He was fascinating, funny, and-once you got past the wispy goatee and overgrown hair-adorable.
“You know Berkeley.” He shrugged. “It’s illegal there not to wear some kind of tie-dye or peace sign on at least one part of your body.”
In fact, she didn’t know Berkeley-pretty much didn’t know anywhere beyond the claustrophobic confines of Grace, CA. Which was why she couldn’t believe that this guy, this college guy, was wasting his time on her.
“Hate to mention this to you, but you’re not in Berkeley anymore,” she pointed out.
If this had been Kane she was talking to, he would have immediately wondered whether that was a veiled invitation to take his shirt off. And then he promptly would have obliged.
But it wasn’t Kane-after hanging out for a few minutes he’d obviously decided he had something better to do. Jackson just plucked at the edge of the multicolored shirt. “Yeah, but it’s all I’ve got,” he said without a hint of self-consciousness. “I’m just not that into clothes. Or appearances, you know?”
Maybe that was why he was still talking to her, Miranda concluded, despite the fact that she was wearing a bikini that exposed more of her flab and cellulite than she’d ever allowed anyone to see. (She had intended to cover up before Kane and his friend arrived, determined not to let him see the humiliating bulges and sags, but-unwilling as ever to accommodate her hopes-he’d arrived early.)
“So what are you into?” she pressed. “Other than Tolstoy and world peace, of course.”
“What am I into?” Jackson tipped his head back to catch the fading light of the afternoon sun. “The taste of cold beer at a baseball game, when the score is tied and your team has one man on base and two outs,” he said. “Discovering a new band, just after they’ve found their sound, but before they sign away their souls to the radio gods. Poems that make no fucking sense but still manage to blow your mind. And”-he gave her a mischievous smile-“good conversation with pretty girls.”
Miranda felt the heat rising to her cheeks. “In that case, what are you doing here?” she joked.
He didn’t laugh. “Having an amazing afternoon,” he told her, with a totally straight face.
Miranda didn’t know what to make of it. A cute, smart, older guy, giving her two compliments in a row as if it was nothing? Guys her age didn’t talk like that-at least, not to her.
So, instead of responding, she just laughed nervously and turned toward the pool. “The water looks so tempting when you can’t go in, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Even though you know it’s just going to be cold and over-chlorinated, from here it looks so insanely refreshing, like we’re in some kind of beer commercial.”
“Who says we can’t go in?” Jackson asked, appearing not to care that she’d randomly changed the subject.
“Well, I guess I could,” Miranda allowed, though she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. “But I think you’ve got a small problem.”
“And that would be?”
“Shirt? Jeans? Shoes? Unless you’re going to dive in like this, or-” She stopped, realizing that she didn’t know this guy well enough to suggest a skinny-dip, even as a joke. “I’d say swimming is out.”
“You don’t think I’d jump in with my clothes on?” Jackson asked.
“Now that, I’d love to see,” Miranda said, laughing. The only people left at the pool were a few little kids and their nervous mothers, who she guessed wouldn’t take too kindly to some random college student throwing himself in fully clothed. (Although this was Vegas-surely it wouldn’t be the first time.)
“What do I get?” Jackson sat up and leaned forward. Their knees were almost touching.
“Get for what?”
“For jumping in the pool and soaking myself, just for your amusement,” he explained, staring at her so intensely, she had to force herself not to look away.
“I don’t know. A dollar?”
“How about you go out with me tonight?” he suggested, his grin stretching nearly to his ears.
“I barely know you,” Miranda said, as her brain furiously tried to process the request. He wanted to go out? With her? Like, on a date? Would it be a date? What else could it be? “For all I know, you’re some psychotic ax murderer trolling cheap hotels looking for redheads to chop up for your salad. I watch CSI.”
“I don’t think your buddy Kane would have introduced you to an ax murderer,” Jackson pointed out. “And I’ve never seen CSI, but I can assure you that I’m a vegetarian. Only thing in my salad is lettuce and tofu.”
She was supposed to meet up with Harper for the night-although, Miranda reminded herself, Harper had ditched her that morning and probably never looked back. And she would be the first person to urge Miranda to go on a date. She always pushed Miranda toward every guy who crossed her path-every guy, that is, except Kane. The ultimate lost cause.
Miranda had to admit that she’d been hoping to spend the night hanging out with him-along with Harper and Adam, of course, but that was a coupling-off waiting to happen and, if it did, she’d be left alone with Kane. In a place where, according to him, anything could happen.
Anything like what? she asked herself. What the hell am I waiting for? Kane had, several months before, finally seen her as something more than boring Miranda, just one of the guys. He’d taken her out, he’d kissed her-and that had been the end of it. The moment she’d spent all those years dreaming of had come, and then gone, almost as quickly. So what did she think was going to happen next? That one day, he would just wake up and realize what he’d been missing?
In less than eight hours, she would be eighteen years old. Did she really want to kick off another year of her life sitting in a corner, waiting for Kane to notice her?
Hadn’t she had enough?
“Okay,” she said finally. “If you actually jump in that pool, then yes, I’ll go out with you tonight.”
With a holler, he jumped up and raced toward the pool. Miranda felt a warm tingling spread through her body at the thought that this guy was really going to go through with it, just to get a date with her. He stood on the edge and turned to face her, flashing her a peace sign.
“You won’t be sorry!” he shouted, then spun around and, with an enormous splash, did a perfect belly flop into the deep end.
She was only sorry she’d hesitated.
The balcony was too high up for Kane to hear what was going on.
Still, he managed to get the general idea.
Bad enough that their conversation stretched on for more than an hour. Worse yet that, after the lame pool stunt, Miranda rushed to the edge holding a towel, then wrapped it around him, rubbing his back for warmth.
The final blow: Jackson ditched the towel and, still dripping, took Miranda’s hand. She let him, and they walked off together.
Kane had tried to call her cell, hoping to whisper a warning in her ear, but she wasn’t answering. Too engrossed, apparently, by Jackson’s pathetic sideshow. How could she fall for his act? She was too sharp for that, too guarded. Maybe, Kane thought, she was just playing Jackson, waiting for the right moment to make her move.
But Kane was forced to admit it was unlikely. Miranda might have been sharp when it came to calculus homework or Trivial Pursuit, but when it came to guys, she was clueless. He knew that firsthand.