He meets my eyes and smiles. “Yeah?”
Now I feel shy, like I’ve admitted too much, and my face is hot. I want to say something to break the moment, to remind him that I’m still angry and he isn’t forgiven yet, but I can’t seem to bring those feelings back. I have to get out of here. I glance at my phone. “Delaney is picking me up in a couple of minutes. I should meet her at the end of the driveway.”
“You guys doing anything fun this weekend?”
“We’re going to a party tomorrow.” It’s weird that I can be so honest with him. Mom thinks I’m hanging out with Delaney because there’s a Christmas movie we really want to see. She was okay with me missing her party, but she’d freak if she knew I was skipping it to go to a different one.
He raises his eyebrows. “A party? Will there be alcohol?”
“I don’t know, maybe. But Delaney doesn’t drink and drive.” I realize what I said the instant the words are out of my mouth. How could I have been so stupid?
He gives me that crooked smile and says, “If you need a ride or the weather turns bad, give me a call. My truck is good in the snow.”
“Okay. Thanks.” When I stand up, he rises too, and we walk toward the door.
“Thanks for coming over,” he says as I put on my boots.
“Thanks for dinner.” He’s standing close and I’m not sure if he wants to hug me, but I don’t feel ready, so I quickly push the door open and step out.
“Sophie,” he says. “Can I ask you something?”
I turn back. “Yeah?” I brace, worried he’s going to say something about Mom.
“I’d like to buy you a car.”
“You serious?”
“You’re going to school soon, and you shouldn’t have to ride your bike in bad weather or beg for rides from friends.” I don’t like how he’s saying it, but a car would be amazing. Then I think about Mom, her old beat-up Mazda that she’s been driving forever.
“I don’t know.… I like riding my bike.”
“I know it’s a lot, but after everything I’ve done I just want to feel like I’m contributing to your future somehow.”
“Can I think about it?” I wish Delaney would pull up so I could leap into her car. It’s snowing again and flakes are landing on my eyelashes. I blink them away.
He nods, and stares up at the sky, watching the flakes come down. Then he turns to me again. “Good night, kiddo.” He gives a little wave and closes the door.
* * *
Delaney is so excited about going to Jared’s, she changes her outfit three times while I wait on her bed, scrolling through my phone and trying not to be nervous. Finally she settles on denim skinny jeans and a light blue sweater, which looks really good with her brown hair and pale skin. I’m wearing my favorite patterned leggings—the ones with tiny fish—and a purple striped sweater tunic and green scarf. I don’t usually like a lot of makeup, but tonight I’ve used lavender eye shadow and a neutral pink-toned lip gloss that works with my hair.
“You look pretty,” Delaney says. “Are you excited about seeing Jared?” I had told her about our conversation, how he said he liked me.
“Not really. I’m only going for you.”
She laughs. “Sure.” I can feel my face getting hot, but I don’t want to get into an argument. I can’t really explain my feelings anyway. Part of me is excited, but the other part is still suspicious, wondering what this is all about and why he’s being so nice all of a sudden.
When we arrive at Jared’s and Delaney parks the car, we both sit still, just staring at the house. “Holy crap,” I say. “It’s huge.” I’ve never been inside a house like this and I’m really curious, but I also have the urge to tell Delaney to drive us away, we don’t belong here. Even Delaney, who’s usually pretty brave, isn’t making a move to get out of the car. We’re both staring at the three-car garage, the huge cedar beams at the front, the circular driveway. I only see two other cars and recognize one of them from school. It belongs to Jared’s friend Brandon.
“It’s like Barbie’s dream house,” Delaney says, and we both start to laugh.
“Let’s do this,” I say.
Jared opens the front door with a smile and invites us inside. He seems happy to see me, and touches my arm when he introduces me to his friends, who are sitting on a big leather sectional in the living room watching a movie on an enormous flat-screen TV. There are only three guys and a couple of girls. I know that one of the girls is dating Brandon. Delaney settles on the couch beside Matthew, the guy she likes, and immediately starts talking to him.
