Random (Going the Distance) (7 page)

“
I
make
you
nervous?” I let go of a laugh. It sounds a little too loud at the end. “That’s pretty funny.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re…older. And more accomplished.” I shrug a little. “And you’ve, like, been to college.”

“I don’t know what I’ve accomplished.” His eyes peer right through all my defenses and directly into my brain. It’s almost too much, but I can’t seem to look away. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” He frowns. Shrugs a little. “It’s like I knew you when I first saw you.”

“Is that some kind of line?” It’s so extravagant I’m sure he thinks I must be stupid.

“No,” he says clearly. “It’s like I can’t quite remember your name.”

I have no idea what to say. My heart is racing and I like the feeling of his hand but I’m not the kind of person who believes in the otherworld.

Except that maybe I am.

Tyler straightens, taking back his hand. “Now you’re going to think I’m that crazy guy.”

“No,” I say. It gives me a little more confidence that he stepped out there first.

The server brings our food, thank God, because it’s getting kind of awkward and I don’t know how to fix it, and I really do like him. The waffle is almost two inches thick, with a big scoop of melting butter in the middle. Maybe to balance things out a little, I say, “I dreamed this morning that my mom made me waffles. They smelled just like this.”

He grins, picks up his fork and starts to eat his eggs. “Where’s your mom? Does she live in town?”

Spreading the butter carefully over the waffle, making sure that every square has some, I shake my head. “She died four years ago. Freak accident—an icicle hit her in the head.” I mime it, a sword of ice piercing her brain. “Died instantly.”

He’s taken aback, but there’s no way to make it softer. It’s awful and, no matter how other people feel about it, it’s worse for me. I pick up the metal container of hot syrup and drizzle it over the waffle, making long x’s to complement the butter.

Finally he says, “That’s really sad, Jess. I’m sorry.”

I blink hard, focusing on the food, and take a bite of my waffle. “This is really good.”

He takes the cue. “I don’t know anybody who checks books out of the library anymore. Do you go a lot?”

“Yeah.” I sip my coffee, hot and sweet, and take another bite of waffle and then one of bacon, my stomach so happy to have substantial food that I don’t even really want to talk, not even to the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met. “Usually every couple of weeks. I really like to read, but this morning I was using the computer to apply for jobs.”

“You don’t have a computer?”

“No.” I give him a half-grin. “You saw my phone. Does that look like the phone of a computer owner to you?”

For a minute he only looks at me, and I can’t decide what he’s thinking, so I eat some more.

“I guess I thought everybody had a computer.”

“They probably do.” There’s a particularly beautiful mouthful of waffle awaiting—butter and syrup swirled together in three squares. Carefully, I use my fork to cut it free. “But even if I had an old junky laptop or something, I wouldn’t be able to pay for Internet. It’s like a hundred bucks a month.” I pop the waffle in my mouth.

“True.” He nods in acknowledgment. After a second he starts to eat his omelet again. “What do you read?”

“Everything. How about you? Do you like reading?”

“Love it. Right now I’m reading Herman Hesse. Are you familiar?”

I’m glad to be able to nod. “
Siddhartha
, right? I read it for English class last year.”

“I’m reading
Narcissus and Goldmund
. Maybe you’d like it, too.”

“Maybe.” I give him a mockingly dark frown. “It always seems like guys want you to read these big heavy, complicated things. I’m not really into that.”

His eyes narrow. “You don’t read romances, do you?”

“Yep. As a matter of fact, I like romances a lot. And science fiction, and those big thick paperbacks you find in used bookstores about some poor person who makes good.”

“Genre, then.”

“Sometimes.” There are two bites left of the waffle, but my belly is about to split and I put my fork down. “Last month I read Steinbeck. The month before that, my neighbor loaned me a bunch of James Baldwin.” I meet his eyes. “Are you only a
serious
reader?”

He seems to think about this. “Maybe.”

“Do you ever read just because it’s fun?”

That sideways smile slips upward. “Not so much.”

I grin back. “Maybe you should try it.”

A sudden darkness swallows the sunlight shining on us and we look up. A fat fluffy cloud is puffing across the sun, leaving swathes of blue on either side. “A warning,” he says. “Read only for serious purpose!”

