She walked over to the driver’s door and looked at him strangely. Was it because he was following too closely and trying to get whiffs of her hair?
“What? You wanna drive?”
He squealed. “Yes, please.” He never thought . . . It wasn’t why he was there behind her. It was an automatic response to go wherever she did and try to get closer. But this was wonderful!
She handed him the keys and asked, “You do have a license, right?”
“Yes. I’m a safe driver, and I drive the safest car possible when I can. You’ll see when I get it back. It’s nice, even though it’s an older model. I like it—my 2002 Mercedes, even if some of the silver paint is messed up on it. My father passed it down to me. I want you to be in it some time.”
She watched him slide into the driver’s seat, and knowing her eyes were on him made him smile big.
The door shut, and she walked around the front of the Jeep where he could watch her too, and then she got in on the passenger’s side. Manners would dictate he should have walked her over there, opened the door for her, helped her in and shut the door, but this damn soreness was making walking a hideous experience.
“Take yourself home,” she said, relaxing into her seat. She shut the door and then her head kind of lulled back and forth on the headrest.
“This is the best day ever!” he sang.
“The day’s not over yet.” She snorted a little and buckled herself in. “But driving is always a relief. It means getting away.”
“Getting away . . . I want to do that with you.” He sighed, started the Jeep and drove off.
There was nothing better than being in a small space like this with her. The air was permeated with her scent. His skin felt electrified in anticipation of her touch.
He drove as safely as he could, no matter how amped up he got or how fast he wanted to go. In fact, just to make sure she felt safe, he drove a little under the speed limit. He could never be too cautious with someone as precious as her in his charge while he was behind the wheel. It would be awful if he got another speeding ticket—and in Mari’s Jeep, no less—so he clenched his jaw and white-knuckled that steering wheel to keep himself from letting loose.
Mari was great at being a passenger, too, so he was a very lucky man. She set him at ease. How nice of her to do that. She didn’t grab the “death gripper” as Sam called the handle above the window. It was refreshing to see her so relaxed. Good for her. It almost looked like she was falling asleep.
“Mari . . . I don’t wanna go home yet. I was a little vague with Sam after school, and she’ll want me to explain. If I have to tell her one more time—”
“Mmm . . .” Mari smiled with her eyes closed as her head jostled back and forth. “Do you wanna come over to my house? It’s not the cleanest mansion on the planet, but we’re not slobs or anything."
“Can I sit with you on your couch?”
Her smile exploded, and she laughed a little. “Adam.” She opened her eyes. “You can do any damn thing you wish. I’m not your mother.” She swallowed, then tacked on, “Or your sister. Thank God!”
It was said quietly, and when people said things in that way, he understood it wasn’t meant for him to hear, though he was glad he did.
His hands roamed all around the steering wheel. It was something Mari touched all the time, and the interior of the vehicle smelled just like her. He took a deep whiff.
“What do you usually do after school?” she asked.
He paused. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”
“Why not?”
“Nobody ever wants to listen to me. I make them uncomfortable. Zach says I’m about as predictable as monkeys in a canon. You never know where they’ll land and when they do, you don’t know if they’ll . . . Well, it’s a rude saying, so I should probably stop now.”
“If it makes you feel better . . . I like that you’re unpredictable. I also love how you say exactly what you think and feel.”
“You love that?” His voice rose and goose bumps broke out on his arms, probably on his sore spot too, because it was tingling like crazy.
“Teenage boys—well, not you, obviously—but most of them only tell girls what they have to, so they can have sex with them. Since I don’t do that, they either try harder and lie more, or they avoid me. I prefer the latter. But with you, I know that’s not your intention so I don’t have to worry you’ve got a hidden agenda.” She turned up the music a little.
Did this mean she was done talking about it? Or was he boring her?
“You listen to me.” He waited for a response, but none came. “I don’t understand you.”
“You shouldn’t try. It’s a waste of time. And you have too many other things you should spend your time on.” She turned her head and looked at him with so much clarity his breathing stopped. “Someone as talented as you is meant for great things. I can’t wait to see your potential unlocked. And I’ll be the first to say I knew you when you first came to Phoenix.”
“Can you tell me where you live? I only need the address,” he said, unsure of how to respond to all the things she said. Some emotion was overwhelming him, swelling in his chest and manifesting itself in his eyes. She believed in him and thought he was talented. But what was he good at, other than counting stuff?
“Can you tell me what you want to do when you graduate?”
“I . . . I can do that, if you tell me where to drive.” Numbers. They were back. He was tense. This whole conversation was so new to him.
He kicked off his shoes really fast.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, chuckling while looking at his feet.
“Sorry. If I can count on my toes while you’re talking to me, it’ll be better.”
“You can do both at the same time? I’m impressed. I can barely cook and listen to music at the same time.” She chuckled. “I burn rice every single time, so salads have become a better way to go . . .”
“They have those—”
“I know, I know . . . Don’t ask. It’s a sensitive topic in my house.”