“I thought you were having a party,” I say. Jared’s standing close enough that I can smell his skin and shampoo, something clean, like the ocean. I glance at his clothes: his black skinny jeans are designer label and I’m pretty sure his gray V-neck sweater is cashmere.
“It’s a small party,” he says with a grin. “Only special people allowed. Come on, let me show you around.” He takes me through the house and I lose track of all the rooms. He’s so casual, almost bored-sounding as he points things out, like the house doesn’t mean that much to him. It’s nice, lots of wood, big windows, fancy leather furniture, but it doesn’t feel very warm or friendly. There’s no personality. He glances at my face a couple of times and I wonder if he’s checking to see if I’m impressed. He’s probably used to girls flipping out when they get the tour.
We stop in the kitchen. “I’ll make you a drink,” he says. He’s moving around like a bartender, tossing ice cubes into a glass, pouring rum, then adding Coke. His thumb ring clunks against the side of the glass. His hair is combed straight back like he used gel or something, but the front part flops into his eyes and he keeps pushing it back or tucking it behind his ears.
“Your house is really big,” I say. “Where’s your room?”
“Wow. That was fast.”
My face burns. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He laughs. “You don’t like my house, do you?”
I think about how to answer. I could lie and say it’s awesome, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want me to like it, which is strange. “It’s nice. Seems like it could be lonely, though.”
Our eyes meet as he passes me the glass. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
I take a sip of the rum and Coke. It’s too strong, but I try not to make a face.
“Do you want to watch the movie? Or hang out in here?” he says.
“Don’t you want to see it?”
“I can watch it anytime. I’d rather talk to you.”
I glance into the living room. Delaney is laughing, looks like she’s having fun. Some of the kids have set their drinks on the wood coffee table, no coasters, and a bag of chips is spilling onto the carpet. I think about my mom having to clean it all up.
“Do your parents know you have friends over?”
“Yeah, they’re okay with it. My dad is working at his office tonight and my mom is away for the weekend with some of her friends.”
“Your friends are making a mess.”
“I’ll clean it up.” He gives me a curious look. “Just because we have a maid doesn’t mean I’m a slob.”
“My mom prefers to be called a housekeeper.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think.” He looks embarrassed now and I feel bad for being snarky.
“It’s okay. Sensitive subject, I guess.”
“I think it’s really cool that your mom has her own business.”
“She works hard.”
“She’s a good cleaner. My mom likes her a lot.” He says it so casually, rating my mom, and I want to tell him off, but I can tell he meant it as a compliment. I don’t like thinking of my mom scrubbing their floors and bathrooms. I wonder if his parents know he invited me over. What must it be like to have a happy family? With a mom who gets to go away and have a weekend with her friends. My mom never gets to do stuff like that.
“She found my pot stash under my bed one day and left it on my pillow. I had to find a better hiding p
lace.” He laughs, showing a flash of white teeth. One of them is crooked and I wonder why he didn’t get braces. I hope he never does. I like him not perfect.
He looks at my face. “You don’t like weed?”
“It’s okay.” I’d actually only smoked it a few times with Delaney, whose older brother had some. I liked the way it made us giggle at everything, but we have just as much fun without it. I’m more surprised to hear about my mom. “You’re lucky my mom didn’t tell your parents.”
Jared shrugs. “She’s cool, I can tell.” I’m still thinking about that—how can he tell anything about my mom? do they talk?—when he leans over, plucks a red hair off my shirt, and holds it up to the light. “You have a boyfriend I don’t know about?”
“Yeah, his name is Angus. He’s about a hundred and twenty pounds, snores, eats a lot.”
“You got a dog. That’s awesome.”
“My mom wanted him for protection.”
“From your dad?”
I give him a look. “What do you know about my dad?”
“Nothing, really. She just told my mom a few things, like about her support group.”
