my lunch tray. Toss my hair, you run over to my house and jump in my window.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m just your little monkey on a string.”
“You’ve got that right,” I said.
And then we were kissing again, and then the kisses got deeper and Jake’s hands were all over me. I relaxed back into the mattress and closed my eyes in the dark. I loved the cool, scratchy feel of his skin on mine. He touched me where I was softest and where I was most sensitive, and I loved it. It was like he had an instinct about how to make me feel incredible. I touched back, and soon the world had narrowed in exactly the way I loved it to. It was just me and Jake in my bed, all roving hands and kisses.
And then, in the middle of it all, I heard someone in the kitchen.
Jake snatched back from me like I’d burned him. I righted my pajamas and pushed at him.
“Under the bed,” I whispered.
He was off the bed and scurried under in a few silent seconds. I could hear him breathing, and I was positive it was the loudest sound in the world, but I couldn’t tell him to stop.
My heart hammered, and I tried to relax my own breathing, but, in the midst of pure, palpitating panic, I couldn’t remember how people breathed when they slept. Trying to breath too slow made me need to gulp bigger breaths. I suddenly had an itch on my nose that I didn’t want to scratch, but I realized I must scratch my nose in my sleep sometimes. I felt like the seconds stretched out forever, as I lay on my bed, breathing erratically and trying not to scratch what had become the most unbearably itchy nostril in the world.
I imagined getting caught. I imagined my mother’s extreme disappointment. I imagined what it would be like if she made me dump Jake. How the house would light up on this otherwise peaceful night and be full of arguments and accusations, disappointment and crushed trust. My stomach clenched, and I felt sweat break out under my armpits. I bit the inside of my lip and willed this whole thing to be over.
Minutes of shuffling later, and my door cracked open. I relaxed my muscles and kept my eyes closed.
My mother’s bare feet padded across the room, and stopped inches away from where Jake lay under my bed. I couldn’t hear a sound from him, but I was nervous he was holding his breath. What if he let it out in one long rush and my mother heard?
The mattress creaked under her weight as she sat on the side of it. It was pure, agonizing torture to keep my eyes closed and not sit up and just confess to end all of the nervous anxiety of the moment. I felt Mom’s hand smoothing my hair, then she leaned over and kissed my forehead.
She stayed less than a minute, then stood up and headed back out of my room, closing the door behind her quietly.
Jake stayed under the bed for a long time. Finally I had to call him out.
“Jake, are you still there?” I felt guilty. I had convinced him to come over. This would probably be the last time.
He spoke softly from under my bed. “I’m here, Bren.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” His voice was flat.
“I shouldn’t have convinced you to come.” I chewed on my lip nervously. Jake didn’t say anything. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking that I’m so glad we weren’t sound asleep.” He pulled out from under the bed. He’d managed to get his clothes on, and he knelt on the side, not daring, I was sure, to climb back in next to me.
“You’re leaving now, aren’t you?” My voice had that wobble I despised.
“You can’t really want me to stay. What if Mom is having indigestion? She could be back every hour. Let me go. You get a good night’s sleep, and work on getting out for a few hours tomorrow. I’ll call out from Zinga’s so I’m ready if you need me.”
Jake never, ever called out from work. I knew he was offering me an olive branch so I didn’t flake out. And I knew it was completely ridiculous of me to even contemplate flaking out. He was right, he was reasonable, I was being selfish.
Maybe Mom had underestimated my capacity for selfishness.
“Okay, go.” But I wasn’t ready for him to leave, and I wasn’t happy he was going.
He pulled me close and kissed me, a long, thorough kiss that had only the barest hint of his desperation to be gone.
After a few more minutes of my pulling him to me and his pulling away, he vanished back into the goose-bump inducing black. I watched him run across the fields and back to his truck, somewhere in the dark, cold night, from my window. Now the bed would feel even larger and emptier. The night stretched longer and lonelier than it ever had before. I couldn’t help the tears that fell. The frigid air outside made me feel better, and soon I was cold and shivering. I got back under the covers and dreamed about Jake and Saxon, racing around the school track, me in a snow globe watching them, pounding on the thick, clear glass. I woke up with a start in the early dawn, then fell back into a restless sleep until long after sunrise.
