Dirty Read online

  “Such boys. Look at them.”

  Dan laughed again, and he turned to see me. His smile widened. He gave me a little wave. I returned it. His tongue slid along his lips, and my heart thudded.

  “You like him, don’t you.” Marcy’s question caught my attention. “I can tell.”

  “I do like him.”

  Marcy has no sense of personal boundaries. She put her arm around me and rested her chin on my shoulder. It was a little sharp, and I winced.

  “So?” she asked, “What’s the problem?”

  “No problem.”

  She didn’t ask again. Wayne distracted her by pointing toward the pit beef booth, and Dan waved me over, and we all went to get something to eat. Marcy talked enough for all of us, and I got away with eating my sandwich and not saying much at all.

  I like the art show. I like the booths and the artists and the carnival atmosphere, absent of the actual carnies. I even like the food.

  This year, they had a band playing on a floating stage down by the river. We took our sandwiches and drinks to sit on the concrete steps leading down to the water. The band was good, playing a mix of oldies that pleased most of the crowd and didn’t offend anyone. Marcy and Wayne sat close together, feeding each other French fries and sharing a milk shake. Dan and I sat a bit farther apart, not sharing anything.

  This time, when he dropped me at my door, I didn’t chatter the key in the lock or make small talk. I opened the door and went inside, holding it open for him to pass by me and into the house. I shut it behind us, and he followed me down the long, narrow hall to my kitchen.He stopped in front of the dining room. “Wow.”

  I paused, feeling shy. “I just finished it.”

  He walked inside the odd-shaped room. “The Little Prince.”

  I smiled, watching him read the words. “You know it.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “I read it, since you told me I should.”

  Nerves caught me again, and I ducked out of the room to head for the kitchen. I filled the kettle and started heating water for tea. A moment later, he joined me.

  “This is nice, too.” He looked around at my black-and-white existence.

  “Thanks.”

  “I like that print.”

  He pointed to the black-and-white photograph I’d hung on the wall next to the back door. It showed a girl with long, dark hair obscuring her face. She sat on a low brick wall surrounding a koi pond, her arms gripping her knees. Ripples made rings on the water’s surface. That picture reminded me of all the reasons I’d never invited him here, and why I’d kept pushing him away.

  I waited for him to look at the picture again. Look harder. I waited for him to really see it, not just look at it.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Where’d you get it?”

  “My brother took it.”

  The kettle whistled and I ignored him by scooping tea into the pot and pouring in the boiling water. Earl Grey, my favorite. I let the fragrant steam bathe my face before I put the teapot lid on to steep the tea.

  “That’s you.”

  “Yes.”

  “How old were you?” He stepped closer, hands in his pockets, to study the framed photo.

  “Fifteen.”

  I set out cups, sugar, cream. I rustled in the cupboard and brought out some chocolate-dipped cookies, though my stomach churned from the horseradish I’d had on the beef. I had to move the container of bamboo to the counter to fit everything on the table.

  He studied the picture a moment longer. “What were you thinking when he took it?”

  The question startled me so much I dropped the bamboo. Made of heavy, clear plastic instead of glass, the container didn’t break when it hit my tiled floor, but the bamboo, water and marbles flew everywhere, and I let out a heartfelt “FUCK!”

  Dan was already moving forward to help me, and that annoyed me. It was irrational. Petty, even, but I waved impatient hands at him to move away as I grabbed a dish towel and bent to mop up the water.

  “It will survive, Elle. Bamboo’s hearty.”

  “Someone gave this to me.” I soaked up the water as he gathered the twisting stems and set them on the table. “It was a gift. Now the roots are all broken!”

  He scooped up marbles and put them back in the container. “It’ll be okay.”

  I made a rude noise and got to my feet to wring out the towel. I had to turn my back on him to keep from saying something mean, something he didn’t deserve but something I wanted to say, anyway. Does knowing you’re about to be a bitch make it any easier? More justifiable? I didn’t think so then and I don’t now, but like a lot of things in my life, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  The clink, clink, clink of the marbles settling into the container made my shoulders hunch with tension, and I turned. “Don’t crack it! It will leak!”

  He looked up at me, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not going to crack it.”

  I scanned the marbles in the jar, those in his hand and the few left on the floor as he finished cleaning them up. “You missed three.”

  He looked around. “Where?”

  “I don’t know where,” I snapped, irritable beyond justification. “I just know there were 287 marbles in that container and now there are only 284!”

  He stared at me. Heat crept up my throat and my cheeks. I turned back to the sink. Behind me I heard him scuffling around, then the clink of the last three marbles being dropped next their companions.

  “Elle.” Dan came up close behind me, but didn’t touch me.

  “I was counting,” I told him. “In the picture. I was counting the fish in the pond.”

  Whisper-soft, his hands rested on my shoulders. I didn’t pull away, but neither did I yield to him. He sighed and took his hands away.

  “How many were there?”

  “Fifty-six.”

  “Elle. Turn around.”

  I did, reluctantly. I wanted to fight with him. I wanted, actually, to make him angry enough with me that he would go away on his own, and I’d be saved the trouble of making him.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  The only thing he’d done wrong was make me like him. And how could I tell him that? “No.”

  “Then what?” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re acting like I pissed you off.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “You didn’t.”

  “Then what?” He gestured from himself to me. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing is going on!” I scowled. He scowled back. The phone rang and he looked at it while I made no move to answer. On the fourth ring, I jerked the handset from the cradle and thumbed the talk button. “Hello?”

  “Hello, darlin’.”

  “Hi.” I turned away from Dan.

  “Is this a bad time?” Chad asked.

  “Yeah. Can I call you later?”

  “Sure, baby doll. You okay?”

  “I’ll call you later.” There was no use lying to him. Chad could tell when I was upset.

  “Sure, sure. Later, ’gator.”

  I disconnected and hung up. Dan had put his hands on his hips. I met his gaze with a steady one of my own.

  He looked at the phone. Then at me. I couldn’t help it. I smiled, snarky bitch. “Yes?”

  He shook his head. “Do you want me to go?”

  It wasn’t what I wanted, but I nodded. “I think that would be best. Yes.”

  He stared at me a moment longer before letting out a hiss. He tossed up his hands. “Fuck it. Right. Okay. I’ll go.”

  He couldn’t have gone very far. Down to the newsstand on the corner and back, less than ten minutes. I hadn’t even had time to finish cleaning up the mess from the bamboo before my front door rattled beneath his knock. I almost didn’t answer it, but the thought of him making a scene in front of my neighbors changed my mind. I yanked it open.

  He had a bouquet of crimson roses. “I’m sorry.”

  If my expression showed half of the horror I felt, he could ha