I hate that my mom shared anything about our lives. She shouldn’t go around telling people private stuff. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that he knows my dad was abusive, but it makes me feel ashamed. Like if my dad is horrible, then part of me might be horrible too. Jared’s dad probably adores his mom and buys her flowers because it’s Friday or something.
“Maybe she should take the dog with her when she cleans. She does the big house at the end of Wakesiah on Thursdays. It has a really long driveway and is in the middle of nowhere.”
“How do you know that?
“My mom tried to change her days around once.” That doesn’t really explain how he knew about the driveway, but it’s not far from their house, so maybe he knows the owners.
I glance into the living room again. “I should check on Delaney.”
“Hang on. I want to show you something first.” He comes around the counter and grabs my free hand, then tugs me down the hallway. I follow along, enjoying the sensation of our fingers wrapped together, his hand cool from his glass. He stops in front of a door.
“This is my room.” He pushes it open.
We walk in and I look around, taking it all in. I can feel him watching my face. “It’s nice,” I say, and it is, but it’s like something from a magazine, or the Fifty Shades of Grey movie, with all the black bedding and chrome, not a real bedroom.
“My mom hired a decorator,” he says. His arm brushes against mine and we’re still holding hands. I turn and look at him, see in his eyes that he doesn’t like his room either.
“Is this what you want to show me?”
“No, it’s over here.” He leads me to a metal desk in the corner, releases my hand so he can turn on his computer, then nods for me to sit on the chair while he pulls a stool over. We’re so close I can feel the whole length of him beside me, the heat from his arms, his leg. I peek at him from the side of my eye. He must have shaved tonight, his skin is so smooth, and he has really black eyelashes, even blacker than his hair. I like how his top lip is a little fuller on one side. He opens a folder on his computer, clicks on an image, and a photo fills the screen. It’s a photo of our school, but like in a way I’ve never seen it before. It’s taken from the ground up, capturing one of the corners and part of a window in an interesting way.
“That’s so cool,” I say.
He flips through more photos of the school, the trees in front of the gym, some areas around town, the coffee shop, an old woman at the park, and they’re all fascinating, like little glimpses into a different world. It makes me see how he sees everything, how he feels.
He scrolls past another folder and says, “These are old,” as though he doesn’t want to show them to me, but I notice an album picture of a woman with blond hair piled on top of her head like how my mom wears it when she’s working. “Wait, go back,” I say.
He scrolls back. “This one?”
“Yeah. Is that my mom?” I look closer. She’s standing by a large window with silver drapes, looks like his living room. She’s turned away, so I can’t really see her face.
“I forgot about that one,” he says. “She was working.”
“Why did you take her picture?” I look at him, confused.
“I didn’t. She was in the way.” He points to corner of the screen. “I was trying to catch the deer playing on the front lawn.” Now I see the deer in the background.
“Check these ones out.” He scrolls through more shots of people on a beach and walking downtown, and he explains how he makes up stories for each person. “Like in this one, I decided that this guy is a Google executive and he’s taking time off so he can develop his new Web site that he’s going to sell for a billion dollars, and he’s secretly working for the government. This woman is a librarian, but she wants to be an actress and writes erotic poetry in her spare time.”
I laugh. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s more interesting than the truth. Most people are pretty boring.”
“You think so?”
He meets my eyes. “Not all of them.” He looks away and flips through a few more photos, but I’m not paying attention. I think he just he gave me a compliment, though I’m not really sure what he meant. I hear him take a breath beside me, then he clicks on another photo. It’s me. I stare, stunned and trying to understand when he took the picture. I’m laughing about something in the shot—my head back and my mouth parted, my hair blowing across my eyes so you can just see parts of them. It’s in black-and-white, but he’s colored my hair violet.
“You have a great smile,” he says beside me in a quiet voice. My cheeks feel really warm and I know I’m blushing. I pick up my drink and swallow the rest in two big gulps.
I turn and look at him. “When did you take this?”
