Part 16 (1/2)

”And sometimes it's a disaster. Sometimes it can take your whole life and rip it to pieces. I should go. My date ...”

”Screw him.”

”That wasn't on the agenda for tonight.”

He gave me a wicked grin. ”I'm glad.”

”I don't want to be one of your conquests. I don't want to be another f.u.c.king girl getting screwed-someone your bandmates say was a horrible scene the next morning.”

”I like it when you say 'f.u.c.king.'”

I closed my eyes. ”You're impossible.”

”That's why you love me.”

”I do not love you. I don't even like you.”

”You will,” he said, his voice low and luscious. I could feel the vibration of that voice from my ears all the way down to my feet.

”Maybe,” I whispered. ”But not tonight.” So I backed away a foot or two, then turned, and stumbled back through the crowd until I found Barrett. I plastered a fake smile on my face. ”Sorry about that. We should go.”

CHAPTER NINE.

I was trouble (Crank) It was close to two in the afternoon before I got clear of work, drove home and showered, then headed out for Dad's. I was in my new car, an '85 Toyota that ran surprisingly well.

Another of Julia's hidden talents. When I got the final quote for repairing the car, I almost had a heart attack. Five thousand dollars to repair a car I'd paid a thousand for? No chance of that happening. She didn't want to get the insurance company involved, or her parents, I suspect. She met me on Wednesday afternoon after her cla.s.ses were out, and we went car shopping. Which made me wonder just what kind of world she came from, that she could drop a thousand dollars on a car without her parents noticing.

The first one I liked, she'd vetoed, pointing out coolant on the oil dipstick. ”Means the head gasket is cracked,” she said, matter-of-factly. The second car met a similar fate: rusted and bent frame. It had been in an accident at some point and repaired.

We finally found a car being sold by an old widow in Malden. d.a.m.n near perfect condition, despite being twenty years old. While I stood there, open mouthed, she negotiated the woman down from twelve hundred to an even thousand, and I drove out of there the happy owner of a much better car than I'd started out with.

We stopped at a coffee shop on the edge of Somerville, briefly. ”Where did you learn so much about cars?” I asked. I was flabbergasted. She was a diplomat's kid ... not the person you'd expect to know about engines.

”My bodyguard in middle school was a car enthusiast. He used to keep a couple hotrods in the emba.s.sy garage in Brussels.”

Her bodyguard in middle school. Yes, she really said that.

”So ... he taught you about cars?”

She shrugged, a rare open smile on her face. ”His name was Corporal Lewis ... he was in the Marines. And I was a very lonely kid, so he let me tag along whenever he was working on the cars.”

”So, you like, know how to change your own oil?”

Her mouth quirked up on the left side, the same peculiar little smile she'd used the other day when she called me Dougal. ”I could rebuild an engine with the right tools.”

That was wicked hot.

We didn't discuss my declaration of l.u.s.t last weekend, nor her date. Though I was seriously dying, wanting to know what happened after she left. And not wanting to know. Because if that English p.r.i.c.k touched her, I was going to kill him, and that wouldn't be good at all.

But she cut the coffee short, saying she had to get back and study for a big exam the next morning. I know that, in theory, you have to take lots of exams and stuff in college, but you want to know the truth? I think she was just dodging me.

Whatever. I had awesome wheels, and I was full of crazy energy because I hadn't gotten laid in like ... three weeks? That'll drive you insane. The result being, I was both energetic and crazy as all h.e.l.l on the way to my dad's on Sat.u.r.day. And I'd verified by phone the night before that Julia was going to be there, which was going to make me crazier.

I needed mental help. It was starting to get cold out, like twenty degrees, so I rolled down my power windows to cool off, lit a cigarette, and cranked up Nine Inch Nails' ”Closer” on the stereo and sang along at the top of my lungs.

Okay. Time to get serious and figure out just what the h.e.l.l was going on in my head.

Fact: As a rule, an often stated and confirmed rule, I don't chase girls. They chase me.

Fact: I don't get involved. You want a quick lay, well, I'm your guy. But only for the night.

Fact: I've got a brother to watch out for, a band to drive forward to success, a job flipping burgers, and I don't have time to get emotionally tied up in some girl.

Fact: Six nights running, I'd dreamed about Julia, and that hot retro dress she wore Sat.u.r.day night for her date.

Her date with some British guy in an expensive suit.

Oh, s.h.i.+t.

Next thing you know, I was going to be turning off the punk, listening to frickin' Barry Manilow and the Carpenters and Aaron Neville. I'd cry my heart out at sob-story movies and send her chocolates and roses and tiny pearl earrings. I was so screwed. Because no matter how much I tried to think about Alicia or Candy or ... whatever that girl's name was with the leopard pumps ... all I could think about was Julia.

This was not healthy, for a number of reasons.

Number one: refer back to the facts above.

Number two: she'd made it very clear that she wasn't interested in me. She was up for me being her tool for one night but only until the sun came up.

And for some reason, with her, that wasn't good enough. I wanted more.

She had, however, left a tiny little door open the other night. Maybe, she said. But not tonight. What the h.e.l.l did that mean?

I wasn't looking forward to her being there for Sean's birthday party. But other than me, the next youngest person who was coming would be like fifty. So having her there meant a lot to him. And to be honest: I'd do anything for Sean. Even stomach the first girl since middle school that I wanted, but who didn't want me back.

Needless to say, I was in just a wonderful mood when I drove up to my dad's house. Looked like I was the first person there, at least. My mother would be there later, of course. I didn't see her often, didn't talk to her often, and that was just as well, because those conversations rarely went well. I'd be on my best behavior today, for Sean. Tony D'Amato, my dad's partner would be there, and Mrs. Doyle, who always got wicked fl.u.s.tered when I flirted with her, which I did incessantly because it annoyed my dad, amused me, and made her happy. And Julia.

Not much of a party, but Sean didn't have friends.

I got out of the car, crushed my cigarette, and headed up the back steps, backpack slung over my shoulder.

When I walked in, things looked normal. Sean was sitting on the couch, curled up with a comic. I walked over to him and leaned over, kissing him on the top of his head. ”Hey, bud. You doing all right? Happy birthday.”

He ignored me, which I pretty much expected. I started to walk to the kitchen, and Sean said to my back, ”Did you bring Julia?”

I looked over my shoulder. Sean was still looking down at his magazine. ”She's coming separately. But she said she'd be here.”

He didn't answer. It worried me that he'd become attached to her so quickly. Sean didn't need that kind of letdown.