Getting Rid of Bradley Read online

  “I bet he was.” Zack stopped, putting himself in Bradley’s place, a Bradley used to having Lucy warm and loving in his bed and then suddenly losing her. “I bet he was upset. Why didn’t he move upstairs, too? I’d have been up those stairs like a shot.”

  There was a short silence, and then Lucy said, “Bradley wasn’t you.”

  “Guess not.” Zack shifted uncomfortably. “Want some more pretzels?”

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, Zack took the dogs out for their last ran, made sure the doors were all locked, and then stopped by the fire to say good-night.

  “I’m sorry we had to talk about Bradley,” he told Lucy, his face all shadows, backlit by the fire as he stared down at her on the love seat. “I know it upsets you.”

  “It doesn’t upset me. Thinking somebody was trying to kill me upset me. Talking about Bradley hardly qualifies.”

  “Good.” Zack hesitated.

  Lucy waited, holding her breath, and then he said, “Good night,” and went upstairs.

  “Good night,” she said and turned her eyes back to the fire.

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Zack stretched out in Lucy’s old bed in the attic and stared out the little diamond-paned windows.

  He could just go down there and say, “So, Lucy...”

  So Lucy what?

  So Lucy, you want to take off your clothes and have incorrect sex with me?

  Very smooth, he jeered at himself. Just forget it. There is nothing you can say to her that will interest her. Go to sleep.

  But when he closed his eyes, he could see her. And just as he’d feared earlier, he wasn’t having any trouble at all thinking about her naked.

  And she didn’t look anything like Queen Elizabeth.

  “Oh, hell.” He sat up in bed. Think about something else. Something depressing.

  Fast.

  Okay. The Orioles. Game seven of the ‘79 World Series.

  The game appeared before him in vivid, depressing detail.

  And there on third base was Lucy. Naked.

  “Oh, hell,” he said, and fell back against the pillows.

  HER FACE IN THE bathroom mirror was pale under her mass of green curls. Wrapped in her terry-cloth robe, Lucy stared at her hair in despair, and then suddenly leaned to look closer.

  Her hair wasn’t just plain green anymore. Part of it seemed lighter, so that her hair looked mottled in places. And part of it was a lot shorter, too. She ran her fingers through her hair and some of it broke off when she tugged.

  She looked a lot like Einstein had after he’d rolled in chewing gum and she’d had to cut it out of his fur.

  Except he hadn’t been several shades of green.

  Lucy leaned her head against the bathroom mirror. This was the absolute nadir. She would never again look this bad as long as she lived.

  So, of course, tonight Zack was upstairs inspiring in her the most toe-curling fantasies of her entire life. Not that it mattered. Because she wasn’t ever going to do anything about it anyway.

  Was she?

  Lucy stared at herself, lost for a moment.

  Of course, she wasn’t. Why was she thinking about it?

  Because she wanted him so much she’d die if she didn’t have him. She felt hot just thinking about him, the heat starting low and spreading as she thought about his hands, and his mouth, and his body rolling hard against hers, and the heat in his blue, blue eyes, and his mind-numbing, heart-stopping grin.

  No.

  She turned out the light and left the bathroom, depressed beyond reason. By the time she climbed into bed, she was almost in tears.

  It was impossible. If she went up there to Zack right now, and crawled into bed with him like Tina had said, he’d look at her and say, “No.” He’d be sweet about it, but he’d still say, “No.”

  But maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just say, “Are you sure about this, Lucy?” and she’d say, “Yes,” and he’d draw her down next to him and touch her and make love to her....

  Her whole body tensed at the thought of his hands and his mouth, of Zack’s warmth everywhere, of Zack pressing her so close to him that she was seared by his heat. She let her mind go, feeling the way he’d touch her, remembering his kiss in the firelight, the weight of him against her in the alley, on top of her in the driveway, knowing he’d be electric and vital and safe at the same time. She began to breathe more deeply, and her fingernails dug into the sheets as she imagined him first hard against her, and then hard inside her, and she shut her eyes so tightly that she saw stars, trying to feel Zack making love to her.

  And then, finally, when she couldn’t stand it anymore, she gave in to it and sat up in bed, wrapping her arms around herself. She didn’t care anymore about her hair or her robe, or anything. And her mind was as clear as her body was racked.

  I say I want to be independent, and then I lie down here too terrified to go after what I want.

  Independence means going after what I want.

  And I want Zack.

  She slid out of bed, crazy with need for him, and walked with a pounding heart toward the attic stairs.

  Chapter Eight

  Zack sat up in bed and turned on the light when he heard her on the stairs, so his shoulders were naked in the lamplight when Lucy saw him. He stood out in sharp relief against the yellow-flowered wallpaper, the definition of his muscles a hard contrast to the softness of the flowers behind him and the quilt rumpled over him. His dark hair was tousled and his eyes heavy-lidded, and Lucy stopped, frozen both by how beautiful he was and by how much she wanted him. Her need choked her, pressed on her so heavily that she couldn’t breathe, and she leaned in the doorway and breathed him in instead of air.

  “Lucy?” he said, and she found herself floating toward him, drawn by the energy he radiated, feeling at once both suffused with desire and liquid with heat.

  She sank onto the bed beside him, trying to find the right words, any words, but there was so much heat in her that she couldn’t speak. She pushed herself through layers of air with only Zack’s warmth to guide her to him, so that she was almost surprised when her lips touched his. It was like finding him underwater or in the dark, she’d had to penetrate so much to get to him.

  She moved her lips softly against his, feeling the heat there, and then tasted him cautiously with her tongue while he sat, stunned. He was nectar and ambrosia and everything she’d read about; forbidden fruit and lotus, too. She kissed him again, this time falling against him with her lips parted, her tongue slipping inside his mouth to the hot sweetness there, and now, suddenly, he was kissing her back, his hands moving to pull her hard against him, the pressure of his body fining her with such heat and need that she clawed at his shoulders and bit his lip. Then he rolled with her until she was pinned under him, straining against his weight, and he pulled her robe from her shoulders, biting kisses down her neck while his hands pulled her frantically to him again, flesh to flesh, and she cried out first at the heat in him, and then, gratefully, at the sweet roughness of his mouth on her swollen breast.

  Zack touched her the way she’d fantasized, with the same intensity that he lived every minute. His mouth and hands were everywhere, hot on her skin, now light, now rough, until she writhed against him and forgot to feel anything but need and heat and touched him with a hunger that she’d never conceived possible before. He tormented her with his tongue and fingers until she moaned from the frustration and the pleasure. He devoured her with his eyes, his hands, his mouth, intense and focused on her, all laughter gone as he concentrated the entire force of everything he was on loving her.

  And when he slid his fingers inside her, she cried out, opening her eyes suddenly to see him staring at her, his eyes electric with desire for her. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are. I can’t believe how hot you are.”

  His whole body was tense, rigid with control as he moved against her, and she moved against him, too, relishing his hardness against her softness. Her tongue tr