Date? So it was a date. Is it a sign of insanity to be thrilled about a simple word when I’m standing between a psycho stalker and a guy who’s able to throw huge people around without breaking a sweat?
Eric lowers his arm but keeps his hand clenched. He looks at me. “You went with Carly to the fire.”
I clear the webs of panic out of my throat. “I met up with Luke at the fire. Carly wasn’t around then. It sort of became a date.”
Eric stares at Luke, taking his measure. “You go to Cougar Creek?”
Luke doesn’t say anything as he studies Carly’s brother. Eric returns the stare. “Yeah, he does,” I jump in. “He’s new. Actually, your mom sold his parents the house across from mine.” Okay, I’m sort of babbling—anything to stop the fight that could break out at any minute as they continue to stare each other down. Like two dogs preparing to jump at each other’s throats at the first twitch.
“Like I said, Jule, your dad’s worried.” Eric doesn’t break eye contact with Luke.
“I’ve already called him,” I answer without hiding my growing annoyance. “It’s not your job to check up on me.”
“Actually, it is,” Eric murmurs.
“What?”
Eric finally turns his eyes to me. “You’d better get home. I’ll give you a ride.”
Like hell! “Luke’s driving me home.” I indicate the running car behind me with a tilt of my chin. “He has heated seats.” God! Both of them look at me like I just told them that I’ve sprouted wings and will fly home. “I’m cold,” I defend myself, before throwing the passenger side door open and plopping down in the plush leather seats. I slap the leather. “Nice and toasty.” I slam the door shut.
Luke slides into the driver’s seat in stiff silence as he revs the powerful engine. “Buckle up,” he murmurs.
I click the seat belt and Luke guns the car, squealing out of the parking lot in one final in-your-face move. I grasp the dashboard. “Was that necessary?”
“Who is he?” Luke’s driving way too fast. He’s still pissed. And I’m getting pissed that he’s pissed, since this isn’t my fault.
“Carly’s brother.”
Luke looks at me in the dark car. “He likes you.”
I feel a prickle up my neck at Luke’s hard eyes. “He’s like a big brother to me.” Luke doesn’t need to know the guy is obsessed with me. That information might make him turn around.
Luke snorts, his hand gripping the steering wheel. “He thinks you’re his.”
“So you can also read minds?” I ask sarcastically.
“No.” Luke takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, as if trying to calm himself. “It’s the way he touched you. There was ownership there. Plus…” He pauses, as if deciding whether to continue or not.
“Plus what?”
“His smell.”
I don’t remember anything weird about Eric’s smell. He actually smelled decent, like some popular cologne.
“I’ve smelled it before.” He glances at me and then back at the dark road. “Around your house.” Softer now. “In your house.”
I blink. I must breathe, or stars will start dancing in front of my eyes. “In my…house?” Carly’s been the only Ashe in my house for months.
“Are you aware that he’s been watching you?”
“Watching me?” My voice squeaks pathetically. Luke slows the car and turns. The uneven terrain makes me grab the overhead handle and look outside. He’s pulled onto a gravel side road in front of a cow fence. We’re a couple miles from my house. Luke turns the ignition off and stares out of the windshield, either giving me time to think or giving himself time to calm down. I’m not sure which. Perhaps both.
I start when his voice breaks the silence. “Do you like him?”
“Not like that,” I say in a rush and watch him inhale slowly, evenly.
“He could be dangerous,” he says.
You have no idea! Luke looks at me. His stare has thawed, and relief floods my tight stomach. I nod. “I’m trying to stay clear of him.”
“I’ll talk to him,” he says.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I laugh a little and huff, turning in my seat so I’m facing Luke with my knee bent and braced across the warm seat. I lean against the door.
“So…is this where you’re going to…hypnotize me, make me forget about tonight?” The only hint that my switch in topics has startled Luke is a blink. “Like Carly,” I add. “Am I going to seem drunk to my dad, disoriented?” I clutch the seat with my nails. My overly dramatic mind pictures him leaping across the console to mind meld with me or something. So when his hand slides off the steering wheel, I twitch.