Mom knocked lightly on my door. I was already awake, but not up. My first thought was that she knew what I had done last night, and she was coming to give me a long, long lecture. I felt panic sweep through me.
“Sweetheart? Did you get a chance to finish packing?” She waited outside my door, looking like part of her wanted to barge right in while another part of her thought staying out was a better idea.
It occurred to me that Mom was just unsure how much space and privacy to give me. “Come in, Mom.” I patted the bed, just like she would do for me. “I finished packing yesterday.”
“What did you pack for a jacket?” she quizzed.
“My blue wool trench coat.”
“Good. And for nights out?”
“I have the red silk from last night, with stockings and my black mohair sweater.” I stretched my arms over my head. “What coat are you bringing?”
“I thought my new plaid. The one with the orange in it.”
“Ooh, that one is so pretty.” I had definitely inherited my love of gorgeous clothes from my mother. “I love the lining. It’s too bad no one ever gets to see it.”
“You’re right. It does have that gorgeous Japanese floral and bird thing going on. Well, I’ll be sure to fold it inside out whenever I hold it.”
“And I’ll appreciate it every time I see it.” There was nothing like an amazing, hidden lining. “So, what’s on the itinerary for Paris?”
“The usual museums and churches, but we’ll have a lot of free time, down time. And the other professors will be bringing their families, so there will be kids your age.” She smiled. “A bunch of nerdy professors’ kids.”
I grinned. “Yeah right. You, a nerdy professor? Thorsten and I had to wait half an hour last time we came to pick you up. There were so many hot young guys drooling over you I could barely see you.”
Mom laughed, and I remembered how much I loved that sound all over again. A desperate need to see Jake crashed over me. I didn’t want to tear this moment apart, but I knew she and I would have lots of time together in the next few days. Just as I was about to open my mouth…
“Brenna, if you want to go out with Jake today, you should. You won’t see him for a while, and I’ll be busy getting everything in order here.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I looked at her face, but she didn’t meet my eyes. I could sense my mom’s intentions warring with her guilt. Instead of trying to figure it all out, I kissed her cheek and got up. “I’ll give him a call so we can go out early. What time is our flight?”
“Five in the morning. Bright and early.” She smiled apologetically.
Yuck. Our five in the morning was Paris’s eleven. If the plane flight took eight hours, we’d land right around seven at night, Paris time. “I’ll be ready,” I promised. Mom kissed my forehead and left me.
I got up and picked through my many watches. I selected my old pink leopard print watch and set it to Paris time. I liked to get myself thinking ahead so I didn’t get severe jet lag. Then I called Jake.
“Hey Bren.” His voice was adorably sleepy. “How is it in the Blixen house?”
“Getting ready for travel.” I twirled my watch on my wrist. “How about you and me spending the whole day together?”
“Your wish is my command.” He sounded much more awake.
“Do you need to go back to bed?” I didn’t want to dwell on the night before. It was just so far from what I had wanted. It wound up being rushed and guilt-filled and completely unromantic.
“Why are you always so obsessed with getting me into bed?” he teased. “I am not tired.”
I heard him get up out of bed, and, if I closed my eyes, I could picture it – his long, muscled body with only a pair of boxers hanging low on his hips, his hair cutely mussed, the phone at his ear, and, especially, that great smile with its chipped front tooth and twisted eye tooth. “I want to see you soon. How ready are you?” His voice was awake now.
“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.” I hopped off the bed, ran to my closet, and pulled out an outfit.
“Good, because I’ll be there in twenty minutes, and I’m taking you captive as soon as I get there. Go get ready.”
We got off the phone and I got in the shower. I was as quick as I could be, but I felt like I had to shave, and I always felt like it was a waste of good conditioner if I didn’t leave it in for a full five minutes. It was just a theory of mine, but I didn’t think the possibility of frizzy hair was worth cutting conditioning time short, even if I was trying to rush it. When I got out, I dried my hair quickly and put makeup on as fast as I could. I threw on black knit leggings and this great bright blue tunic sweater. I pulled on a pair of high boots with fur on them. They seemed kind of silly, but I loved them at the same time. I slung a wide belt over my hips and took it off, then put it on again. I tied on my ‘B’ necklace and selected a pair of dangling silver earrings Thorsten got me in Sweden when we visited. Since Jake wasn’t there yet, I applied more eye makeup and slid on a headband that I took off right away. Just when I was feeling certifiably stir crazy, I heard Jake’s tires crunch on our gravel.
