by Anna Cruise
NINE
I watched Stuart as he moved around the kitchen in the sorority house. We'd spent another hour together, naked, before hunger finally forced us out of bed. I was perched on one of the chairs at the breakfast bar, dressed in a tank top dress, a blanket draped over my legs to keep most of my spots hidden.
He opened the refrigerator door and scanned the shelves. “Does anyone actually eat around here?”
“It's just me and Sheridan for the summer,” I said. “Remember?”
“Okay.” He crouched down and opened the crisper drawers. He'd put his shorts back on and nothing else and I stared unabashedly at his torso. He was tanner than before, his skin the color of a caramel latte, the hair on his chest almost golden. “Do you two eat?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Sometimes.”
He held up a carton of eggs and an almost-empty bag of tortillas. “Looks like we're having breakfast burritos.” He looked back at the fridge. “Without cheese.”
I'd used the last of the cheese for the nachos I'd made a couple of days earlier.
“I should probably send Sheridan to the store.”
He opened a couple of cupboards before finding a bowl. He set it on the counter and, with one hand, cracked and emptied the first egg. “Does she run all your errands?”
I made a face. “No. But I'm not going out like this,” I said, motioning to my arms and the blanket draped over me.
Stuart frowned. “It's not that bad.”
“You're either blind or completely delusional. Or both.” I inspected my forearm. Some of the smaller spots were beginning to fade. “I've checked the mirror. Multiple times. I know what I look like.”
“You're beautiful,” he said. He grabbed a fork and whisked the eggs. “And a total pain in the ass.”
“You're a pain in the ass,” I told him. “Trying to order me around, showing up in my house completely unannounced. How the hell did you get in, anyway?”
He scanned the spice rack and pulled out a few different glass containers. “I might have bribed your roommate.”
“Sheridan? You saw her?”
He smiled as he poured the eggs into a pan on the stove.“She let me in. After I gave her a hundred bucks for a hotel room for her and her girlfriend.”
I laughed. “That sounds about right.” I watched him as he scrambled the eggs. He turned on another burner and placed a tortilla on top of the stove's smooth-top surface. “What are you doing?”
“Warming the tortillas.”
I pointed to the opposite counter. “There's a microwave right over there.”
“Who heats tortillas in microwaves?” he asked. He grabbed the tortilla and flipped it over, then stirred the eggs with a wooden spoon.
“Me.”
“They get all mushy and soft,” he said. “This is the only way to heat a tortilla. Gas works better but this will do in a pinch.”
“Okay, Chef,” I said, rolling my eyes.
He lifted the tortilla off the stove and set it down on a kitchen towel he'd found in a drawer. He set another one on the burner. “I told you. I cook breakfast. That's my area of expertise in the kitchen. My only one.”
“So do you eat breakfast all day long?” I asked. “Because it's almost three o'clock.”
“I would,” he said, grinning at me. He picked up the tortilla and tossed the third and final one in the package on the burner.
A few minutes later, he set a burrito stuffed with seasoned scrambled eggs in front of me. I took one bite and sighed. I wasn't sure how anyone could make two ingredients taste so good.
“Good, right?” he asked, still grinning.
I nodded.
“Just gotta make you some crepes now,” he said, tearing off a bite of his burrito. “That will pretty much exhaust my repertoire of recipes.”
“So you're planning on sticking around long enough to make me another meal?”
“You think I flew all the way from Rio to make you lunch and then leave?”
I stood up and found two glasses, then filled them with water from the faucet. I handed him one before sitting back down next to him. I pulled the blanket back over my legs.
“I don't know what your plans are,” I said. “I don't even know how you managed to get here.”
“I took a plane.”
“Not what I meant. How does one hop on a flight with less than twenty-four hours notice?”
He swallowed a mouthful of water. “One makes sure they have connections in the right places.”
“Okay,” I said. I thought about the airline attendant at the San Diego airport when I'd dropped him off three weeks ago, and the way she had flirted with him. I wasn't sure I wanted to know just how many connections he had.
I ate some of my burrito and sipped my water. “So what are your plans? Now that you're here.”
“You don't know?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“Well, you've already yelled at me for not coming. Not sure what else was on your agenda.”
He dropped his hand on to my lap and pushed the blanket aside. His fingers brushed against my thigh, his nails gently scraping my skin. I sucked in my breath at his touch.
“Isn't it obvious?” he asked, a slow smile spreading. “We haven't seen each other in three weeks.” His fingers fastened tighter on my leg. “Touched each other.”
I swallowed.
He leaned close, his mouth centimeters from mine. “Tasted each other.” He brought his mouth to mine but, instead of kissing me, his tongue touched my lips, flicking over them, licking them.
I dropped the fork I was holding and it clanged against the plate.
His hand slid up my thigh, between my legs. He pushed past my dress and plunged his finger inside of me.
“This is what's on my agenda,” he whispered. His mouth moved to my cheek, then my ear. His teeth nipped my earlobe and I made a sound and pulled him to me.
“Nice agenda,” I managed.