I laugh. “Or maybe you’re supposed to read genre.”

He laughs, too. “Do you have time to walk around Manitou for a little while?”

“Dude, I’m unemployed, remember?”

“Let’s do it.” He pulls out some bills and throws them on the table.

* * *

We weave through the heavy tourist traffic, families with kids sweating in the heat and puffing with the altitude. I feel superior, as always, because I grew up here and I’m used to it. “So, Rich Boy, where are you from?”

He glances down, and I think he’s going to object, but he says, “Philadelphia. My dad is in finance.”

I have no idea what that actually entails, but it sounds like big money. “Did he buy you the car?”

“Yeah. A reward for turning my life around and getting into CC.”

Colorado College, the ritzy private college downtown. “If you went to CC, why are you working as a cook?”

He pauses, not looking at me, and I notice a cord in his jaw. “It’s…um…complicated. And I don’t want to turn into my dad.”

I turn sideways to let a woman pass me, and when I look up at Tyler his face is set in hard lines, which warns me off asking what it is about his dad is that he hates so much.

Interesting, though. I slip the information away. “What did you study?”

“Environmental science, but I switched to art.”

“Really.” I grin. “How’d
that
go over with your dad?”

He inclines his head, the softness back around his smiling mouth. “Not well, as you might imagine.”

“Is that why you did it?”

He looks down at me. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I know. Sorry.” A breeze blows hair in my face and I catch it back. “People interest me. I like the stories.”

“I guess I’ll have to be careful, then.”

“Is there a deep dark secret?”

“There always is, right?” The words are light, but his eyes are less glittery than they have been.

“Now that sounds interesting.”

“Not really. A bunch of tight-ass WASPs hiding their petty little misdemeanors.”

I look at him a minute longer, imagining old mansions with servant stairs and debutante balls. A life I can’t even begin to imagine, one that doesn’t even seem real.

We duck into the arcade, a shaded area with games and saltwater taffy and a natural fountain that continually runs with the water that once made the area famous. I stick my palm under the flow, then bring it to my mouth. “Ah,” I say. “Just like Alka-Seltzer.”

He’s scowling a little, looking at the ground. Lost in his own thoughts.

“Hey,” I say. “Sorry if brought up something painful.”

He shakes his head. “I did, too, with your mom.”

“I have an idea.” I take his big strong hand in mine and drag him toward one of the buildings that house the game machines. “I bet you’ve never played Flaming Finger, have you?”

He grins, allowing himself to be tugged along. “Nope.”

“I challenge you to a duel.” The machines are tucked into a corner by a bunch of skeeball machines. No one is in here. I reach into my pocket for quarters. “I’ll even pay, as long as you win.”

It’s an old school game that entails using your finger to beat the clock on a little maze. We play against each other. It lightens the mood, and I forget about the fact that I don’t have a job or enough money to pay the rent. Our bodies bump into each other now and then, and we both laugh at the fierce competition. A breeze kicks up, blowing through the room, and cools us off.

“That was fun,” he says. “Let’s get a soda or something. I’m hot.”

I follow him out and take a deep breath. “Ooh, that smells good. Like rain.”

He points to the sky, heavy and low over the mountains. As we stand there, spikes of lightning skitter over the clouds, and within two seconds a very loud breaking sound cracks through the air. I slam my hands over my ears.

And just that fast, the rain comes, pouring down on us. Tyler grabs my hand and pulls me to a small covered area. It’s ours. Everyone else must have ducked inside. Beneath the wooden boards at our feet is the creek, rushing by. I can see the water moving between the boards. “Aren’t we supposed to get to higher ground?”

“I’m sure this will blow over in a few minutes. No sirens yet.”

I lean on the stuccoed post and gaze out at the sheets of translucent gray rain obscuring the mountains and even the building across the way. After the heat of the day, the billows of cool damp air are sweet, and I breathe in the smell, deep, deep into my lungs. “It’s beautiful. I love the rain.”

Another vivid flash of lightning strobes across the landscape, and it must strike somewhere within a block, because the thunder sounds like a bomb blast. It shakes the walls and a little kid screams, and I give a little yelp, again covering my ears.

