Breakdown (Crash into Me) (28 page)

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

As he leaned back to watch me, I also received a better view of the hardness between his legs, a sight that fascinated me more than I expected it to. Even as his rough palms cupped my breasts, however, I wasn’t willing to beg. Alternatively, I clutched at the blankets around us and made sounds I didn’t know I was capable of.

“W-what are you doing to me?”

Chuckling softly, he circled soft kisses along my hipbone. “I told you I wanted to kiss the sad out of you.”

Shortly thereafter, I learned I had nothing against begging.

Afterwards, William held me just as close as when we had been sleeping, the only difference being the lack of layers between us. And though I hadn’t been awake long, making love—really making love—had taken more out of me than I had anticipated. William was still stroking my hair as I began drifting off, his harsh whisper jolting me away at the last second.

“Are you still with me, Jumper?”

“Yes,” I said, snuggling closer against him. “There’s nowhere else to be.”

“Good,” he whispered back, and though there was a hesitation in him, I wasn’t sure of it until I felt his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard on top of my head. “Because I am so in love with you.”

If William hadn’t been holding me I might have fallen right out of the bed. As it was, however, he released me when he felt how I tensed up, my muscles clenching as if preparing themselves for a blow.

“I, ah, um, I have to go…” I squirmed out of the bed and rushed to put back on the dress. And though I would not look at him, I could hear him rushing just as much as I was to put some clothes on.

“Jumper—Lottie, listen—”

“I have to go home and shower.” Hurried and obviously alarmed, I scurried to find my shoes. Didn’t I leave them by the door? And where was I supposed to put all these bobby pins without any pockets? “My dad will be home soon, and if I’m not home—”

“You don’t have to go. I-I don’t want you to go.” Though the hurt in his voice was evident I pretended like I didn’t hear it all.

“I really have to get home and change for work.” I found the shoes but didn’t bother putting them on. My legs were much too shaky to even try.

“At least let me give you a ride—”

“No!” I cut him off more fiercely than I meant to, but did not apologize. “I’ll just pay the cabbie when I get home. Besides, you and the guys have like, what, twelve cars to chop?” I babbled some more excuses and snatched up as many of the bobby pins as I could before finding my way out the door. Luckily for me he did not follow, and I left him standing in his boxers and his frown.

Chapter Seventeen

Though I was scheduled to be home alone for at least another day, I showered anyway, torn between enjoying the faint scent of him on me and wanting to wash his words away. Why would he ruin a perfectly wonderful morning by saying something like that? The only thing I could figure was that maybe he had wanted to drive me away—consciously or not—he had regretted making love to me so profusely he said the one thing he knew my commitment-phobic brain would run from.

Then again, what if William genuinely believed he meant the words? That his feelings for me were real? The look of hurt on his face when I left seemed real enough, but I had learned the hard way that men were better actors than most. I sighed, turned off the shower, and buried myself in the towel. True or not that someone loved me, the world seemed too heavy for me to keep my eyes open.

I glanced at my alarm clock and quickly got dressed. I was already a good hour late for work, but considering it was the first time I was hoping my boss would overlook it. Grabbing an energy drink from the back of the refrigerator, I raced to work and ignored the dirty looks my fellow counter girl gave me.

Work was good, I decided. For once, work was better than thinking about William.

I was so diligent at the bakery that no one dared to say anything to me about being late. But when I got home and there was nothing to do and only William to think of, I was glad for how tired I felt. I climbed the endless staircase to my room and closed the blinds before pulling the divan back on my bed. Somehow, though he had never been in it, my bed seemed emptier without William. Still, I did my best not to think about it, and shut my eyes dreaming about basement walls and late summer eyes.

I woke up with an emptiness that ravished my insides. Instinctively, I knew it wasn’t hunger, though practicality had me searching my memory banks about whether or not we had any of the yogurt I liked. Yet at the mere thought of food the emptiness in my gut turned to pain. I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head.

More than once, my counselor had cautioned me about the physical symptoms of depression and how they tended to affect repressed people more than most. But what was I repressing? Over the couple of weeks I had been talking out my problems, at least more than I was accustomed to. And I was taking realistic steps to pursue the things I once wanted for my life. I was hanging out with people who encouraged me and made me laugh. I was participating in the activities that made me happy. I was… images of William ran through my head before I allowed myself to finish the thought. I thought of the countless ways he had made me smile and how much he loved to race. I thought of what a sloppy eater he was and a shameless flirt, of his love for 80’s comedies and the way he felt inside of me.

Had I fallen in love with him last night, or did it come earlier than that—with syrup deities and introductions? I took the pillow off my head and sat up. I wasn’t sure when I had fallen in love with William O’Reilly, only that I had.