“I plan to make up for lost time. I need to make up for lost time.” He kissed my neck, his mouth fastening to my skin. “I've missed this. And I've missed you.”
TEN
Stuart smiled at me. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
I closed my eyes for a second, then forced them back open. “What time is it?”
“Ten o'clock.”
I shifted under the sheets, forcing my feet between his calves. My toes were cool and his skin was warm and I burrowed into him. “How did I sleep so long?”
His arm was around me and he squeezed gently. “Because you were tired.”
I was. We'd stayed up late, a marathon sex session that broke any record I'd previously held. I'd felt comfortable with how I looked once the sun had set and I'd turned off the lights, confident that the stupid welts on my face and body were well hidden. It hadn't kept me from having sex with him during the day but I was able to unleash the real me under the cover of darkness. And I'd attacked him viciously and thoroughly. I was pretty sure he'd have some marks of his own to hide when we got out of bed.
“I still am,” I said. I snuggled in closer, enveloped by the heat emanating from him.
“We're supposed to be leaving soon.”
I squinted my eyes shut and grimaced. “I thought you might forget.”
“Forget?” He grinned. “Me? Never.”
I tucked my head into the space between his neck and shoulder. “I haven't thought of anything,” I said, my voice muffled.
“Well, you better come up with something quick.”
I sighed. We'd managed a few minutes of conversation the previous night, enough to establish that Stuart planned to stick around for a few days and that he wanted to spend that time with me. I shivered at the memory of his words, of the way he'd looked at me as he said it, his eyes locked on mine, his expression hard, determined.
“Not here,” he'd said. “I don't wanna keep paying off your roommate.”
“We could get a hotel,” I suggested. “And get room service and have sex all day and no one would
have to see The Elephant Woman.”
“Shut up. You aren't deformed.”
“Really?” I tilted my head so he could get a better look at the scabs. “What do you call this?”
“They're healing fast,” he said. “Bet they're gone by tomorrow.”
I sat up in bed and checked out my arms and legs. He was wrong. I still looked like a recovering measles patient. The spots were beginning to fade but they weren't gone. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
“What do you want to do?” I asked. I let the sheet drift down, exposing my breasts. Thankfully, those had stayed spot-free and I shifted just a little so they grazed his chest. My nipples hardened immediately at the contact.
“Stop trying to seduce me,” he said, chuckling. “You know what I want to do.”
He wanted to go away. Go on a vacation since I didn't go to Brazil. I'd reminded him that I'd been going to do charity work, not vacation, but he'd argued that he'd only planned a day of that, anyway. And that the rest of the trip was geared toward us relaxing and exploring. Brazil and each other.
“I don't want to go anywhere,” I said stubbornly. “Not looking like this.”
“If you say one more word about how you look, I'm tattooing a mustache to your face. Knock it off.”
I sighed.
“If you don't choose, I will.”
“Antarctica.”
“What?”
“I can bundle up. No one will see me.”
He stared at me, frowning. “No. I don't want to be bundled up. I want to be naked. With you.”
I put my hand on his stomach and trailed my fingers lower, stopping just short of touching him. He thrust his hips toward my hand but I moved away.
“We can stay right here,” I whispered. I danced my fingers along his inner thigh, grazing his hardening shaft. “That wouldn't be so bad, would it?”
“Temptress.” His voice was strained and he wiggled away from me. “Fine. If you won't decide, I will.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”
He nodded. “Yep. Actually, I already have it figured out. Where we're going.”
“Oh?” I repeated.
Another nod. He lifted the blanket off and sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. He stood and I breathed in sharply, trying not to stare at his cock. He was more than ready for me and all I wanted to do was haul him back into bed. He reached for the shirt he'd tossed to the floor and slipped it over his head.
“Are you going to tell me or is it going to be some ridiculous surprise?”
“Which would you prefer?”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, what do you think?”
He smiled. “You've shown me your hometown.”
I had. When he'd first come to San Diego a month ago, I'd taken him around, showing him some of my favorite places, introducing him to a couple of my favorite restaurants.
“So I'm gonna show you mine.” He tossed my discarded dress at me and I reached for it before it landed on my face. “Get dressed, sweetheart. We're going to San Francisco.”
ELEVEN
“I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”
Stuart's eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses but he turned my direction and smiled at me. “I can be pretty persuasive.”
We were flying up the coast, just passing Oceanside, the harbor visible off to the left. Stuart was driving a rental car he'd picked up from the airport when he'd flown in, a convertible black Mini that, according to him, barely had a thousand miles on it. He'd put the top down and the wind whipped my hair, tickling my cheeks. I inhaled the salty sea breeze, feeling pampered and decadent and not at all like someone who was covered in hives.
“It's an eight hour drive.” I had to raise my voice to be heard over the wind and traffic. “And you said you only have a few days. Why are we spending two of them driving?”
“It won't take us eight hours,” he said. One hand was on the steering wheel and one was on my thigh. He squeezed me. “We'll make it in under seven. I promise.”
“What if I don't want to go to San Francisco?”
“Then we won't go.”
I cocked my head. “What? You already said that's where we're going.”