Tyler leans in close. “You all right?”

“Maybe I’m a little bit afraid of thunder.”

He slides an arm around me, pulls me into his chest. Grateful, I slip my arms around his waist and lean into his solid body, feeling a surprising amount of hard muscle. My head comes to just his shoulder, and I nestle my cheek into the hollow beneath his collarbone. He smells like soap and sunshine and something that’s his alone.

The rain just keeps pouring. Lightning shimmers and thunder blasts. Against my left side, Tyler is warm. His hand on my back moves up and down, brushing to life all the nerves there. His fingers touch the top of my jeans, the curve of my waist.

I move, too, my thumb across the dip in his spine, my other palm across the flat, hard expanse of his belly. I feel slightly dizzy, like the world is being rearranged as we stand there, our bodies speaking for us.

As if those bodies know when to move, he subtly shifts me until I’m leaning against the wall, and I raise my head to look at him. His eyes practically glow in the gray light, and his hand comes up to cup my face, his fingers touching my ear. He pauses for a long second, then he bends down to kiss me.

At first it’s a light kiss, just our lips testing the fit. His are as luscious as orange slices, and he knows what he’s doing, pressing and sliding ever so slightly, engaging my lips in an easy dance. I can feel his body moving in closer, our legs scissoring so that we can make better contact. His chest moves against my breasts, his right arm around my waist. My hands rest on his hips, patient, happy to be touching him in any way.

After a little while I find myself tilting my head, opening my lips a little. I flick out my tongue to taste the flesh of his lips, and he makes a quiet noise and nestles my head into the crook of his elbow, supporting me as his tongue sweeps through my mouth and mine sweeps back. I love everything about the way he kisses, the way his mouth moves against mine, the slow long roll of his tongue, the way he suckles my lips, then lets go. How he moves fast then slow, light then deep. Around us the air is charged with lightning, giving my skin an extra electric charge, sizzling when his flesh brushes over mine, when his fingers touch the bare skin of my lower back, when his forearm touches my ear. The only sound is the pounding rain, the crashing of thunder, and it cocoons us in our deserted corner. I open my palms on his bare back and explore the dip of his spine, the silky skin, the taut, muscular angle of his waist.

It goes on for a long time, the rain and the kissing. I’m lost in it, deliciously, happily lost.

In my front pocket my phone starts to buzz. Tyler can feel it vibrate against his leg, too, and he chuckles, moving his hips against me. “Interesting,” he says against my mouth. “Do it again.”

And the phone obliges, making both of us laugh. “Do you want to check it?”

I shake my head, but the mood has changed. It’s still charged, but softer. He takes a breath, looking down at me, and then leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. “Wow.”

“I know.”

“I don’t live very far away. Do you want to come over? Not for sex,” he adds. “Just to hang out.”

It’s tempting, but my limbs are faintly trembling, and between my legs is a heat I have never felt before. If I went to his house, I wouldn’t trust myself, much less him. I’m not ready for that yet. “Thanks for the offer, but I really should get back and see about Virginia.”

“Fair enough.” He straightens, takes my hand. The rain has slowed, but it’s not yet finished. “Let’s sit over there.”

We settle on a park bench. I peer between my toes at the water. He doesn’t rush to fill up the quiet, and neither do I. It’s kind of scary to like him so much, so fast. It seems dangerous. I glance over at him, his aristocratic cheekbones and straight teeth.

He feels my gaze. “What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“You look suspicious.”

“I just don’t think I’m really your type.”

He grins. “What would be my type?”

“I don’t know. Somebody who knows what to wear to a business dinner.”

His laughter is big and round. “No way. I like natural women.” He reaches out and touches my face. “The real thing, without artifice.”

Women.
I’m pretty sure no guy has called me a woman before this.

It comes to me, softly, to wonder why I like him.
He’s
not
my
usual type. I usually go for bad boys on motorcycles, guys with nothing to lose. Tyler feels like something rare and surprising that suddenly fell on the sidewalk in front of me, like the lost manuscript of some famous book, or the pigeon’s blood rubies that the Indian rajas used to wear. Even if you know you have no right, you can’t help trying to hold onto something like that. Even if you know that sooner or later someone will come to reclaim their prize.