Right there, in the middle of my room, I did a little happy, hopping dance since no one was there to see me and I felt, in that moment, so perfectly, burstingly happy that I needed to expend that feeling. This wave of sublime bliss washed over me, and I was buoyed like I was full of golden light.
Then Jake was in my doorway.
“Jake!” I wasn’t dancing anymore, but the only times he’d ever been in my room were when he snuck over at night or while Mom was teaching and Thorsten was at work.
“Mom told me to come and tell you I was here. She was in the garage getting out a big, big suitcase.” He leaned against my doorframe, his hands in his pockets and a huge grin on his face.
“Did you help her?” My mother was fiercely independent, to the point where she’d rather fall off of a ladder backwards than ask for a hand.
He rolled his eyes. “No. I love to see crazy moms fall down attic stairs with their arms full of luggage.” He strode into my very feminine room and filled it up with his big, beautiful guyish being. He picked me up and swung me around, and it felt as good as I always imagined it would. “After I helped her get everything down, I came to check on you. I kind of hoped you would still be in your towel.”
I popped a hard kiss on his mouth. “When did you become such a pervert?”
“I guess you’re rubbing off on me. I made you something.” He pulled a jewel case out of his jacket pocket. It was a new, thick, warm Carhart jacket. Mom and Thorsten had picked it up for his birthday along with new gloves and a hat. I thought he would be offended, but Thorsten got all puffed up about how “working men need working clothes,” and Jake accepted them happily. I loved Thorsten so much sometimes.
“Did you make me a mix?” I hopped from foot to foot again. What can I say? Jake Kelly awakened my inner dancer.
“Yea.” He put his hands on my hips and held tight. “No screaming, and just enough whiny boys to keep you happy.”
“Thank you, Jake.” I kissed him. “I’ll listen to it on the way to Paris.” I noticed the new watch I bought him. “Let me see that.” I pointed.
He gave me the watch, and I spun the knobs expertly. I loved the tiny mechanisms on watches, and I loved the rapid spin of the hands around the face when you changed the time.
“Um, you’re like six hours off.” Jake glanced at the watch face.
“Paris is six hours off,” I clarified. “Six hours later than we are.”
“Oh.” He looked at it again. “It’s weird that we’ll be in totally different time zones. Like, you’ll be right in the middle of your day when I’m waking up.”
It sounded very melancholy, whether Jake meant it that way or not. “It’s not for a long time.”
“I was just making a time-based observation.” He took the watch out of my hand and wrapped it around his wrist. “I want you to do this. You need to get some more traveling under your belt so you’ll be ready for Italy. I’m not going to be any help.”
I loved that he took the idea of Italy so seriously. “Okay. Maybe we should take Italian next year.” Jake had discussed doing Share Time, meaning he’d go half the day to the academic high school and half the day to technical school, like I did. He was currently enrolled full time in the tech school we both went to, but it wasn’t very academically challenging.
“Ooh la la.” He nuzzled my neck.
I laughed. “That’s French, Jake.”
“I’m trying.” He grinned.
I ran my hands over him, along his wide back and up his neck and through his surprisingly silky hair. I felt his soft cheek, newly shaved and nicked right at the jaw, and pulled on his ear lobes. He licked at my mouth, and I melted into him willingly. This was heaven.
Jake pulled away suddenly. “Sorry, babe,” he said shakily. “Much more, and your parents will have good reason to shoot me. You want to head out?”
So we said our goodbyes and got into his big blue truck, and it was just me and Jake driving all over Sussex County. I felt a crushing sadness that this was the end of our winter break together instead of the beginning, but I tried to push all of those thoughts aside.
“I think there’re a few things you need to do before you leave American soil.” Jake busted me out of my sad thinking. We pulled into the Hampton Diner. “You need to eat at a good, greasy diner.”
“Mmm. Perfect.” I loved this diner. It was the place where Jake and I celebrated our newly-minted relationship with apple pie a la mode the day he asked me to be his girlfriend.
Not only did Jake order way too much delicious food, he stopped the waitress from getting too oogly over him by asking her to take our picture in front of said delicious food.
“What’s the picture for?” I turned the camera so I could see our smiling faces over the whipped-cream covered desserts we were working through.