“Sorry.” He flashed me a smile. “I should have been more specific. We're going to the Bay Area. Technically, I don't live in San Francisco. So if you wanna avoid the city, we can do that.”
I rolled my eyes but I had sunglasses on, too, and he didn't see me.
Stuart had given me thirty minutes to take a shower and pack a bag before hauling me out to the car. I'd grabbed a few outfits, tossing things randomly in my overnight bag, my swim suit, toiletries and the medicine Dr. Volk had given me. There hadn't been time to try stuff on, to model them in front of the mirror to make sure they looked as good as I needed them to. And Stuart had watched me the whole time, lounging on my bed, his eyes glued to me as I hurried around the room. We didn't even eat breakfast at the house, stopping at a Starbucks instead for coffee and scones. He ate his in three bites and drained his grande coffee before I'd taken two sips of mine. It was how he did everything: full throttle.
We were a half hour into our drive up the coast and I still wasn't sure how I felt about heading up the coast with Stuart. I wanted to spend time with him but none of this was how I'd envisioned our reunion. For one, we weren't in some exotic locale. I'd spent three weeks fantasizing about Brazil. Not just being back with Stuart but the country itself. I'd actually gotten online and looked up the beaches that hugged the coast of Rio de Janeiro—Ipanema and Copacabana and a couple of others that were considered must-visits. I'd looked up places to eat and clubs to go to and even a few Portuguese words that I could try out in restaurants and taxis and when handing out books.
I'd wanted to visit. I'd wanted to help more kids and explore someplace new. Growing up, I'd rarely left San Diego. My parents real estate business meant they were almost always busy with work and when we did go on vacation, we went to Arizona, to the Hacienda del Luna. It had been family tradition to vacation there, at least until Mom had gotten cancer. We hadn't been back since.
There wasn't anything keeping me from visiting other places but I'd never felt any strong pull to leave my hometown. It had everything I wanted. Beaches and malls and fun bars. Perpetual sun and an endless summer. And more than enough hot guys to keep me satisfied.
But, four weeks ago, I'd started thinking maybe I wanted something more. Maybe visiting other places wasn't so bad. Mexico had been an eye-opener and, as hard as it had been to be there, displaced and way outside of my comfort zone, I'd liked it. I was ready to try a new place.
But that new place was supposed to be Brazil, not a new part of the state I'd always lived in.
I also hadn't anticipated looking like a leper on our vacation. I glanced down at my arms and legs. Stuart had been right earlier. The spots were definitely fading. Still, I'd gone ahead and slathered half of a bottle of foundation over my face in my attempt to hide the hives. So now it just looked like I'd covered up a bad case of acne.
I sighed. I needed to stop obsessing.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
He glanced at me like I was crazy. “The Bay Area.”
“No, I mean what city, specifically.”
“Oh. A town you've never heard of.”
“Try me.”
“San Bruno.”
He was right. I'd never heard of it.
“It's south of the city,” he said. He glanced in the rearview mirror, then switched lanes to allow a motorcycle to roar past us. “Pretty small town, as far as cities go up there. Sandwiched between the Bay and the Pacific.”
“And you've lived there all your life?”
He nodded. “Pretty much. I moved in with my aunt and uncle when I was two. Before that, my parents had a place in Palo Alto. Some shitty apartment while my dad was finishing up at Stanford.”
I straightened in my seat, waiting for him to continue. I knew his parents had died wh
en he was young and that his aunt and uncle had raised him. Beyond that, he was pretty much a blank slate. And I was realizing that I wanted parts of it filled in.
“What was he going to school for?”
“Medicine.”
So his dad had planned to be a doctor. I wondered if that was where Stuart had gotten his need to help people. Were those kind of traits passed along? I didn't know. My parents weren't nymphos or bitchy narcissists and those seemed to be the two characteristics that had defined me for the better part of my life.
“And your mom?”
He switched lanes again, back to the fast lane. “She didn't finish school. Got pregnant with me and took some time off and never got to go back.”
I thought of Abby. She was taking a class a semester, trying to finish up her degree while working and taking care of a kid. To top it off, she was knocked up again. I had visions of her, barefoot and pregnant, for the rest of her life. Not that she probably would have minded, especially with West being the one impregnating her. But, still—she'd given up on her original plans of going to school and finishing in four years. Actually, she'd given up on that long before having Amanda. She'd decided right after we graduated that she wasn't following me to State. I sometimes wondered if she ever regretted making that decision. But then again, if she hadn't changed course, she would have never met West.
“Do you remember them?” I asked.
“My parents?”
I nodded.
“Not really,” he admitted. “I have pictures and stuff. My aunt and uncle made sure I had those. I think I have every picture memorized but the actual memory of them? Pretty sure they've all been invented in my imagination. Being an orphan sort of does that, I guess. You hold tight to what you have and invent what you don't have or can't remember.”
A tiny knot formed in my stomach. I didn't want to think of Stuart as being abandoned or fragile. He was hard. Determined. Confident. Purposeful. I focused on all those things but an image of a brown-haired toddler, sucking his thumb and staring at the faded pictures in a photo album kept finding their way back into my head.