Luke stills. “No.”
I nod nervously. “Okay. Good.” I don’t think he’s lying, do I? As far as I know, he hasn’t lied to me. He hasn’t given me answers, but he hasn’t lied.
He leans across the middle console, and my hope for another kiss wars with my urge to draw back. Luke stares into my eyes. His are dark, sad almost. I wonder what makes them that way. His hand slides through the shadows to my hair. He brushes it back from my cheek, his thumb trailing along my skin. He leans in and gives me a gentle kiss.
“I don’t want you to forget this,” he murmurs. His kiss is soft but urgent, again restrained. I twist my fingers in his hair, trying to urge him closer. But he retreats, his breathing as ragged as mine. He closes his eyes. “I’d better get you home.”
He starts the car. We’re in front of my house in such a short time I wonder if he did tamper with my memory. But I still remember Taylin’s words, the golf course, falling into quicksand, meeting his parents, Eric’s anger, Luke’s kisses. But…I feel disoriented nonetheless.
“Did you mess with my head?” I ask before I open the door. “I feel…weird, fuzzy, kind of.”
Luke smiles lazily at me, the casually gorgeous guy again. “That was all from my kiss.”
“A great cook, super athlete, and oh so humble.” I say and he laughs. “I guess two out of three isn’t bad.” He laughs more. I feel like I should continue but I don’t know what to say. I grow serious. “I have questions, you know.”
“I know.” His chuckle fades.
“I’d really like answers.”
He sighs. “Yeah, I’d like some, too.”
“You lost me there.”
Luke looks past me at my dad waving on the front porch. “You’d better go. I need to get the car back. I don’t want my mom to have to put up with Mrs. Manx driving her home.”
I shut the door and Luke rolls down the window. I duck back in so Luke can see my face. “I need answers. Promise me.”
Luke hands me my plastic grocery bag of muddy clothes. “I won’t ever forget tonight. Thank you.” His lopsided grin mesmerizes me. I just stare. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
“See ya,” he says and I turn. As the window whirs up I realize he didn’t promise me anything.
* * *
“He kissed you again?” Carly screeches over the phone. “I guess it’s a good thing you convinced me to leave you there.”
I know she’s still hazy about the night, but she’s readily accepted my explanation for her leaving me there to help Matt take Taylin home. It’s the truth, just the details are skewed. Carly completely believes that Taylin was already passed out when we found her.
“Yeah, thanks for giving us some time.”
“Well, I felt so bad when I scared your dad. And Eric flipped out when I said I didn’t know exactly where you were.”
“I called Dad, so he was fine,” I remind her for the hundredth time. “And Eric needs to get a life.”
“Yeah, I told Dad he’d better talk to him before you get a restraining order.”
“What did your dad say?”
“Not much. He’ll talk to him. But Mom’s no help.”
“Why?”
“I think Mom secretly hopes you and Eric will get married and have all sorts of grandbabies for her.”
“Ick!”
Carly laughs. “Not to worry, Jule. I caught him texting a girl named Angie late last night. I think she’s the one who keeps calling him.”
“He has a girlfriend?” I turn over on my back where I’m lying on my bed. My gaze follows the faint crack in the pale ceiling.
“Don’t know for sure, but it’s a good sign he’s moving on.”
Does a psycho stalker really “move on”? Just because I told him I didn’t want to go out? And Luke said Eric is stalking me; at least, that’s my definition of someone who snoops around outside and inside (I suppress a shudder) my house. There’s an awkward pause on the phone where I’m supposed to agree with Carly. Time to switch subjects.
“So, Matt…any goodnight kiss?”
“What?! No!” Carly says with a mix of frustration and annoyance.
“I’d say that Matt’s not someone you should waste your energy on, but that’s not helpful, is it?”
“No,” Carly says, now sounding gloomy. “Jule, he was so…gentle with Taylin, and with me, actually. He has such a wonderful smile. It reaches his eyes. You know, that’s what worries me about Luke, Jule. When I look at his eyes, they’re so cold, hard. Seventeen is way too young to look so furious and cynical.”
