Part 16 (1/2)

It was hard to tear away, but I was too excited to concentrate on kissing him when there were still unopened presents. ”There's still more! Keep opening.”

He grabbed the small, square package out of the bag and ripped off the paper. He was smiling like a loon at the Guns N' Roses Greatest Hits CD in his hands as I explained, ”You don't know this, but 'Paradise City' is our song.”

He didn't even miss a beat as he asked, ”Why? Because it's the first one we listened to together?”

My mouth gaped open. ”Tell me you don't actually remember that.”

”We were in my truck-G.o.d, I miss that Bronco-and I was driving us back to your house after school. Of course I remember. I was the one who put it on.”

”But... But...”

”All I wanted to do was pull over and see what you had on under that skirt. I had an uncontrollable hard-on the whole ride home.”

”Shut up! You did not!”

”The song still drives me insane whenever I hear it.”

”Where's your CD player!?”

He laughed at that, but noted, ”Cool your jets there, horndog. I still have another present to unwrap.”

He took the last, small package out and tore off the paper. He was holding a disc in a clear jewel case. He looked it over, asking, ”R and J? Who's that?”

I must have confused him with the G N' R. I bit my lip and hinted, ”I had it burned from video to DVD.”

Understanding dawned across his face. ”Get out. Our movie? I can't believe you did this!”

He immediately hopped off the couch to throw it in the DVD player when I stopped him. ”No! Popcorn first. I haven't watched this in fifteen years either. Let's do this right.”

So, it was a few minutes later when we were situated on his couch, wrapped up in a fuzzy tan blanket, the coffee table strewn with a junk food buffet. I settled into his side with a Twinkie in one hand and a c.o.ke in the other, delaying my worries, yet again, about the calories until a more convenient time. Trip had one hand around the bowl of popcorn and the other on the remote control.

”You ready?” he asked, his smile infectious.

”Just promise me something.”

Trip paused in the act of pressing play, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. ”What?”

”Please don't a.n.a.lyze it. Just watch. Okay?”

That cracked him up.

We watched as the scene faded in on my father's den-Friar Laurence's room-the two of us frantically pacing about, Trip wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and me in a pair of scrubs (We'd decided to make Romeo into a very Eddie and the Cruisers-type hoodlum and put a literal spin on ”the nurse”), and I kept whining about how his main squeeze ”Julie” had been moping around the castle.

”Look at you,” Trip laughed out. ”G.o.d, you were so in love with me. But look at that skinny little f.u.c.k. How could you not be?”

”Oh my G.o.d, you're right!” It was so mortifying, watching the teenaged me looking at him all googly-eyed and hero-wors.h.i.+ppy. ”Oh, this is so embarra.s.sing! No wonder everyone thought we were a couple. I wasn't even playing Juliet! Yikes. It looks like the nurse wanted to get it on with the Montague boy.”

”She still does, I hope.”

I smiled at that as we directed our attentions back to the television.

By the time ”Robbie” finally accepted the mood ring that Julie had asked the nurse to bring to him, we were cracking up, and the movie was over almost as soon as it had begun. I always thought it was like an hour long. Seriously, it was probably no longer than seven minutes.

The screen went blue, and all I could do was sit there and groan in humiliation. ”How on G.o.d's green Earth did you not realize I was crazy about you? How could you have possibly been so blind?”

”I knew. Well, I hoped, anyway. You thought you were so slick.”

”I did! Oh, G.o.d. Kill me now.”

That made him laugh. ”Just shut up and kiss me or I'll have you bani-shed from this couch.”

I was still giggling as his mouth met mine, but it didn't take long for me to stop laughing and melt into those soft, inviting lips. He wrapped his arm around my middle and slid my body underneath his as my hands ran over the muscles in his arms. I was practically obsessed with Trip's new body, tracing my fingers over his new bulges every chance I got. I loved his involuntary response to my touch, the muscles in his back, or his chest, or his abs jumping under my palms.

He groaned as his hips jacked into mine, his tongue teasing against the seam of my lips, coaxing them to open, but he didn't meet much resistance from me. I opened my mouth and moaned into his as our tongues tangled against one another.

Things had heated up quickly, but I was jogged out of the spell when Trip tore his lips from mine. ”Hold on,” he said gruffly, before bounding off the couch.

He threw his new Guns CD in the stereo and skipped to ”Paradise City.” He turned from the sound system, looking at me with a wicked smirk, slowly stalking back toward the sofa like a predator and scooping his new palmcorder off the table. ”I think we need to make a new movie....”

...And that's how only a handful of people (okay, just he and I) know that Trip's greatest film was actually a riveting two-person performance opening to unanimously positive reviews in the winter of 2005 during a private after-party on his couch in Hollywood, California.

Chapter 22.

THE UPSIDE OF ANGER.

I was in the pool early the next day, trying to work off the feast from the night before. Trip's plan was to run some errands all morning, then take his mother out for lunch that afternoon.

I thought he'd left hours before, so I was surprised when he came outside, holding a sheaf of papers in his hand.

”What is this?” he asked derisively. I didn't know what he was holding, but I did know that I didn't like the tone of his voice. I stepped out of the pool and wrapped a towel around me, coming closer to take a better look.

I was just coming to the realization that the papers he was holding were mine when he spat out, ”Are these the notes from your book? My biography? You're publis.h.i.+ng this? How could you do that to me, Layla?”

Hey, whoa. Hold on there, sparky. One minute, I was swimming around the pool. The next thing I know, I'm getting a tongue-las.h.i.+ng. And not the good kind.

I couldn't even address his anger yet. I had my own anger to deal with. ”I didn't do anything! And why are you reading my stuff?”

”You left it scattered around my office. I couldn't avoid reading it.”

His office.

But crud. He was right. I did. ”It was supposed to be a surprise. And I wrote this for us, not to sell. If I wanted to sell it, I could have done so years ago.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t. You did sell it! You sold me out!”

I was really shocked at how he'd just blown off my explanation and at the way he was ranting at me. I'd only been the target of his rage once before, years ago when he exploded on me at that diner. Only, he was drunk that night. This time, there was no excuse. I wondered what the h.e.l.l was going on.