Come Back to Me

by Mila Gray

  Kit suddenly sits up. ‘Man, I forgot. Are you hungry?’ He turns around and grabs his backpack, emptying out some containers from inside.

  I pull the blanket around my shoulders and sit up. ‘What you got?’ I ask.

  ‘Pasteis de nata,’ he says, handing me a little pastry with yellow cream inside.

  ‘Where did you get these?’ I ask.

  ‘I made them,’ Kit says, smiling.

  I pause with the cake halfway to my lips. ‘You made this?’ I say.

  ‘A-ha,’ he says, waiting for me to bite into it.

  ‘Did they teach you how to cook too at etiquette school? Because I’ve never seen Riley so much as boil an egg.’

  Kit shakes his head. ‘My mom taught me.’

  I close my mouth. Kit’s mom died when he was nine. I never met her and I’ve never heard him speak about her much. I’m not sure he wants to talk about her now, so I take a bite of the cake and – woah . . . oh my God . . . this is really good. I finish it off in seconds and Kit’s already handing me another. ‘This is so good,’ I say with a mouth full of pastry.

  ‘I know,’ he answers smugly.

  ‘I didn’t know you could cook.’

  ‘I have many, many skills. As you will soon discover.’

  He catches my eye and I totally do not misread the look he’s giving me. My stomach flip-flops and heat rises up my neck. If he’s that good a kisser I can only imagine how good he might be at the other stuff.

  After I’ve eaten at least six of the cakes, Riley stands up and shakes out the blanket to get rid of all the crumbs, then lays it down on top of me again. ‘You OK?’ he asks. ‘Not cold? Tired?’

  ‘You’re such a gentleman,’ I say as he sits back down and puts his arm around me.

  ‘I have four aunts and fifteen female cousins. I had manners beaten into me.’

  ‘Not by your dad?’ I ask, twisting to face him. My dad still yells at us if we put our elbows on the table or start eating before he’s done saying grace.

  ‘No,’ says Kit smiling. ‘He was browbeaten by all the women in the house. My mom and all her sisters. He gave up trying to win against an ocean of oestrogen.’

  I like the image of Kit’s dad being overwhelmed by his mom and her sisters. It’s easy enough to picture. Whenever I’ve met Kit’s family I’ve never been able to get a word in edgeways.

  ‘What else did they teach you?’ I ask.

  ‘To put the toilet seat down.’

  ‘Always a good habit. Could they teach Riley, do you think?’

  ‘I’ll ask.’ He twists a strand of my hair around his finger. ‘I can braid hair too.’

  I narrow my eyes at him. ‘You can braid hair?’

  ‘Oh yeah. French braids, normal braids, you name it. Just don’t tell anyone in my unit because my reputation is on the line here. If they ever found out that would be it for me.’

  ‘OK, I promise,’ I say. ‘Though you might have to make it worth my while.’

  ‘What? Buy your silence?’ he asks, sliding his eyes in my direction. ‘With money?’

  ‘No,’ I whisper. ‘Maybe some other way.’

  ‘Some other way?’ he asks, his lips now against my ear. ‘I can think of a few ways that might work. Except . . . ’ He pauses, his voice so low it gives me chills. ‘I’m not sure you’d be able to stay silent.’

  My whole body arches towards him, my skin contracted in a shiver so tight it’s painful. Just his words make my breathing speed up in aching anticipation. Is he going to follow through? But he doesn’t. He just links his fingers through mine and turns to face me so we’re nose to nose.

  ‘I meant it when I said I was thinking about you a lot when we were away,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t get you out of my head.’

  Cold desert air fills my lungs as I draw in a huge breath. ‘Me neither,’ I whisper. ‘I mean, you. Out of my head.’

  ‘Truth?’

  I nod.

  Kit lifts his hand and traces a finger along my cheekbone and then my lips. ‘Since when?’ he asks.

  ‘Last time you were back. You remember? That time at the beach . . . ’

  He stares at me for a moment in disbelief before his face cracks into a grin. ‘Oh, I remember all right. You were wearing a yellow bikini. It’s burned on my retina.’ He rolls his eyes to the sky and rubs his hand across the bridge of his nose. ‘Man, what I would have done to kiss you back then.’