His face dropped, and his hands were clammy. “I want to make sure to say the right things in your house so I’m welcome there.”
She grinned. “If you avoid the topic of food, you’ll be fine.”
“What if I get hungry? Can I ask for something to eat? Or what if I get thirsty?” He squeezed the steering wheel and fisted back and forth, making the wheel creak a little.
“What is rule number one?”
“I can do any damn thing I want at your house.” He wrinkled his nose. This didn’t make sense. He could do whatever he wished, yet he couldn’t talk about food? So far, the majority of what he had talked to her about in the past was soda and donuts and how much he craved them. Didn’t that fall under the category of food? She never told him to stop before or made any faces when he did that.
What was he supposed to do now?
He pressed his lips together to keep from saying something dopey.
“Yes! Exactly. Open the fridge, find something to munch on. I don’t care.” She settled her hands on her thighs, and it was really distracting. Did she have to put her hands there? His eyes really wanted to stay there, but he needed to watch the road. She sighed, then said, “Might as well make yourself at home. Every other man that comes into the house does.”
“Mari, I need your hand.” Before I stop driving so I can stare at your thighs for the next hour . . .
She offered it without a word.
He squeezed it, and in that moment, he was able to let go of the numbers he had shoved into his toes and ignore the bulge in his pants that liked her thighs and breasts quite a bit. Almost as much as his brain did, because it liked to show him random images of them throughout the day when he least expected it.
“Thank you for your hand.” He released a breath, and his back relaxed into his seat.
“Thank you for listening. You’re not the only one that no one listens to.”
Mayb
e it was because they were distracted by her beautiful body, too.
“If I ever stop listening to you, it’ll be because I’ve contracted a disease that takes away my hearing. I promise.” He gave her a look that said he was serious.
“Same goes for me, only . . .” She scratched her chin with her free hand.
“Only what?” His hand tightened on hers. She wouldn’t try to take it away, would she? That would be the worst torment ever.
“Only, when I stop listening sometimes, it means that I care too much, and the person has hurt me. It’s like my brain just shuts down or something.” She blinked but stared straight ahead out the window with a blank look on her face.
Was she seeing numbers right now? That’s how he was told he looked when he went into a number trance.
“Mari, that’s a good thing. It means you love that person. If someone can hurt you, it’s not because you’re letting them. That’s a lie when people say that, because I don’t let people hurt me, but it happens all the time. It happens because I fall in love with them or I give them some of my heart as a friend.” His chest echoed with those past pains, but when she looked at him with a sadness in her eyes, it doubled in intensity.
“Good point. And exactly my problem.” She sighed, and her shoulders moved down about an inch when she was done doing it. “I don’t want to love anyone anymore, because I’m sick of hurting. I’m done with that.”
“No, you’re not.” He wanted to tell his brain to shut up, but he simply couldn’t.
“Yes, I am.” She blinked and stared at him the way she had a moment ago out the front windshield.
“No. You’re not. You’re here with me, and I can tell you care. So I can hurt you.” He dropped his head to peer closely into her eyes. “If that’s wrong, then I don’t want to be right. For the first time.”
She didn’t answer. Her hand shook in his.
“And you don’t have to worry with me, because there’s no way I’m going to hurt you. I couldn’t do that. My insides would kill me with a thousand numbers if I did that.”
Her eyes flashed with understanding for a moment. “Doesn’t matter anyway.” She sort of shrugged, but it looked more like she wanted to roll out of the seat.
“Why? Did I already hurt you?” His heart lurched toward her and stole his breath away. “I didn’t mean to.”
“No, no. That’s not what I meant.” Her voice was filled with a smile, but her face was nothing but somber.
“Then what? Tell me. I have to know, because I like you. I’m your friend. Someday you’ll be my girlfriend, so I need to know more about you and how you think.”
She pushed herself with her legs so she was sitting upright. After clearing her throat, she said, “Adam . . . We’re never going to date. I’m not the dating type. I’ve done things. Bad things. And I won’t mix you up in my life. It would be the worst thing you could do.”
“Well, I’m the eraser of bad things for you. It’s my secret power. When you hold my hand, you erase my numbers. When I hold yours—I erase your bad things and your past. All you can do when you’re with me is think of me.” His hands tingled with truth. He knew this was what they did for each other.
No one told him this. He didn’t learn it in a book. He learned it in his heart. Well, and her eyes told him.
“Adam, I . . .” She dropped her gaze to their hands.
“I’ll protect you from all those bad things. My numbers—that’s their new job now. To be guardians of you. You’ll see. Those bad things will be like smoke—burned away by my touch.” He took a deep breath, and his heart was so warm, he wondered if it was smoking.
“The way you talk is like a Shakespearean dream sometimes. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up as a fairy or something.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Maybe you will. That would be good for you. Then you could be with real green grass and real blue water. And we could enjoy it together. I could be the man that walks you to the places you want to go.” He smiled at her.
She beamed back. “Thanks, hon, but I doubt you could do that for me. No one can.”