“Your photo project.” He lifted a forkful of lemon meringue pie to my lips, and I took a bite. “I’ve decided to do Sussex County before and after Brenna Blixen. So there will be life with you, then life without you.”
“Sounds awesome.” I scooped a forkful of cheesecake with strawberries and whipped cream and offered Jake a bite. “Any layout ideas?”
“Before will be really dynamic, full color, and beautiful.” He dipped into the chocolate crиme pie and held it out to me. “After will be a flat format in black and white, washed out, sad. What do you think?”
“I think you’re kind of adorable.” I sipped his Coke instead of my own milkshake just because I wanted to drink out of his cup and not because I was at all thirsty for soda.
“I think you’re kind of gorgeous.” Suddenly his gray eyes raked over me, hot and hungry. He took my hand and rubbed his thumb over the bump of my ring, then pulled me across the table and kissed me. “Food won’t be as delicious without you,” he said solemnly.
I held up a fork loaded with flaky apple pie. “Maybe some food will lose its taste. Not this food. Never.”
Jake shrugged. “Maybe my taste buds will just go dead without you.”
“I hope not!” I put a hand to my heart.
“Don’t worry about me…” he began.
“I’m not worried about you,” I interrupted. “If your taste buds die from longing, mine will be obligated to die, too. And what fun will Paris be if I can’t taste all the delicious food?”
“You’re a caring girl, Bren.” He scooped a dab of whipped cream on his finger and swiped it onto my nose. “Alright. I’ll let half of my taste buds go dead.”
“Like flying a flag at half mast?” I stuck my tongue out and attempted to lick the whipped cream off my nose.
“That’s right. But I’ll taste all the good stuff, in your honor.”
“Consider me honored.” I gave up on getting the whipped cream off on my tongue, swiped at my nose with a napkin, and Jake laughed. It was a good, deep sound and it made me feel warm and happy.
Jake and I went to both of our schools and snapped obligatory pictures while I complained. “Being near school the day after Christmas seems so wrong!” I wrapped my arms around my chest as the wind whistled hard and cold.
“Shut up and pose!” he called from behind the camera lens.
I struck a studious pose. We went to the overlook where we had skipped school, the bar where Folly had its first concert, the movie theater where we’d had our first real date, the Chinese restaurant where we’d shared our first meal. Jake made me stand and sit and smile and frown until he had enough pictures to wallpaper his room.
“Okay,” he said, finally. “Just one more place that will miss you.”
“Where’s that?” I stepped close to him, and he wrapped me in a tight hug.
“My room.” His voice was a little sad despite all our fun.
We headed to his drab little house. It had a wreath on the door, but no lights around it. There was a tree inside decorated only with glass balls. There were no sentimental ornaments with school pictures of Jake or popsicle creations with too much glitter. It looked like a tree they had stolen from a dreary bank lobby.
Jake’s room was only minimally improved from when I’d first seen it. There were now pictures and drawings and notes taped or tacked neatly over most of the wall behind his bed. He had more stuff around too. There were framed photos of us, random items from our dating life. He had a pair of clean chopsticks from our first Chinese food date on his desk next to the piles of books on tape I’d been giving him for weeks. Some of my barrettes were scattered around along with a couple of bangles that I’d forgotten. He never wanted me to take them when I left, so I let them live on his desk and imagined him looking at them once in a while and thinking about me.
“Sit on my bed,” he instructed.
I sat cross-legged on his bed and smiled. He snapped the picture. “How does it look?”
“Perfect.”
That was the last thing he said for a long time.
He kissed and held me so gently it made me feel a little sad. He smelled my hair and nuzzled my neck and ran his hands over my face and my body softly, like I was delicate and would break if he was too rough. We reached and touched and rolled over one another, twining together like we would never see each other again.
He ran his finger over the gold posey ring. “Was it too much?”
“It was perfect. I’m sorry I got a little freaked out. It just felt…official.” I looked down at the shiny ring of gold on my finger.
“It will be official someday.” He tilted my face with his fingers and looked into my eyes. “Because I’m never letting you go.” He wrapped his arms around me and nestled his nose in my neck. “Never.” His voice was muffled by my skin.
I knew what he was saying. It was a sweet, lovey thing for a guy to say to the girl he loved. And I liked it. I really did. But I also had the sudden urge to yank the ring off of my finger.
