And now here she was again, pleading with him across the phone line. She shifted to stroking his ego, throwing a little dirty-mouthed phone-sex talk in there for good measure, then moved in with a side assault of guilt. She had moved continents to make the house available. She hadn’t denied him, had she, when he showed up unannounced the previous Monday? And she would do anything he asked, which she knew, with him, could mean quite a lot.
“Okay, okay,” he finally told her. This was the part Rhianne didn’t understand, the part that had less to do with his hormones than with his patience. “I’ll walk over. Give me twenty minutes.”
When he arrived at the house she opened the door slowly, lifting a silencing finger to her lips. As he stepped into the foyer, she gestured toward the ceiling and mouthed, he’s upstairs.
Who? he mouthed back.
Russ.
Without really meaning to, he rolled his eyes. In a low voice he said, “You told me nobody was home.”
Judy waved her hand to dismiss his concern. He followed her to the den, where she closed the door and turned the lock. He looked at Scott’s math book on the table with papers shoved in it and remembered what Judy had said about Scott’s preference for hooking up with Tally on that very sofa. Beside it sat the Christmas tree, bright rainbow lights shining.
“He’s sleeping,” she whispered. “He’ll be up there all night.”
Zach leveled an irritated gaze. “What if he comes down to get a snack or something?”
“He won’t. Trust me.”
And then she unbuttoned her shirt and put her arms around his neck. He felt her teeth on his earlobe, the warmth of her breath. She eased his vest from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. As she ran a finger beneath the neckline of his shirt to kiss his collarbone, he stared at the twinkling lights and the jumble of ornaments made of construction paper and curling ribbon. An awkwardly woven straw Star of Bethlehem. A ceramic ballet slipper. Zach had no particular attachment to Christianity—when his mother discussed the subject, she always quoted the Dalai Lama saying my religion is kindness—but he was enough of a child of his culture to think there was something deeply screwed up about having illicit sex in front of a Christmas tree.
“Let’s go down to the basement,” he said.
“It’s a mess. All the Christmas stuff is pulled out of storage.” She nuzzled his neck, her hands slipping to his waist, the small of his back. “Boxes. Furniture moved around. God, you feel good.”
She undid the top button of his jeans, and as if by reflex he pushed her away. He didn’t feel the least bit aroused by her. He looked toward the closed door and said, “Listen, I’m just not in the mood.”
Her laugh was uneasy. “You came over, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I changed my mind. I think we ought to stick to what we decided. Take a break.”
“You don’t mean that.”
He bristled. “No, seriously, I really do. And it sort of pisses me off that you think you can bring me in here when your husband’s sleeping upstairs and I’m not going to mind. Maybe it’s honor among thieves or whatever, but that’s some scummy shit.”
She lifted her brows in a placating way and hooked a finger in his belt loop. “It didn’t even enter my mind,” she explained. “Russ and I live separate lives. He doesn’t care what I do. And right now he’s too drugged up to notice.”
Zach met her eyes. “Drugged up?”
“Nembutal. He goes through it like candy. It amazes me that he keeps breathing.” She took advantage of his surprise to sidle up to him again, her warm hand sliding up into his hair, her mouth dipping to kiss his neck. He felt the edges of her teeth, gentle for a moment, then unexpectedly—yet not unpleasantly—painful. He grimaced and pulled in a slow breath. Judy never bit. She was afraid of marking him. Yet this time she did and wouldn’t let go, and finally he clawed a hand into her hair and pulled her back.
She winced, and he kissed her on the mouth. Under normal circumstances the bite would have won him over, but not here or now. He said, “Seeya.”
Disbelief edged her voice. “You’re not really leaving.”
He lifted his vest from its place on the carpet and shrugged it back on. “I gotta meet up with Scott and people.”
She shifted a few steps to the left. Now she was standing in front of the door, complicating his exit route. He was certain it wasn’t accidental, and that pissed him off.
“Just spend a few minutes with me, since you’re already here,” she implored. Her hazel eyes, so placid when he had first met her, stared back at him full of determination. The softness of her voice and the appeasing set of her mouth did nothing to fool him into believing she would leave the decision to his good judgment. He remembered the night she had stroked his feverish back before taking advantage of him, and he knew she had no intention of letting him leave until she got what she wanted. As he glowered at her, Rhianne’s face, framed by night and white with cold, flashed into his mind. She’s manipulating you, Rhianne had said. Coercing you. The anger that had already kindled in his gut now flared fully to life.
“Are you gonna hold me hostage?” he demanded. “Is that what that’s about?”
She shook her head. “I just want to be with you. That’s all.”
He moved toward the door, and she backed against the doorknob, reaching to loop her fingers into the waistband of his jeans as though that were the reason for his approach. She tugged loose his thermal from his pants and slid her hands up his chest.
“I know you don’t have much time,” she whispered.
He leveled his condescending glare on her and felt all his tumultuous thoughts reduce to a single sentence: just get out the fucking door. She broke away her gaze and nuzzled his neck, softly this time, her hands roaming everywhere despite his utter lack of response. He closed his eyes and fantasized about Fairen. Of her body, her face, the way she sneered at people who perturbed her, her dirty mouth. Then his eyes snapped open and, abruptly, he spun Judy to face the wall, shoved her skirt up, and did what he needed to do.
A handful of her hair fell from his fingers, once he was done.
He opened the door immediately and zipped up as he walked through the kitchen. His down vest was still on, and heat spiked on the back of his neck. He heard her footsteps behind him, the slight pat echoing each thump of his sneakers.
“Zach,” she said.
He turned at the front door and looked at her. With one hand she rubbed the back of her head. Her shirt still hung open, revealing the strip of black satin at the center of her bra that reminded him of a semibreve rest on a musical score. Pause and breathe, the universe seemed to be telling him, and the wisdom resonated just now.
She smiled with an affection than looked almost pained. “Thanks for coming over,” she said. “It’s always good to see you.”
Without a word he headed out the door.
26
He jogged through the dark neighborhood to the main road. Once on the sidewalk, its ancient cement crumbled by giant tree roots, he faced the remaining half mile like an obstacle course. Goaclass="underline" to get to the McDonald’s parking lot as quickly as possible. Action hero Zach Patterson, third-degree black belt, able to leap orange construction netting in a single bound. He jumped over a Jersey wall, scrambled up the chain-link fence behind the Planned Parenthood clinic, dropped onto the lawn of a rehabilitation center and, with an elegance that he felt in his bones, vaulted with one hand over the ranch-style fence on the lawn’s opposite side. He ducked through some brush, and voilà, emerged on the far end of the parking lot of the McDonald’s. Temple stood outside the van, leaning against it with his ankles crossed, waiting for him.