And like an idiot I had pushed him away. 

Excited and revved up more than I had been during my first race, I called him right away, only slightly disappointed to get his unpersonalized voicemail after a few rings. Briefly, I actually considered leaving a message before biting my tongue and hanging up. I was never much for romance, but even I thought it was lame to tell him I loved him for the first time in a voicemail. Then again, what was I expecting? Of course William wasn’t going to pick up right away. After all, we had just stolen a dozen cars together—premium cars—and he and the guys had a lot of work to do

So, while I wasn’t sure I was capable of it, I had to be patient and wait until William could call me back. If worse came to worse, I may have had to wait until the end of the day. Then again, it may have been even better if I could tell William I loved him for the first time in person.

I was considering visiting him at work when Mom’s rolling suitcase made itself known downstairs. Truth be told, I was grateful for the sound—perhaps for the very first time—as the distraction kept me from running to William’s chop shop to plead for forgiveness and simultaneously suffocate him in kisses. As eager as I was to have him back, I didn’t want my desperation to be obvious.

“Mom!” Still excited, I practically ran down the stairs and jumped into her arms. And though it took a solid minute for her to respond, she did eventually hug me back. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Oh.” Clearly uncomfortable, she flinched at the contact and gently patted me away. “Um, hi, honey. Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Nope.” She didn’t even come close to spoiling my mood. “How was, uh, San Diego was it?”

“
Nope
?” Her voice went up an entire octave as she followed me to the refrigerator. I couldn’t see her face, but I guessed it was priceless.

“What do you mean by that?” I ignored her and stared on into the refrigerator.

“Do we have any yogurt? The kind with the chocolate pieces? Or if we have M&M’s I could just add—”

“Don’t you change the subject, young lady. Did you study at all this weekend? With the money your father and I spend on your education we expect you to make an effort.”

I didn’t find any yogurt, but I did find some organic eggs and whole wheat flour. Newly inspired, I decided on making some homemade pancakes… with lots and lots of syrup. If nothing else, that would stall me from calling William for a solid half an hour.

“I know that, Mom.” Even to myself I sounded absentminded. “But there are only a few weeks left in this term anyway. After that, it won’t matter.”

“Won’t matter?” I put the eggs on the counter and tried not to enjoy the smoke that came out of her ears. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving college,” I said simply enough. “I’ve sent in applications to a few culinary schools and I’m hoping to start next term.”

Mom sighed, crossed and recrossed her legs. “For God’s sake, Charlotte, we’ve talked about this.”

“No. You talked
at
me about this. I want to learn how to cook so that’s what I’m going to do.” It felt good to speak my desires out loud and begin the reality of my life with words. Frankly, it didn’t matter what culinary program I got into, or whether I went full or part time, or if I even went right away—I would complete my education the way I wanted to. No amount of nagging would convince me otherwise.

“What has gotten into you?” Mom shook her head. “Are you doing drugs?”

I laughed and cracked my first egg. “No, Mom, I’m not doing drugs. I guess I just got a wakeup call, that’s all.”

She stood up, nearly knocking the chair back behind her. “What in the world is
that
supposed to mean?

“My new friends say—”

“Your new friends?” Mom scoffed and sat back down. “Great, you’ve finally gone and made some friends and they’re a bunch of morons.”

I added water to the mix and reminded myself to confront my feelings. “They aren’t morons, Mom. They’re good people. William and Tabby support me in what I want to do—”

Once again, she cut me off. “Have you joined a cult?”

I just laughed. If William were around I imaged we would have come up with some hilarious cult slogans. “You and Dad know I’ve wanted to go to culinary school instead of college since I was in middle school. William doesn’t really have anything to do—”

“I should have known.” She sighed as she rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you learn the first time about how manipulative men can be?”

“Not just men,” I mumbled.

She resorted to tapping her acrylic nails on the table. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not up for fighting with you Mom, okay? Really, I’m not. I’ve made my decision, and I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”

“Well, if you expect any financial help from your father and I—”

“I know, I know. And that’s fine too. The food industry has a big turnover rate. I’m sure I won’t have a hard time finding a job wherever I end up going to school.”

Cursing as she kicked off her shoes, Mom mumbled something about, “Just waiting until my father got home,” before stomping out of the room. Of course, we both knew damn well he wasn’t supposed to get home for another three days, so I hoped I could avoid her for at least the first half of the week. And once I heard the upstairs shower kick on, I knew I was probably safe for the rest of the day.

I finished making my pancakes, but even fresh and smothered with syrup the excitement kept a lump bungeed in my throat that made it difficult to swallow. I only ended up eating a couple of bites before I gave up and started looking at the clock again. Since the sound of water through pipes had stopped, retreating back to my room seemed like a strategically good idea.