Blue Smoke

by Nora Roberts

  in August.

  She wanted the fire.

  So she’d studied, with her eye focused on more than learning. On scholarships. She worked, tucking her money away like a squirrel with nuts in case the scholarships didn’t come.

  But they had, so she was here, at the University of Maryland, sharing a room with her oldest friend, and already thinking about the grad courses down the road.

  When the semester was over she’d go back home, work in the shop, carve away most of her free time down at the fire station. Or talking John Minger into letting her do ride-alongs.

  Of course, there was Bella’s wedding. There’d been little on the menu but Bella’s wedding for the last nine months. Which, come to think of it, was a really good reason to be here, alone in her room on a Saturday night.

  It could be worse. She could be back at Wedding Central.

  If she ever got married—which meant she’d need an actual, official boyfriend first—she was going to keep it simple. Let Bella have the endless fittings of the elaborate dress—though it was gorgeous—and the endless, often weepy debates about shoes and hairstyles and flowers. The plans—more like a major war campaign—for the enormous reception.

  She’d rather have a nice family wedding at St. Leo’s, then a party at Sirico’s.

  Most likely, she’d just end up being a bridesmaid, perennially. Hell, she was already an expert in the field.

  And for God’s sake, how many times could Lydia listen to the theme from Beauty and the Beast without going into a coma?

  On a sudden inspiration, Reena sprang up, kicked her way over to the portable CD player and pushed through the masses of jewel cases.

  With her teeth set in a fierce grin, she plugged in Nirvana and blasted “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

  While the war raged between diva and grunge, the phone rang.

  She didn’t turn down the music—it was a matter of principle now—just shouted into the phone.

  A third blast of music assaulted her ear as Gina shouted back.

  “Party!”

  “I told you I have to study.”

  “Party! Come on, Reene, it’s just starting to roll. You gotta live.”

  “Don’t you have a lit final Monday?”

  “Party!”

  She had to laugh. Gina could always make her laugh. The religious phase she’d gone through during the summer of the fire had morphed into a poetry phase, into a rock star phase, then a fashion diva phase.

  Now it was all party, all the time.

  “You’re going to tank it,” Reena warned.

  “I’m putting it all in the hands of a higher power and am reviving my brain with cheap wine. Come on, Reena, Josh is here. He’s asking where you are.”

  “He is?”

  “And looking all sad and broody. You know you’re going to ace every damn thing anyway. You better come save me before I let some guy take advantage of my drunken self. Hey, on second thought . . .”

  “Jen and Deb’s place, right?”

  “Party!”

  “Twenty minutes,” Reena said on another laugh, then hung up.

  It took her nearly that long to change out of ancient sweatpants, wiggle into jeans, decide on a top and deal with the hair that was currently an explosion of curls down to her shoulder blades.

  She kept the music blasting while she dressed, added blusher to relieve the cramming-for-finals pallor.

  Should study, should get a good night’s sleep. Shouldn’t go. She flicked on mascara, lectured herself.

  But she was so tired of being the one who always did the sensible thing. She’d just stay for an hour, have a little fun, keep Gina from getting into too much trouble.

  And see Josh Bolton.

  He was so good-looking with the sun-swept hair, the dazzling blue eyes, that sweet, shy smile. He was twenty, a lit major. He was going to be a writer.

  And he was asking where she was.

  He was going to be the one. She was ninety-nine percent sure of it. He was going to be her first.

  Maybe tonight. She set the mascara down and stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe tonight she’d finally know what it was like. She pressed a hand to her belly as it jittered with anticipation and nerves. This could be the last time she looked at herself as a virgin.

  She was ready, and she wanted it to be with someone like Josh. Someone dreamy and sweet, and with some experience so there wasn’t a lot of embarrassing fumbling.

  She hated not knowing what to do. She’d studied the basics, of course. The anatomy, the physicality. And she’d absorbed the romance of the act in books and movies. But the doing of it, the getting naked and fitting two bodies together, would be an absolute first.

  It wasn’t something you could practice or diagram or experiment with until you worked out the kinks in your technique.

  So she wanted an understanding and patient partner who’d guide her over the rough spots until she found her own way.

  It didn’t matter so much that she didn’t love him. She liked him a lot, and she wasn’t looking for marriage like Bella.

  Not yet, anyway.

  She just wanted to know, to feel, to see how it worked. And, maybe it was stupid, but she wanted to shed this last vestige of childhood. Having it all in the back of her mind was probably why she’d been restless and distracted the last few days.

  And, of course, she was overthinking it again.