  He liked me back then? ‘You should have,’ I say. If only he had. We’ve wasted so much time, that’s all I can think.

  ‘And I wouldn’t be alive today if I had. Your brother would have had a piece of me.’

  It’s the first time either of us has mentioned Riley, though I’m certain Kit must have been thinking about him too.

  ‘You OK with this?’ he asks when I don’t say anything. The grin has gone and his expression has turned deadly serious. ‘I realize I’m putting you in a difficult situation. I mean, neither your dad nor Riley are going to be happy if they find out about us.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to keep it a secret, won’t we?’ I say, leaning closer so my lips are just a millimetre from his.

  ‘Are you sure? That’s what you want?’ Kit murmurs. ‘Because if you’re not sure . . . if you don’t want to get in trouble, I’ll understand. If you want it to be just this one night and nothing more.’

  I kiss him before he can say anything else.

  After a few minutes, Kit prises me off him. ‘I better take you home,’ he sighs.

  I groan inwardly. I wish we could stay here forever. But Kit’s right. We need to get going before I get totally busted, because then this really will be the only night we ever get to spend together. My dad would ground me in a way that makes a life sentence at Guantanamo seem like a day at Disneyland.

  Kit jumps down off the back of the truck and holds his arms out for me. He catches me and holds me for a few seconds, touching his lips to mine.

  ‘There’s going to be more, right?’ I murmur against his lips.

  ‘Oh, you better believe it,’ he answers, smiling as he kisses me again, his hands winding through my hair, tugging me closer. ‘We’re just getting started.’

  11

  Kit

  In the silvery light of the pre-dawn, I park up a block from Jessa’s house. Jumping out the truck I jog around to her side and open the door. She pulls off the sweater she’s wearing – my sweater – and the flip-flops, and I try not to stare, even though the top she’s wearing isn’t leaving much to the imagination.

  ‘You sure this is going to work?’ she asks me as we walk hand in hand towards her house.

  ‘I thought you were starting to trust me?’ I say.

  In answer she bumps her head against my shoulder.

  Just before we round the corner onto her street, I pull her against a tree and run the flat of my hands up her arms. She sighs; a sound I could really get used to. I take her face in my hands and kiss her, a lingering kiss that makes me feel light-headed. The sun’s rising by the time I let her go, smoky gold and red light making Jessa’s skin glow golden. Her hair’s all mussed up so I smooth it down. There’s not much I can do about the inky smudges beneath her eyes or the swollen chapped lips. Girl looks like she’s had a wild night in someone’s bed. One day, I remind myself. If I get lucky.

  ‘OK. Good to go?’ I ask. She shakes her head but lets me pull her towards her house.

  The lights are all off at Jessa’s house. It’s a few minutes before six, but just to be sure no one is awake we crouch down behind her dad’s car and I spend a couple of minutes surveilling the front of the house. Confident we’re in the clear, I nod at Jessa. She takes a deep breath and then leans forward, giving me an unrivalled view of her cleavage, and kisses me one last time before she scoots towards the side gate.

  Next door’s dog starts up howling when she draws the bolt and I wince as a light snaps on in her parents’ room. I spring to my feet and bound up to the front door feeling like I could run a ma
rathon, which is pretty impressive considering I’ve not slept in twenty-four hours. I’m pretty proud of my foresight too in packing my jogging gear last night. I managed to swap clothes before the drive back, ditching my jeans for a pair of shorts and some running shoes.

  Halfway up the garden path I see the curtain in Jessa’s parents’ room twitch. I press my finger to the buzzer just as Jessa slips through the side gate.

  A door slams inside. This is followed by Jessa’s dad shouting, and about a minute and a half later a very sleepy looking Riley comes to the door wearing just a pair of boxers. He squints at me painfully through the morning glare.

  ‘Dude, it’s like not even six. What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘You said you wanted to go for a run,’ I say, trying to smooth my face into something resembling innocence.

  ‘I meant this afternoon,’ Riley groans.

  ‘We’ve got a physical fitness test in a couple of weeks,’ I remind him, starting to stretch out.

