When I get home from work on Thursday and park my car next to the dark-blue BMW, I’m not even thinking about Trey. I step around the back of the car, looking at the plates. What is he doing here? I am giddy. I’ve not seen him since we went boating and wasn’t expecting to see him today. He’s been out of town, looking at apartments in Stanford, for when he goes back to school.
I pull my shoes off outside of the door and lean to pick them up to set them on a plastic mat just inside. I never wear my shoes in the house because I don’t want anything from the hospital making its way in. Originally, I would leave them on the step outside . . . until the morning I found a scorpion peeking out of one.
I hear the low rumble of conversation from the living room. “Trey?” I call from the sink, when I turn around, drying my hands, my heart nearly stops. There he is, framed by the light coming through the patio door, his hair in unruly spikes, his shoulder leaning against the wall.
I rush to him, thrilled to see him. “What are you doing here?”
His smile is charming, but his eyes are a little tired. “I just had to see you.”
“I thought you weren’t home till tomorrow.”
“It was enough.” He crinkles his nose. “I tried to call last night.”
I tap my hand on his chest, and he catches it, light, just a faint whisper of his fingers on mine.
“He did,” Sybil calls out from the living room. I peer around the wall and see her sitting with her feet propped up on the sofa beside her. “I wrote it down, but can’t find it now.” She shrugs, puckering her lips.
“No biggie. I’m just glad you’re here,” I purr, and kiss him solidly.
“I called, twice.” He holds two fingers up and cocks an eyebrow.
“That’s nice.” I flutter my lashes. “And now you are here.”
“Now I am here,” he agrees. “Can I take you somewhere?”
“Where?”
“You’ll see,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. I laugh. I like him, I like him so much. I like his smile, and I like the way he talks, and I like the fact that he came up to Poway to find me when leaving messages hadn’t worked.
“But . . .” I start then don’t know how to finish.
“What?” He leans toward me, and I let out a long sigh and breathe him in. Yes, I like him. I like the way he smells, and I like the way he moves, and I like the fact that he seems familiar even as he is unknown.
“I don’t want to have sex,” I whisper, not sure what I expect him to do with that statement. Will he be offended and storm out? Will he think I’m a bitch, or worse, a tease? I close my eyes and wait for him to do something.
“Okay,” he whispers, and he is looking at me with soft, laughing eyes. “Was I that bad?” He says this in an even lower whisper—as if to speak it any louder would be too great a humiliation—drawing his lips back in a pantomime of disgust.
No, I mouth and shake my head, letting the tension slide down my arms and out of my face. “I just want to take it slow.”
He nods and brushes his hand over his forehead, wiping away imaginary sweat. “That’s a relief.”
I push against his chest. “Goofball. Let me go change.” I scamper up the stairs into my room. I’m showered and dressed in under six minutes. I touch a little shadow to my eyes and a little lipstick to my mouth, before unwrapping the messy bun I had tied my hair in to keep it out of the water. I take my dressing cues from him, with his Izod shirt and jeans, so I grab a pale-blue sleeveless sweater from Cici’s closet, which she won’t mind me doing, and jeans. I grab the only pair of sandals I own and carry them down the stairs, where Sybil and Trey are having a relaxed conversation. I’m glad Sybil never moved out. She’s the best cook in the house, and even if she is drama, she is still a no-bullshit kind of chick, and I respect that.
It is a beautiful evening. Trey opens the passenger door for me, letting go of my hand as I slide in. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.”
I cajole and flirt, trying to get out of him where we are going, wishing the console didn’t split the front seat in his car so I could get closer to him.
“Okay, okay,” he says, finally laughing. “I’ll tell you.”
I wait. He doesn’t say anything. “Trey!”
“You’re like a little kid.” He turns to me, his teeth flashing as his smile spreads. “You know we were up in Stanford this week?” I nod. “Looking at apartments.” He is a political science major, going back for his third year.
“Did you find one?” I ask, playing along.
“We did. Well, I couldn’t wait to get back, because I wanted to see you.”
“Really?” I squeak, feeling my blood quickening.
“Yeah, Alison. Really. I couldn’t stop talking about you. You just drive me crazy.”
“Ahhh. That’s so sweet.” My laughter rolls out, tinkling and light.
“I know it only been a month, but you’ve gotten under my skin.” He drops his voice, “I mean, I really like you. I can’t get you out of my head.” His tongue darts out and wets his lips.
“Really?” My voice is small, giddy, almost childlike.
“Yeah. Really.” He looks at me across the console, his eyes dark and intense. “I’ve never met anybody like you before.”
I fling myself across the console and kiss him, his arms folds around me, and I can feel the muscles of him contracting.
“I’m one of a kind.” I say in mock seriousness.
“That you are.” He doesn’t say anything for minutes, looking over at me in quick darts, like he can’t keep his eyes off of me.
“Where we are going?” I whisper, when I am convinced that he has forgotten where we started on this conversation.
“Oh! Yes, that’s right. Where are we going?” He reaches his hand out to take mine, folding his fingers over the top of mine, a caress.
“Yes. . .?” I say, caught by the intimacy of his touch, feeling the ownership of his attention.
“We’re going to meet my family.”
My blood runs cold.
“Oh. Everybody?” I squeak, hopeful he doesn’t hear the fear in my voice.
“Mom and Jenny. Dad may still be at the hospital.”
I smile at him, but my stomach is somersaulting.