Why?
“You’ll have to let me go sometimes.” I didn’t mean for my voice to sound as panicked as it did. I wriggled a tiny bit against his hold. “Like, what about when you go to college?”
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about with that.” He unclamped his arms and flopped back on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“You’re going to college. You have to go to college.” It was a no-brainer for me. What else was there to do if you didn’t go to college? How would you learn what you needed to learn about life and yourself? What would you do if you didn’t go?
“I’ll be happy for you when you go.” He shrugged his shoulders like it didn’t matter to him whether he went or not.
I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest. “Jake, you have to go. Are you seriously thinking that you’re not going?” A little bubble of panic swelled in me and threatened to burst wide open.
He looked at me, his eyes a little sad, his mouth fixed in a set smile. “You have a lot of opportunities that other people don’t get, Bren. And that’s cool. That’s what I want for you. But that doesn’t mean everybody has all those advantages. I don’t, it’s alright, and I’m gonna be there for you when you need me. Okay?”
He meant it to be sweet. I knew he did, but it made me so furious, I felt like I’d swallowed something cloying and spicy. My skin burned and I couldn’t think straight all of a sudden. “No. Not okay. I know things are really good for me. I know that. But you can’t just give up on wanting more! There are people who can help you. You can take other classes. You can apply for loans. Don’t you want to see more? Don’t you want to experience things?” I looked at him, but his gray eyes were calm and serene.
He reached out and took my hand. “Being with you has made so much in my life better. I don’t need to do all the same stuff you do. I’m a simple guy, Bren. I know you need more than Sussex County, and I’d never stop you from doing what you have to. And if you need me, I’ll follow you. And if you’re doing your own thing, I’ll be here waiting. And I’ll be fine.”
I wanted to argue. I really wanted to argue badly. But I had a feeling my arguments would go right over his head. How could I explain wanting some intangible more to someone so content with what little he’d been given?
And then, just as quickly as it flared up, all of my anger melted away, and I decided to not go crazy about the whole issue of Jake’s future. Because he was destined for better; I was sure about that. It might take him longer to realize it, but he wouldn’t just stay in Sussex County forever. He’d start to realize there was more out there.
“Hey.” He pulled me down next to him. “What are you all worried for? I’m the one who should be worried. You’re jetting off to the most romantic city in the world, all hot and fine like you are. And I’m here chopping cut trees into firewood.” When he smiled at me, it was shaky with worry.
“All the more reason for you to brush up on your Italian for our big trip.” It wasn’t college, but it was travel, and he said he wanted it, so I knew it meant he dreamt about more than our current tiny life. Or did he want it because I wanted him to want it? I swallowed the lump that jumped up in my throat.
“Bren, promise me something,” Jake said when I was pinned under him.
“Okay,” I answered, nervous at what he might ask.
“Don’t fall in love with some slick French dude.” He rubbed my nose with his.
“I think French guys are really short.” I grabbed his shirt in both hands and pulled him back to me for a kiss, and I made it hard and hungry, to push away the doubts that swirled around in my head.
“I heard they’re ugly, too,” Jake said between kisses. “And weenies.”
“And smelly.” I arched my neck so he had better access. “And womanizers.”
Jake shook his head and buried his face in my hair. “Alright, now I’m relieved. I thought I might have something to worry about.”
“Never,” I promised. And at that minute, I meant it with my whole heart.
Finally, too soon, it was time for Jake to bring me home. He didn’t want to come in. He crushed me in his arms for a long time under the bright, clear stars. When he let me go, the cold was so jarring my teeth clattered.
“I love you, Brenna. Come home quick. Life is so damn boring without you.”
“I love you. I’ll be home before you know it.”
And then he was gone. I felt like the entire world dimmed, like it rotated more slowly on its axis because I wouldn’t see Jake for more days than I really wanted to count.
But there was Paris. Mom had already gone to bed when I got home, even though it was early. Mom had strong theories about jet lag, and she had devised a sleep system that made no sense to me.
I got ready for bed super early and turned in without bothering to call Jake. I wanted to, but it was too sad. I felt like I wanted to remember him leaving the way he had left. The next time I called him, I’d be in France and excited and have happy things to tell him. That would make being away from him a little more bearable.