  She grabbed her purse, shut off the music and rushed out of the dorm.

  It was a beautiful night, warm and star-studded. Ridiculous to waste it buried in chem notes, she told herself as she walked toward the parking lot. She tipped her face up to the sky, started to smile, but a chill tickled down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, scanned the grass, the paths, the glow of the security lights.

  Nobody was watching her, for God’s sake. She gave herself a little shake, but quickened her pace. It was just guilt, that was all. She could live with a little guilt.

  She hopped into her secondhand Dodge Shadow and, giving in to paranoia, locked the doors before driving away.

  The group house was a five-minute drive off campus, an old three-story brick that was lit up like Christmas. Partiers spilled out onto the lawn, and music spilled out of the open door.

  She caught the sweet drift of a burning joint and heard snatches of high-toned debates on the brilliance of Emily Dickinson, the current administration and more comfortable discussions on the Orioles’ infield.

  She had to squeeze her way through once she was inside, narrowly avoided having a glass of some alcoholic beverage splashed down her front, and felt some relief that she actually knew some of the people crammed into the living room.

  Gina spotted her and wiggled through the bodies to grab her shoulders. “Reene! You’re here! I have such news!”

  “Don’t tell me any more until you eat an entire box of Tic Tacs.”

  “Oh, shit.” Gina dug into the pocket of jeans so tight they must be causing organ damage. The Slim-Fast hadn’t whittled off all the twelve pounds she’d gained in their first semester.

  She pulled out the little plastic box she always carried and tapped several orange Tic Tacs in her mouth. “Been drinking,” she said, chewing.

  “Who’d have guessed? Look, you can leave your car and I’ll drive you back. I’ll be the DD.”

  “It’s okay, I’m going to throw up soon. I’ll be better then. Anyway, news!” She pulled Reena through an equally jammed kitchen and out the back door.

  There were more people in the yard. Did the entire campus at College Park decide to blow off studying for finals?

  “Scott Delauter’s totally flunking out,” Gina announced, and did a little butt boogie to accompany the statement.

  “Who’s Scott Delauter and why do you boogie on his misfortune?”

  “He’s one of the housemates. You met him. Short guy, big teeth. And I dance because his misfortune is our jackpot. They’re going to be one short next semester and another of the gr
oup graduates next December. Jen says they can squeeze both of us in next term if we bunk together. Reena, we can get out of the pit.”

  “Move in here? Gina, come back to my world. We can’t afford it.”

  “We’re talking about splitting the rent and stuff four ways. It’s not that much more. Reena.” Gina gripped her arms, her dark eyes dazed with excitement and cheap wine, her voice reverent. “There’s three bathrooms. Three bathrooms for four people. Not one for six.”

  “Three bathrooms.” Reena spoke it like a prayer.

  “It’s salvation. When Jen told me, I had a vision. A vision, Reena. I think I saw the Blessed Mother smiling. And she was holding a loofah.”

  “Three bathrooms,” Reena repeated. “No, no, I must not be drawn to the dark side by shiny objects. How much is the rent?”

  “It’s . . . when you consider the split, and how you won’t need the food allowance on campus because we can cook here, it’s practically free.”

  “That much, huh?”

  “We’re both working this summer. We can save. Please, please, please, Reena. They have to know pretty quick. Look, look, we’ll have a yard.” She swept her arm out toward it. “We can plant flowers. Hell, we’ll grow our own vegetables and set up a stand. We’ll actually make money living here.”

  “Tell me how much, Gina.”

  “Let me get you a drink first—”

  “Spit it out,” Reena demanded. And winced when Gina blurted out the monthly rent.

  “But you have to factor in—”

  “Ssh, let me think.” Reena closed her eyes, calculated. It would be tight, she decided. But if they made their own meals, cut out some of the money they blew on movies, CDs, clothes. She could give up new clothes for the wonder of three bathrooms.

  “I’m in.”

  Gina let out a whoop, caught Reena in a hug that danced them both over the grass. “It’s going to be awesome! I can’t wait. Let’s go get some wine and drink to Scott Delauter’s academic failures.”

  “Seems mean, but oddly appropriate.” She swung around with Gina, then stopped dead. “Josh. Hi.”

  He closed the back door behind him then gave her that slow, shy smile that curled her toes. “Hi. Heard you were here.”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d take a break from studying. My brains were starting to leak out my ears.”

  “Got tomorrow for the final push.”

