THE SKY DARKENED AS JACK AND I STRODE DOWN THE sidewalk. Like the heavy clouds above us, I held myself together until we got back to Ghost. Both the quiet side street and the cover provided by tree branches drooping over our parking space must’ve given my brain the illusion of shelter, because once I shut the Corvette’s door against the sudden deluge of rain, I let go and broke down.
It wasn’t pretty.
The older, cooler fantasy me was horrified to be ugly-crying in front of Jack. But the present me was hurting too much to care. And when his hand warmed the back of my neck, it felt like permission to sob even harder.
Before I knew what was happening, Jack had leaned his seat back and pulled me sideways into his lap. I buried my face in the collar of his vintage bowling shirt and cried a little longer while steady rain battered the convertible top.
His hands stroking down my back were soothing, and little by little, I pulled myself together.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping my face.
His muscles flexed as he strained to reach across the seat. He retrieved a rumpled fast-food napkin from his glove box. “I don’t know why,” he said, handing it to me. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
I turned my face away and blew my nose, then looked for a place to throw the napkin away.
“Go on,” he encouraged, cracking the window. “Berkeley’s too clean anyway.”
I croaked out a chuckle and tossed the napkin outside. He started to roll the window back up, but I stopped him; the rain smelled good, and I didn’t mind the occasional drop or three on the back of my neck when the wind blew. It felt nice.
His thumb swiped beneath one eye, then the other. “Makeup goo,” he explained, cleaning up my running mascara. “Better?”
I nodded and let my head loll back against his shoulder. “I don’t know why my father got to me that way. It’s not like my family problems are anywhere near as epic as yours. You must think I’m a whiner.”
“I think no such thing. You have every right to be upset. My family’s been through a lot, but I can’t imagine what it would be like if my dad left us. I love her, but my mom is no Katherine the Great. She’s a cheerleader, not a provider.”
“Your mom’s fought her own battles,” I reminded him.
He grunted his agreement.
“What if my father wasn’t lying? Why would Mom turn down child support?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s too proud. Maybe it made her feel weak.”
“If that’s true, okay, but she lied to us. All this time, I thought he was this deadbeat dad. Why would she do that?”
“Because she’s human, and she makes mistakes? Or maybe your father wasn’t telling the truth, either. Maybe he’s feeling guilty and saying whatever it takes to win you over. Confront your mom and ask her.”
“I can’t. Then she’ll know I lied about coming out here. And she’ll know I kept the artist’s mannequin from her. And she’ll feel betrayed.”
“Don’t you?”
I thought about that for a second. “I’m not sure what I feel. All I know is that I’m tired of being the innocent bystander who gets punched in the gut. It’s their fight—Mom and Dad’s. But how come Heath and I are the ones who end up bruised?”
He rearranged one of my braids and wound the loose tail around the tip of his index finger. “Because everything we do in life affects someone else. Buddhists say that inside and outside are basically the same thing. It’s like we’re all trapped together in a small room. If someone pisses in the corner, we all have to worry about it trickling across the floor and getting our shoes wet.”
I chuckled again. “Or clogging up the escalator.”
He smiled against my forehead. “Or someone painting a message on the escalator you don’t understand.”
“I don’t want my mistakes to affect everyone else in the room,” I said after a moment. “I want to keep to myself and do as little damage as possible.”
“That’s one way of living, sure. But it’s lonely, and doing nothing can cause as much damage as doing something. We’re part of a machine, whether we like it or not. If one piston stops working, the engine will run poorly. And I for one would much rather that you piss on my shoe than that I watch you withdraw into the corner.”
“Gross.”
“What? It’s how you get rid of jellyfish stings.”
“That’s an old wives’ tale. If you ever pee on me, I’ll hurt you.”
“So violent.” His splayed fingers danced over my back like a spider.
I squealed as he attacked my side, tickling me with gusto. I couldn’t pry his fingers away from my ribs. “St-top!” I protested in the middle of a fit of laughter.
“Say the magic word.”
“Uncle!”
“That’s not it.”
I changed tactics and tickled him back. He jumped, lifting us both off the seat. “All right, girl,” he purred roughly. “You’re asking for it now.”
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”
He cradled the back of my head with his hand and reeled me closer. His mouth covered mine, strong and confident. I laughed against his lips, just for a second, and then gave in.
The kiss deepened, and his hand drifted down my neck to my side, tracing the curve of my waist, over my hip, and back up. Like he was trying to imagine what I looked like beneath my clothes. That thought thrilled me almost as much as his roaming hand . . . until he boldly cupped my breast.
Breathing heavily, he broke the kiss—barely—and said against my lips, “Okay?”
I put my hand over his to hold it in place.
“You feel fantastic,” he murmured, his breath teasing my neck.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve fantasized about you in every possible way, but the real thing . . . God, Bex. You’re so soft. And—oh. Well.”
I gasped. I couldn’t help it.
“Does that feel good?” he asked, running his thumb over my nipple.
I didn’t answer; he was too full of himself, sounding all pleased with his discovery. A field of goose bumps bloomed across my arms and warmed me from his hot mouth, down my chest, my stomach . . . and lower. I knew that heat followed the same path in him, because he stiffened against my hip, which excited me even more.
As rain drummed against the car, he slouched lower in the seat and silently urged me to straddle his lap. I didn’t care that the steering wheel poked my back when I got carried away. We kissed forever, leisurely, until his big hands palmed my butt, greedily tugging me against him. The bump in my jeans where the seams converged between my legs was wedged between the softness of me and the hardness of him.
“You’re killing me,” he murmured huskily against my ear.
I closed my eyes and grinned. “Am I?”
“I want you.”
“I know.”
His low laugh sent chills down my neck. “I did warn you I wasn’t a monk.”
“Definitely not if we keep this up.”
Exhaling heavily, he pulled back and cupped my cheeks in his hands. “We should probably cool it anyway. I promised Katherine the Great I’d get you to work on time, and the rain will gum up traffic on the Bay Bridge. Plus, it’s going to take me a couple of minutes to . . . calm down.”
I cleared my throat and tried not to smile. “I don’t think I could stand up right now if I tried. Just hold me a little while longer, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, and gathered me closer. I rested my head on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his old leather jacket while our breathing slowed and synced. Everything that had happened with my father felt a million miles away. Like it had happened to me in another lifetime. Jack made me feel safe and strong and good and calm.
Maybe he was my lake, too.