He is real. I didn’t make him up. No ghost. No phantom. Just this endangered boy I’m learning to love. He unlatches my helmet’s strap, slowly pulls it off my head. Dumps his, too. Puts the kickstand down on the bike—I think. I don’t know. I’m too lost in his hands smoothing back my wet hair, his breath on my temple. His mouth closing in on mine again.
I pull away for a second. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything if you’ll kiss me again.”
“You aren’t riding this in the snow.”
His grin says everything. “Shoot, Beth. That’s what makes it fun.”
chapter 20
MY GUY
We make out on the back of Derek’s bike in the pouring rain until my mom pulls up in the driveway.
Derek is so cute with her. “Hi, Mrs. Evans, I’m Derek.” He shakes her hand and unloads all the groceries out of the trunk, helps her put them away while I change and dry my hair. I throw down an old pair of Levi’s and a dry hoodie for Derek.
“Beth, honey,” Mom calls up to me. “Bring that pillow from your closet and some sheets and a blanket when you come down. I’ll make up the pullout in the den for Derek. I don’t want him riding all that way tonight in this weather.”
I am so tempted to call down and tell her not to bother, that he’s going to sleep in my room, but she knows me. Knows my room is trashed—knows how squeaky that old den sofa bed is. Gosh, do I know her? How did she get so devious?
If Derek wasn’t determined to keep me a nice girl, I’d rise to her sneaky challenge. Maybe even clean up my room. Next time he comes over, I will. Just to flip her out. Just in—I don’t know. Better not go there. I’m still at—Your lips on mine promise what I don’t dare.
He cooks dinner with Mom while I do my homework.
I can never get her to cook.
Mom’s got work to do. She leaves Derek and me alone in the kitchen with the dirty dishes. I clear the table while he loads the dishwasher.
“You made a good impression.” I put our three dirty plates on the counter so he can scrape them down the disposal. I turn to slide a platter of oven-roasted potato wedges into a Ziploc.
Derek moves up behind me. His arms go around my waist. “I always do.”
I drop the bag of potatoes on the counter and twist to face him. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
I close my eyes—can’t breathe. He kisses my eyelids. Each one, lightly. I will my lips to be patient. His mouth moves to my left temple, my cheek, now it’s on my neck. I bruise easy. I should warn him, but I want to wake up in the morning to find his lip prints on me. I wrap my arms around his head, don’t let him off my neck. He sucks harder and harder, moves his mouth, and does it again.
Then I can’t stand it. I bend my knees and get his lips. I’m so hungry. Starving. No matter how much I ply his mouth with mine, I want more and more. I get my mouth on his neck like in Lausanne. “You been working out?” He looks leaner than he did in Switzerland. “You taste sweaty.” I find a fresh place on his neck to chew.
“Do you like the way I taste?” There’s a deadly serious note in his voice that wasn’t there before.
I stop biting him, caress the spot on his neck that’s already turning pink. “Yeah.”
“My sweat’s kind of salty.”
“What causes that?”
He pulls me close. “Don’t stop, Beth. I didn’t want you to stop.”
I hold his eyes for a moment. We’re both trembling by the time I slowly bend my head and place my lips lightly on his neck. I run my tongue along his skin. I love the way he tastes. Salty-sweet mystery boy. I lick his jaw, suck on his chin, chew on his ear.
I want to be the first to say it face-to-face. “I love you.”
He picks me up and sets me on the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist.
“You’re crazy, Beth. You shouldn’t love me.”
“That’s not what I expected to hear.”
“I love you. A thousand times I love you, but you shouldn’t love me. Love Scott.”
I feel like he slapped me. I let go of him, slide off the counter, turn around, and hide behind my hair. “Is that what you came to tell me?” My eyes are burning. “That you want to call it quits? You’re dumping me?”
“No—don’t be dense—no. I want you to dump me. You could be happy with him. I’m—”
“Who I want. You did this to me. Made me feel this. You’re stuck with me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I thought you had a plan. I was hoping for something more substantial than a motorcycle.”
“How about we run away together on the back of it.”
“That’s your plan?”
“Plan A.”
“Okay. Let’s go. As soon as my mom hits the hay. I’ve got about $5K saved for college. How far will that get us?”
“We could go to Nova Scotia and learn to fish. Have a bunch of kids and raise them up to the trade.”
I crumble inside when he says that about the kids, hunch over with my hands pressing hard against my gut.
“Oh, Beth. I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean it.”
“I’m such a beast.”
He guides me to the table and into a chair. I lay my face on the table. He squats down and strokes my head. “No you’re not. I’m the beast. I really do have a plan. I’m working out the details. It’s coming together. I should know by Friday.”
“Maybe we should discuss it. How come you’re doing all the planning?”
“We’ll talk about it when I come back on Friday. You’re going to love it.”
I sit up. He takes a cup out of the cupboard and nukes me up some chamomile tea. I watch him clean up the rest of the kitchen, polish the sink and counters, sweep the floor. He hands me the tea. I take a sip and add more honey. “I have a plan.”
He dumps the dustpan in the garbage and turns around.
“Why don’t you move into the den, permanently? You can visit your parents on holidays and every other weekend.”
He sits across from me and weaves his fingers through mine to stop how I’m drumming the table. He gives me a cautious grin. “You wouldn’t stay a nice girl very long if I did that.”
I snort. “Oh, I’m prepared now. I had to go to the doctor because of that test. They wanted to laser me, but I settled for a box of condoms.”
“Beth, don’t—”
“I need to talk to somebody. Please. I’m going to go nuts. I can’t talk to Mom. It reminds her of my father—and that’s so painful. She feels guilty, like she should have known better. Chosen a guy with better genes for my sake.”
He strokes my cheek with his free hand. “Then you wouldn’t be you.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way.” I look up at him. “I’m supposed to see a counselor in a couple weeks. It’ll take me months to get over that doctor’s appointment.”
He frowns and stares down at the table. “Doctors can be idiots. They aren’t all like that. It sounds like you need a new one. Find someone you’re comfortable with.” He looks back up at me. “Someone you trust. You don’t want a lot of bull and false hopes, but you don’t need a bully, either.”
“You’re right.” I nod my head. “I’m never going near that man again.”
“But find a counselor.” He squeezes my hand. “A good one.”
“How do you know so much?” I sip my tea.
“I’ve been around doctors a lot, used to want to be one until—”
“You started to compose.”
He stares past me at the two of us mirrored in the dark kitchen window. “I’d really love to be a researcher. The guy who finds cures.”
“Do it, Derek. Cure me.”
His eyes return to mine. “Don’t give up, Beth. They are working on unbelievable stuff. Especially with genetics. You’ll have as many babies as you want.”