  “That’s what I told her.” Gina beamed at both of them. “Listen, you two get cozy. I’m going to go throw up now, in what will shortly be one of my own bathrooms.” She gave Reena a last boozy hug. “I’m so happy.”

  Josh watched the door slap shut behind Gina. “Should I ask why Gina’s so happy to puke?”

  “She’s happy because we’re going to move in here next semester.”

  “Really? That’s great.” He moved in a little, and with his hands still in his pockets dipped his head to kiss her. “Congratulations.”

  Nerves sizzled over her skin, a sensation she found fascinating and wonderfully adult. “I thought I’d like living in the dorm. The adventure. Me and Gina from the neighborhood, doing the coed thing. But some of the others on our floor make me crazy. One’s trying to destroy my brain with round-the-clock Mariah Carey.”

  “Insidious.”

  “I think it was starting to work.”

  “You look great. I’m glad you came. I was about to head out when I heard you were here.”

  “Oh.” Pleasure fizzled. “You’re leaving.”

  He smiled again, and took a hand out of his pocket to take one of hers. “Not anymore.”

  Bo Goodnight wasn’t sure what he was doing in a strange house with a bunch of college types he didn’t know. Still, a party was a party, and he’d let Brad rope him into it.

  The music was okay, and there were plenty of girls. Tall ones, short ones, round ones, thin ones. It was like a smorgasbord of females.

  Including the one Brad was currently crazy about, and the reason they were here.

  She was a friend of a friend of one of the girls who lived in the house. And Bo liked her fine—in fact, he might have gone for her himself if Brad hadn’t seen her first.

  Rules of friendship meant he had to hang back there.

  At least Brad had lost the toss and had to serve as designated driver. Maybe neither of them should’ve been drinking as they were still shy of the legal age. But a party was a party, Bo thought again as he sipped his beer.

  Besides, he was earning his own living, paying his own rent, cooking his own meals—such as they were. He was as much, hell more of an adult than a lot of the college boys knocking them back.

  Considering his options, he scanned the room. He was a long, lanky boy of twenty with a wavy mop of black hair and eyes that were green and somewhat dreamy. His face was on the narrow side, like his build, but he thought he’d built up some pretty good biceps swinging a hammer and hauling lumber.

  He felt a bit out of place with the snippets of conversation he made out—bitching about finals, comments about poli sci and female studies. College hadn’t been for him. He’d never been happier than on the last day of high school. He’d been working summers up until then. First as a laborer, then an apprentice, and now, at twenty, he was a carpenter who made a decent wage.

  He loved making things out of wood, and he was good at it. Maybe he was good at it because he loved it. He’d gotten his education on the job, with the smell of sawdust and sweat.

  That’s how he liked it.

  And he made his own way. He didn’t have Daddy paying the bills like most of the people here.

  The kernel of resentment surprised him, even embarrassed him a little. Flicking it aside, he made a deliberate attempt to loosen his shoulders. And taking a long, slow sweep of the room, he homed in on a couple of girls huddled together on a couch, chattering at each other.

  The redhead looked very promising and if not, the brunette was a strong backup.

  He took a step toward them, and Brad blocked him. “Out of my way, I’m about to brighten a couple of female hearts.”

  “Told you you’d have a good time. Listen, I’m about to have a better one. Cammie and I are heading out, to her place. And I believe it’s not presumptuous to say, Score.”

  Bo looked at his pal, noted the about-to-get-laid gleam behind the lenses of Brad’s glasses. “You’re ditching me in a houseful of strangers so you can go get naked with a girl?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, that’s reasonable. She kicks your ass out though, don’t call me. Find your own way home.”

  “Won’t be a problem. She’s just gone to get her purse, so—”

  “Wait.” Bo’s hand curled hard around Brad’s arm as he saw the blonde—just a glimpse at first—through the crowd. A sexy tumble of wild curls the color of good, natural oak. She was laughing, and her skin—it looked like porcelain—was flushed along the high curve of her cheekbones.

  He could see the shape of her lips and the little mole above them. It was as if his vision had sharpened, had telescoped, and he could see the details of her through the haze of smoke, the crowd of faces. Long eyes he thought were almost exactly the same shade of her hair, a long, slim nose. And that luscious curve of lips. Gold hoops at her ears. Two in the left, one in the right.

  She was tall—maybe she was wearing heels, he couldn’t see her feet. But he could see the chain around her neck holding some sort of stone or crystal, the outline of her breasts against a dark pink top.

  For an instant, maybe two, the music stopped for him. The room went silent.

  Then someone stepped into his line of vision and it all came roaring back.

  “Who is that girl?”