  Both Riley and I will pass the test easily and he looks like he’s about to tell me that, so I lean quickly on his competitive streak. ‘I’m going to beat your ass this time,’ I tell him.

  Last time I got a 289 and Riley got a 293 out of a possible 300. Just like I knew it would, my threat works. Riley can’t stand the thought of losing. ‘Fine,’ he huffs. ‘Let me get some clothes on.’ He makes to close the door on me but I wedge my foot in the gap and push past him.

  ‘Can I get a glass of water?’ I say.

  Riley grimaces and glances towards the stairs.

  ‘I’ll be quiet,’ I say. ‘I’ll tiptoe like a mouse.’

  I pirouette past him and Riley stops trying to argue and jogs upstairs to get dressed. Jessa’s waiting by the back door and as soon as I unlock it she comes darting inside. She’s skittery and nervous, and she looks anxiously over my shoulder. I put a hand on her waist and pull her behind the kitchen door. She looks up at me with those eyes as wide as the ocean and gives me a smile – the smile of someone who just got away with a bank heist; or the smile of a girl who just spent the night making out under the stars.

  I kiss her and she loops her arms around my neck. Somehow, maybe because we’re in her kitchen, maybe because we know we could be walked in on at any moment, or maybe just because we’re both still buzzing on the memory of the night and the relief of having got away with it, this kiss is the hottest yet. For the first time I let my hands rove from her waist, stroking up her sides, my thumb tracing the curve of her breast. She inhales loudly, pushing her hips against my now very obvious erection. Crap. I take a step back, holding her at arm’s length, and take a deep breath. Down boy. I don’t want to try explaining that one to Riley.

  Jessa grins at me, a dangerous look in her eye. Oh, she knows. I shake my head at her. This girl is going to get me into all sorts of trouble. Bring it, is my brain’s shamelessly immediate response.

  ‘Can I see you later?’ I ask, cursing myself for how eager I sound.

  She nods.

  ‘OK, I’ll call you,’ I tell her, then remember I don’t have her number. ‘Wait,’ I say, pulling out my phone, ‘what’s your number?’

  Jessa takes the phone out of my hand and quickly taps in her number. I watch her, feeling a buzz in the pit of my stomach at the possibility that this girl might become mine. When she’s done she hands me back my phone with a shy smile. For a moment I forget where I am and can think only about pulling her into my arms again and feeling her body against mine. I take a deep breath. Riley will be back any second.

  ‘You should go, get some sleep,’ I say. Go, before I really am put in a compromising position, is what I’m thinking.

  Jessa smiles at me, biting her bottom lip (imagining something that’s against the rules, I hope), then reaches up on tiptoe to kiss me goodbye. Just as she does, the door swings open and we both jump back as Riley walks into the kitchen. He stops mid-step as he takes a look at Jessa and me and I can see his instincts flare.

  ‘What are you doing up?’ he asks Jessa, eyes narrowed.

  ‘I heard the doorbell,’ Jessa answers smoothly before looking at me and crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Thanks for that,’ she snarks. ‘You know, some of us like to lie in on a Sunday morning.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I tell her, shrugging, and take the opportunity to position myself behind the counter before her brother can join the dots: Miss Scarlet slaying Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with a candlestick.

  ‘You want water?’ Jessa asks me now, turning and reaching up into a cabinet for a glass.

  My eyes dip straightaway to her ass. I mean, she’s wearing the shortest pair of shorts imaginable and she’s stretched on tiptoe right in front of me. The girl is taunting me. Jessa Kingsley, innocent, sweet Jessa Kingsley is sexually taunting me. And I am sexually slain. I’m just glad I had the foresight to stand behind the counter.

  Jessa fills up the glass and then hands it to me. She holds my gaze, trying hard not to smirk. I think of all the ways I’d like to transform that smirk into something else.

  ‘What were you doing last night?’

  I look over at Riley who’s looking at me the same way I’ve seen him look at people he’s interrogating. Did he just see me staring at his sister’s ass? I look back at Jessa who’s leaning against the countertop with her head cocked, arms crossed against her chest and an amused expression on her face.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ I mumble. I’m not half as good as Jessa at this whole acting business and I’m not used to lying to Riley. ‘Not much. You?’ I deflect.