I sigh and slide my legs over the bed. “I know, but I’ve seen him different.” I push aside my sheer curtain so I can spy on the Whitmore house way down the street. What is Luke doing right now? Are his eyes sharp like shattered pieces of black shale? Or are they warm and full of laughter? I glance at the pile of borrowed tennis clothes I ran through the wash this morning. “I’m going over there,” I say, more to myself than to Carly.
“To the Whitmores’?”
“Yeah.”
“Now?”
“I have to return his mom’s clothes and tennis shoes.”
“God, Jule, I haven’t showered yet.”
“I can go by myself.” Actually, I want to go by myself. I don’t know what Luke might say about Eric, and I have some pretty specific questions I want him to answer.
“I can be ready in thirty minutes.”
“I’m fine, Carly. I’m not scared of Luke,” I say, and after a brief pause I realize that I mean it. I’m not afraid of him, or at least I feel safer with him than I feel afraid.
“Okay, Jule, but make sure you have your cell with you.”
I laugh a little. “I’ll be sure to call you if he’s attacking me.”
“I won’t shower. Just give me fifteen minutes.”
I laugh more. “Don’t.” I grow serious. “Actually, I might want to see…I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get another kiss.”
There’s a pause. “Okay, Jule. But be careful.”
* * *
I knock on the oak door with the ornate inlaid window in the center. A flash of red comes through the glass and it swings open. Jake stands there, or rather stoops there, long shoelaces extending from his shoes to his belt loops, forcing him into a bent-knee position. “Hey, Jule.”
“Um…” My eyebrows rise at his weird stance. “Hey, Jake.” I didn’t think there was anything “special” about Luke’s little brother. He seemed like a pretty normal middle school boy last night.
He laughs a little but blushes anyway. He shrugs. “It’s the hockey stance. My dad makes me walk around like this on the weekends.” He quickly pulls the knots on the laces and stands straight, rubbing his thighs. “Builds my leg muscles. His dad made him and my uncles all tie their laces to their belts when they were growing up.”
“Sort of like my mom making me lie with my legs in the air and sing scales,” I say reassuringly.
“Uh…okay.”
“She’s an opera singer,” I remind him. “And she thinks I have potential.” That seems to click with him.
“Oh yes, I hear the ‘you have potential’ talk at least twice a week.”
“Sorry,” I laugh.
“Nah, it could be worse. Luke gets it practically every day.”
“Is he here?”
“Yeah, downstairs working out.” He points to a set of stairs leading into a basement.
I set his mom’s clothes on a bar stool in the kitchen. “I brought back your mom’s clothes. They’re washed.”
“Cool, she’s out shopping or something.” Jake flops down on the couch and turns on the TV.
I stand there, not quite sure what to do. “O-okay. I’ll just go down to say hi.”
“See ya,” Jake murmurs and starts channel-surfing.
Pictures of famous hockey players line the stairwell. The walls are red. A black and gold jersey, framed and lit, hangs at the bottom landing. “Whitmore” is sewn across it. Must be his dad’s old jersey.
Rap music pounds in the background, Eminem I think, punctuated by the sound of heavy thumping.
“That’s it, Luke, boy! That’s some power,” Luke’s father booms. “It’s a mistake to think hockey only requires lower-body strength.”
I step off the landing by a pool table and turn the corner into a huge room painted red and blue. Weight benches, an elliptical machine, and other home gym equipment sit around a red mat in the middle. One wall is nothing but mirrors. A rectangular area of the floor on the far side is white and slick-looking, like imitation ice. Luke dances on the mat, his dad holding a punching bag in front of him. Luke’s shirtless, loose athletic shorts shifting around his thighs as he moves. His biceps bunch and lengthen as he punches, nearly knocking his dad backwards behind the heavy bag.
“Ha!” Mr. Whitmore laughs and steps away to throw Luke a towel. “You’re going to knock your old man over with that right hook.”
I’m still by the pool table, not sure if I should interrupt. Luke wipes the sweat from his face. His dad lobs a sports drink towards him and Luke catches it out of the air without even looking. He inhales deeply–and turns directly towards me. Dark and sharp, or warm and laughing? His eyes narrow. Shit, dark and sharp.