“A while ago. You were outside with Delaney. Are you freaked out?”
“Should I be?”
“You might think it’s weird.” His gaze drops and I can feel him looking at my mouth. I want to rub at it, thinking that maybe my lipstick is on my teeth or something.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“I’m trying to figure out a way to kiss you.”
“Why don’t you just ask?”
“Can I kiss you?”
I nod, but now I’m unsure, thinking all kinds of crazy things, like I hope my breath is okay, and what if I’m a bad kisser—what if he’s a bad kisser—but then his lips are touching mine and they’re soft and warm and taste like spiced rum. We’re getting more into it, our mouths mashing together and my face and body feels so warm and heavy, almost sleepy in a really good way. Someone turns the music up in the living room and the beat pulses through my body, and I realize I might be a little drunk and wonder how much rum he put in my drink, but I don’t care. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he pulls me closer so that I’m almost sliding off the chair and onto his lap. One of his hands is on my hip, under my shirt, and it’s moving in slow circles and now it’s sliding up over my rib cage and his thumb grazes under my breast. I try to pull back, but now his hand is coming over my nipple, rubbing through my bra, and it feels so good, but I also feel a jolt of fear. It’s too much, too fast.
“Wait,” I say, but he’s kissing my neck now and his breath sounds fast in my ear and his hand is still rubbing circles around my nipple and I get this fluttery feeling in my stomach. “Hey, stop.” This time he brings his head up, looks me in the face. His eyes are dark, the pupils huge.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to stop.”
He slides his hand down to my waist. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you over the music.”
“I think I drank too much. I don’t feel good.”
“Oh, shit, really? I’ll get you water.” He grabs my hand and pulls me up off the chair. I follow him down the hallway, still holding hands. Delaney is in the kitchen, talki
ng and laughing with his friend. She gives me a wink and I try to smile back. Jared passes me a glass of water and I gulp it down, but now my head is pounding and it feels like everyone is looking at me.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say to Jared.
He gives me a concerned look and leads me into the master bedroom. “Use this one, it’s more private. Do you want me to get Delaney?”
“No, thanks. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” I close the door.
I splash cold water on my face, the back of my neck, then look in the mirror. My lips are red and swollen, my cheeks pink from our faces rubbing together. I press my hand onto my stomach, trying to feel what he felt, my warm skin, the bumps and shapes of lower ribs. I can even feel my heart beating. I raise my hand, cover my breast, thinking about his hands, then lean forward and press my forehead into the cold glass mirror. I feel high, my mind floaty and dreamy like when I’m in the middle of painting and I can feel all the colors coming together perfectly.
Is this what love feels like? Am I falling in love with Jared? I keep staring into my eyes, waiting for the answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LINDSEY
“Can you take these?” I pass the last two hors d’oeuvres trays to Greg. “Mini-quiche on the coffee table, spanakopita on the sideboard.”
“Got it.” He walks out of the kitchen, balancing the glass plates carefully in his large hands. I double-check that all the food trays are out and the oven is off, then remove my apron and hang it up. I glance in the mirror by the back door, smooth my hair.
Maybe two days before Christmas isn’t the best time to throw a staff party, but it’s not like my employees are jetting off on tropical vacations or out of town for the holidays. For a couple of them, I suspect this is the most festive part of their season. And they all deserve a treat. God knows I do too.
Marcus’s deep voice rumbles from the living room, followed by female laughter. Greg’s saying something about napkins, tells everyone to “dig in.” He sounds like the host, and it irks me for a moment. I take a breath, shake it off. He’s only helping.
I glance at the phone, willing it to stay silent. When it first rang this afternoon, I assumed it was one of my guests. I’ve invited a few ladies from my group as well as my employees, and several of them have unlisted numbers. But when I answered, there was silence. It rang throughout the day, only stopping when Greg came over. He walked around the whole property and assured me that no one was lingering in the bushes, but I still can’t shake my uneasy feeling.