  ‘I hung out with Jo,’ he answers, the suspicion immediately transforming into a sly smile. He must have got some. ‘So, good to go?’ he asks, heading for the front door.

  ‘See you later,’ Jessa says, sauntering past us and up the stairs.

  I stare after her behind Riley’s back like a starving man in front of a feast, having to consciously stop my feet from following her up the stairs.

  ‘Yeah,’ I call back, ‘laters.’

  12

  Jessa

  ‘Tell me everything!’ Didi demands the moment I sit down beside her. ‘Every little thing! I want all the sordid details.’ Her eyes bulge like satellite dishes. ‘Did you . . . ?’

  ‘No!’ I say. ‘And I’ve told you everything already.’ She was the first person I called when I woke up this afternoon.

  ‘Does he have a big—’

  ‘Didi!’ I yell. ‘I wouldn’t know!’

  Didi pulls her sunglasses down her nose, which is wrinkling in disappointment. ‘So you didn’t . . . ’

  ‘Oh my God, Didi! How many times do I have to tell you? We just kissed. That’s all. There was no sex.’

  Didi collapses back down on her towel with a sigh, pressing a hand to her heart. ‘It’s just so romantic.’

  I cover my smile by pulling off my T-shirt and adjusting the straps on my bikini self-consciously. Didi always chooses the busiest section of the beach to lay out her towel, and today is no exception. If the beach were a stadium concert, we’d be in the middle of the mosh pit. I’d rather be somewhere away from the pier, somewhere quieter, but I know Didi won’t move. Her eyes are glued to the group of guys beside us who are playing a sweaty, boisterous game of volleyball. That would be why Didi chose this spot – so she could have front row seats.

  Didi seems convinced that life is a conspiracy, a game that the rest of us get to play while she’s trapped on the sidelines watching, waiting for someone to come along and invite her to join in – preferably someone riding a white stallion and carrying a bouquet of red roses. This is why she always places herself in the centre of any action, to increase the chances of being in the right place at the right time when he does arrive. Didi never wavers in her belief that one day he will, and for that I admire her. Though I also worry she’s reading too many historical romance novels with bare-chested, chisel-jawed men on the front covers.

  I’m sure it won’t be too long a wait, though, considering the attention
she’s attracting in her polka-dot two-piece. It makes her look like a 1950s pin-up, giving an upward thrust to her boobs that Madonna would be jealous of. Didi would never go anywhere or be seen by anyone without her make-up and hair in perfect order. Even at the beach she exudes glamour. Next to her I blend into the sand like a chameleon.

  Didi suddenly props herself up on her elbows. ‘Show me the text message he sent.’

  I rootle in my bag for my phone and hand it to her. ‘How am I supposed to use this?’ she asks after staring at it for several seconds. ‘It’s in Arabic.’

  I take it from her. I’ve not yet managed to fix the language setting. But I have at least figured out how to open messages, so while I still can’t send any, I can read incoming ones. When I woke up I might have thought everything with Kit had been a dream if it weren’t for my chapped lips and his text.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Didi sighs dramatically, reading out loud. ‘I had a great night. Sweet dreams.’ She holds the phone to her chest and looks at me. ‘He is so into you.’

  My heart does a little bounce at the words. Is he? Every time I remember the way he kissed me I get a flutter in my stomach, but is he into me in the way that Didi’s suggesting? A tiny voice of doubt nags at me. This is Kit, who has never dated anyone for longer than a week. Kit, who really knows how to kiss (and must have learned that somewhere). And then there’s my inclination towards suspicion. If anything good ever happens to me, it usually has a price tag attached. Like the time I was fifteen and won an open-call audition for the part of Lyra in a theatre production of His Dark Materials and my dad refused to let me do it. Or the time a boy I liked – Matt Trenton – asked me to his junior prom. I was so excited, bought a new dress, spent weeks fantasizing about finally getting my first kiss, and then my dad went and ruined it all. When Matt came by to collect me, my dad dragged him into his study for a few words. I’m not sure exactly what those words were, but when Matt came back out, he could barely look me in the eye and for the whole evening he kept at least three foot of space between us. I cried myself to sleep that night.