“Hey, Jule,” Luke says, and his dad turns.
“Hi. I…” I motion to the steps, “…brought back your mom’s clothes.”
“Oh, she’s got plenty of those little skirts,” Mr. Whitmore dismisses me with a smile. “Thanks, though. Very prompt.” He looks back at his son. “We’re about done, anyway. Good work this morning. You’re stronger than I’ve ever seen you.” He chuckles. “Mom must be feeding you Wheaties or something.” He pats Luke on the shoulder, then smiles at me as he mounts the stairs.
“Nice gym.” I glance around the room. There’s even a hot tub in the corner.
Luke heads for the free weights and lifts some huge-looking dumbbell. “My dad insisted on finding a place with a big basement.” I watch in fascination as Luke curls the large weight. The muscles of his arm bunch into a mountain. Even his lower arm looks like steel over bone. His voice barely wavers as he does ten curls and switches arms. “It’s convenient. So I don’t have to go out to a gym.”
I sit down on a bench nearby. “Must make you good at hockey.”
“Yeah,” Luke says.
“Your dad must be happy.”
A strange look passes over Luke’s face. “Yeah, he is. I’ll follow in his footsteps.” Luke replaces the dumbbell and straddles the bench I’m sitting on. Even with sweat all over, he doesn’t smell bad. Just like fresh deodorant. And the slick sheen makes his muscles look even more amazing. Luke leaves his towel hanging over a shoulder. I’m tempted to snap a picture with my cell phone.
“Is that what you want to be, then? A pro hockey player?”
Luke tilts his head to the side as if he’s considering the question. After a long moment he produces a lopsided grin. “I’ve said yes to that question my whole life.”
“But…that’s not what you want to be?” I guess, leaning a little closer to him.
“I don’t know. Doesn’t matter, it’s what I will be.”
My eyes narrow. “Why? Just because of your dad?”
Luke stands up. “And what are you going to be when you grow up
?”
I blink at the 360. “I’m applying to a vocal program at Boston University.”
“Let me guess, it’s where your mom went,” Luke says and hands me a water bottle from a small fridge behind the bar.
“Well, yes, but—” Luke’s “told ya” look stops me. “I want to go, really. I love singing. It would be my choice even if my mother wasn’t an opera singer.”
Luke nods as if he’s willing to let that argument die, but his expression shows that he thinks he’s still right.
“So, what would you be if you couldn’t be a hockey player?” I ask.
Luke walks around the room, paces really, almost like a caged panther. He guzzles some of the red drink. “Haven’t thought about it.”
“Come on,” I urge. “What if you got injured, couldn’t play hockey? What else are you interested in?”
Luke leans against the hot tub and crosses his arms over his chest. He stares at me for a long moment. I start to think he’s not going to say anything. He looks up at the ceiling and says, “I draw.”
“Like, pictures?”
“Yeah. I’d probably try to do something with that.”
I remember his schedule. “You’re taking AP Art this semester, right?” He nods and throws a gray T-shirt on. “So…can I see some of your drawings?”
“No.” The word is flat, final, like the guttural slide and lock of a ten-ton vault door.
I stand up and shake my head. “You’re moodier than a PMSing girl. I’ll see you at school.” I start toward the stairwell. After a couple seconds I figure he’s not going to stop me. I stride briskly up the steps. At the top I try the doorknob, turning it, but it’s locked.
“It sticks.” The voice comes from directly behind me; I freeze. Luke leans around me, his arms on either side of my body. His hand twists the knob. But before he lets it swing open, his breath whispers by my ear. “Stay. Please.” I don’t know if it’s the tickle of his breath on my skin or the sad undertone in the two simple words, but a shiver runs up from my knees to my scalp. He pushes the door open in front of me. I step into the hallway.
“Oh hi, Jule!” Mrs. Whitmore beams at me as she points Jake toward an overflowing trash can in the kitchen. “So good to see you again.”
“I brought your clothes back. Thank you again for loaning them to me last night.”
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