Chapter Four
I slept really well, but then, I never really tossed or turned much. We had to be out of the house by two in the morning in order to be at the airport in enough time to make it through check-in and customs, and it all felt unreal.
Mom and I hugged and kissed Thorsten in the chilly, gray air outside the industrial, energetic airport. I loved the bustle and potential in an airport. It always made me feel connected to something bigger to melt into in the middle of all that movement and promise. We checked in and went to stand in the short customs line. Soon we were making our way to our terminal and preparing to sit on the hard-backed chairs for longer than necessary, since Mom had us checked in and ready way before we really needed to be.
Mom immediately saw some faculty friends and went to talk to them, pointing to me and bragging with embarrassingly exaggerated tales of my brilliance. I tried to smile nicely and bury my face in my book. I couldn’t believe Dawes was giving us so long to read Ethan Frome.I moved forward and started on our next novel, which was, unfortunately, Crime and Punishment.Dostoyevsky is not exactly airport reading.
I was slightly caught up in the story of poor Raskolnikov and his murderous urges when some faintly familiar scent assaulted my nostrils. I knew exactly what it was I was smelling, but I just couldn’t fathom that it was part of my actual reality. That smell belonged to one person and one person only; Saxon Maclean.
I forced myself to look over the edge of my book, and there he stood, larger than life. Saxon in the flesh. What was he doing here? Why was he suddenly right in the middle of my Paris adventure?
“Saxon?” He looked at me, a long hard look that gave me absolutely no clue about what he was feeling or thinking. His black eyes were completely dark, his mouth set in a firm line. He held himself stiffly, uncomfortable in the middle of this group of people, who he obviously considered alien and offensive. I felt myself buck under his dark stare, daring him to keep looking so openly. But Saxon, being Saxon, didn’t have the good sense to look away from my angry gaze. He stared straight at me, moved right to me like he was a ship lost at sea and I was the bright blink of a lighthouse.
“Blixen.” He fell into the seat next to me. I noticed a fabulously beautiful woman with long, dark hair and bright, laughing eyes, the same color as Saxon’s, but with none of his sardonic nastiness. She was slight and bubbly, confident and lovely. She gravitated right to my mother and kissed both her cheeks, like some chic European woman. “I see you noticed my mother.”
“You never told me your mother was a professor.” My wide eyes followed her as she flitted around the sterile airport longue like some kind of dazzling little sprite.
“You never asked.” Saxon’s lazy voice dripped and oozed sexily. How did he do that? How did he take the most commonplace words in the English language and turn them into something undeniably sexy? I hated him for it, and hated him more because I felt like rubbing up against that thought. My brain didn’t even have the power to link him to Paris, but it bubbled around that possibility, and it was as powerfully delectable as it was toxic.
“You’re going to Paris?” I asked, even though the answer stared me in the face.
“Looks that way.” He flicked his eyes over my face.
I hated that I felt relieved to have put makeup on this morning. What did I care what he saw, what he approved of? Saxon and I had no business even attempting any type of relationship with each other. We were gunpowder and one hell of a spark, and I wasn’t about to test our combustibility.
“I can’t believe this,” I muttered, and I knew myself enough to admit that I hoped he heard me mutter it and would respond. He did.
“Can’t believe what? That I’m crashing your mommy-and-me Paris trip? Trust me, it wasn’t my choice.” He slumped lower in the molded plastic chair and pressed his fingers to his temples.
I tried hard not to notice how good he looked in his slightly wrinkled button-down and fraying jeans. His hair was a little too long. One piece needed to be pushed back from his eyes. Not that I was about to do it. It just needed to be done. That was just an observation.
That’s all.
“What would your choice have been?” I closed my thick Russian book over my finger and tucked my legs up under me.
“To be in between Sara Olsen’s legs.” His mouth curved into a wicked smile. He wanted to shock me, but I refused to let him. My facial muscles didn’t budge. “But mi madre said it was Paris or rehab. And I’m not living for two weeks without a cigarette or a decent meal. So Paris it is.”
“Rehab for what?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to ask. What did I care what he’d been smoking/snorting/inhaling/shooting up? I didn’t. But I asked anyway.
“Rehab for drugs and drinking.” Saxon looked right at my breasts. I crossed my arms over them. “She’s cool with rock n’roll. And a little sex, just as long as it’s safe.”
