“Think I’m lying?”
“Ivy on the Roof, the girl who values truth, respect, and…what was the last one?”
“Compassion.”
“Oh yeah, compassion. How could I forget? You are lying to me—the stubborn and totally apathetic Jon Priestly.”
“I don’t lie.” Well, not really. “I only fib occasionally.”
He lunges for the paper again. I shove it behind my back. Little good that does, because he reaches over and tries to yank it out of my hand. Laughing, I twist around, trying to get away, but there’s nowhere to go.
His face is so close to mine that I can almost feel the rasp of his stubble on my skin. His eyes narrow and then…then…
He’s tickling me. Everywhere. My ribcage. Above my knees. Under my arms. That sensitive spot just inside my hipbones.
I shriek and laugh so hard I can barely breathe. “Stop! Oh my God, stop.”
He does, but it’s more like a pause. A momentary hesitation. His fingers remain on my skin, waiting, just waiting to inflict more torture upon me. My whole body tingles with anticipation.
“Then give it to me.”
If I do, then he’ll stop. I grip the paper tighter in my fist and shove it under my butt. It’s probably in shreds by now. Raising an eyebrow, I dare him to continue. “No.”
His lips are inches away, his hair dangling in my upturned face. And then, with his body at an awkward angle because of the console between us, his mouth crashes over me.
He kisses are like heaven, his lips lush and insistent. The hand that was tickling me a moment ago is now gripping my hipbone. He inches up the hem of my T-shirt. His thumb, warm and slightly callused, caresses my skin right above my jeans. It almost, almost tickles. Heat burns between my legs and radiates to every corner of my body. I think I may have just moaned.
Out of habit, I go over the escape routes. The door handle is right here. The car isn’t locked. I could be outside in, like, two seconds if I wanted. Okay, I think I’m good.
He freezes. His hand, splayed across my ribcage, stops moving.
Did another car park next to us? That would be embarrassing.
He pulls away and clears his throat as he settles back into his seat.
My skin feels cold where his hand has been. I look around. There are no other cars. We’re the only ones here.
Why did he stop? What happened to the goofy mood he was in? Then it occurs to me. Could he have sensed my train of thought?
Goddamn it. He did.
I want to slap myself. I know he’s not Chase. He’s not.
There’s tension in his jaw, making his features look sharp and angular. “We should probably get started on the pictures. It could rain again soon.”
Jon
With my arms stretched out on the chest-high cement barrier, I look over the water. Huge black rocks rise from the misty ocean like dark, ghostly figures. Updrafts of salty, damp wind whip through my hair. I’ve driven down this stretch of road countless times and have never stopped. I’m glad Ivy made me, because this view is pretty fucking amazing.
I can’t believe I almost screwed things up with her. What the hell was I thinking, pawing her in the car like that? For the briefest of moments, I felt her freeze up and sensed her reluctance.
“Jon.”
I turn my head and Ivy snaps like a dozen pictures.
“Hey, no fair,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m not ready.”
She rolls her eyes. “Candid shots are the best ones.” She looks through the viewfinder again and I give her my best Jon Priestly grin. “Stop trying to pose,” she says.
“I’m not.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m just smiling at this really hot girl holding a camera.”
“Give me the smile you normally give me. Not the one you give your groupies. You smile one way when you’re around them, and another way when you’re around your friends. I want the real Jon, not the one you’re putting on for the public.”
I open my mouth to argue, but it occurs to me that she’s right. So I stick my tongue out instead, and she takes a picture.
Although I have no idea what I’m doing with the assignment, I grab my little point-and-shoot and take a few pictures of my own. At the very least, I need to make an effort. I don’t need an A in the class, but a B or B minus would be nice.
Fifteen minutes later, Ivy replaces the lens cap on her camera and looks up at me. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are red from the cold air. Before we got out of the car, she braided her hair and put on a knit beanie. It’s sitting slightly off-kilter now. She’s gorgeous in a totally unintentional way. We walk back to the car and stow our cameras.
Sitting on the hood, I pull her into the V of my legs and we look out at the ocean together. Neither of us says anything for a while. With my arms around her, we just listen to the roar of the waves hitting the beach below us.
“Thanks for being patient,” she says finally.
“With what?”
She shrugs. “With me. In the car.”
“I’m hardly patient.”
“You’re taking things slowly to make sure I’m okay. That means a lot to me.”
I want to ask her why she panics when she feels she’s losing control of a situation, but if I have any hope of keeping this relationship from getting too serious, I need to keep questions like that to myself. I can’t be delving too deeply.
“Any ideas on the virginal theme that you’d care to share with me?”
“You’re really going to use that one?” She turns around in my arms and gives me a little half smile. “I was just kidding, Jon. You can pick whatever words you like.”
“I know.” I playfully touch the end of her nose. “But I figure, it’ll be challenging. I’m always up for a challenge.”
We spend the next few minutes discussing my themes, what each of the words mean and what we find important or interesting about them. I come up with some ideas on how to depict them that she thinks might work.
“This could actually be fun,” I tell her as we’re climbing off the hood of the car.
“Told you.”
My eyes are drawn to the ink work at the back of her neck. When we’re both inside the car, I ask about it.
Her hand goes up to rub it. “It’s the Chinese character for truth. Told you that word means a lot to me.”
A knot forms in my stomach as it hits me just how important that concept is to her. The truth will set you free? In my case, I wish I didn’t know the truth, because it’s too fucking ugly sometimes.
chapter eleven
There’s a hole in my chest where my heart used to be.
Jon
“She was all over you, bro,” James says, handing me a beer.
I wave it off. “Can’t. I’m in the tutoring center this afternoon.”
“Why didn’t you bring her home? I was expecting to see a pair of shoes by the front door when I got up this morning.”
“That’s standard operating procedure for you and the Rickmeister, not me.”
“Me neither,” Tate says from the kitchen.
“That’s because you like a girl to keep her fuck-me shoes on when you’re doing the deed,” James yells back.
“How would you know, Brettner? Do you like to watch?” I cover my crotch in case he throws something.
“You’d like an audience, wouldn’t you, Priestly?” He plops down next to me on the couch, grabs the remote, and changes the channel.
“What the hell, dude,” I yell at my best friend. “I’m watching Sports Center.”
“Relax. I’m checking to see what time the fights are on tonight. Hey, bring me some chips or something,” he yells to Tate. “I’m starving.”