“Of course not.” He blew out. “Not yet anyway.”
“Why is that?” She wiggled into her seat. Was she snuggling into it so she could be ready for whatever he might want to say?
“Because we have to kiss again first. Then you’ll know . . .”
She held her breath for a second and went a little stiff. “Know what?”
“Why I get so sore, and why you want to help me with it. Then I can help you with everything else, and you’ll want me to.” He grinned so big, his ears lifted.
Wasn’t that kind of fairy-like?
Yes, definitely. He would find that magical place for her—and soon.
She needed the real green and real blue, and the real man that went along with it—him.
Chapter 6
Adam was less confused now—probably because he had a few safe topics he could discuss at length.
Shakespearean dreams, grass, water, kisses and how they were supposed to help each other.
All of it was good.
And so was his driving. He found her house easily. It wasn’t hard once her house numbers were clear in his head. He pulled into the driveway and followed her instructions implicitly of where to park, how to leave the car, and where to wait while she checked something inside first.
He heard her hollering for her mom, and then she came out a few minutes later.
“C’mon. It’s empty.” She waved him in.
He ran. It was amazing he was able to avoid knocking her over when he flew through the door.
Her house smelled like heaven. There were earthy notes in the air. A little patchouli and cedar maybe? It was nice.
“Go anywhere you want. I’m gonna go put my stuff away and change, then I’m gonna get something to eat,” she told him.
She left the room. Ordinarily that would send him into a tornado of numbers, but Mari told him exactly where she’d be and what she was doing. There were plans, and even though he was ignorant of where her room was, the house was small enough he was certain he could find it with ease.
Adam opened her fridge, hoping to find soda. Nope. A bunch of bottled waters, some leftovers, condiments, lots of fresh produce in the crispers, but nothing with sugar in it. Not even any juice.
There was, however, some jelly, so he managed to put together a peanut butter and jelly.
Kid food. Oh well. He was eating here, not at home—Mari would never tease him about that.
He almost swallowed it whole before she joined him.
“Good for you. I’m glad you found something you like,” she said as she stepped around him.
He looked her up and down slowly. She was wearing another tank top, some loose cotton shorts and her hair was slung back in a ponytail.
Soreness? Throbbing pains!
Uhhh . . . How was he going to keep this hidden if she sat by him on the couch?
Was there a blanket on her furniture he could borrow?
He took the last few remnants of his food, grabbed a bottled water while she was in the fridge assembling something for herself and raced to the couch before she saw.
Once on the cushions, he decided to lay on the couch on his stomach. The last of his sandwich was crammed in his mouth.
“I hope you don’t mind sci-fi, because I usually watch something like Doctor Who or Torchwood when I get home if my mom’s not here. She hates those shows, so I have to do it when she’s gone.” Mari picked up his legs with one hand, sat down and set them on her lap.
The movement and friction made him sorer than ever. But it was fine—it was hidden.
Her couch was upholstered in really soft suede. He ran his hand back and forth over it, creating fun patterns and enjoying the texture.
She turned on the TV and then the DVD player with a big remote.
“Torchwood it is,” she mumbled. Her mouth was full of an orange slice.
The episode t
ook all of his concentration, relieving his soreness. There was a man named Captain Jack being covered with concrete. He screamed as this happened to him, but Mari seemed unconcerned as it played out.
She was engrossed in the show almost as much as he was. It was harder to focus now because she was done eating, and her hands drew lazy circles on the backs of his calves and ankles.
The soreness returned in moments, and his gut was so tight he could feel bile backed up in his throat. His legs were covered in flashes of warmth from the heat of her hands, followed by icy goose bumps prickling his skin.
This was definitely the best day of his life. Nobody ever touched him down there or this much. He wanted to make her promise to touch him like this every day.
Instead, he kept his eyes glued to the TV.
A big construction machine was hauling a large slab of concrete on the show. Seconds later, the slab was dropped over the side of a huge cliff. Adam realized that man, Captain Jack, had been encased in the concrete. He gasped when it exploded on impact.
Some of Captain Jack’s friends who were trying to free him jumped into a car and raced down to the bottom of the cliff. Captain Jack inhaled with a scary high squeal and then was breathing.
Mari grabbed Adam’s leg and squeezed. He gasped again.
The woman in the car raced over to Captain Jack, and even though he was undressed, she spoke to him.
“That man’s naked,” Adam observed.
“Yes, he is,” Mari said through a sigh.
“Is that okay? Should she be near him?”
“It’s more than okay,” she answered.
And in that moment, it was like time stopped. His father wasn’t here to turn this show off since nudity was wrong in their house. Adam was never allowed to roam around the house without clothes, and he wanted to. Or at least shirtless when it got really hot.
Mari didn’t seem offended—acted like it was natural for this man and woman to talk when he was undressed.
Images of Adam in the nude, speaking to Mari, flooded his mind.
A pained sound ground out of his chest as he got really sore. What would it be like to have Mari look at him without clothes on?
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