Torched Page 23

  “So what’s the next step?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve gotten so distracted, what with Paxton and the cheer competition and everything.”

  Alina winced. “Sorry about the competition. You were great.”

  “I saw that you came,” I said, and we shared a tentative smile.

  “We’ll get Georgette to confess, I promise,” Alina said grimly. “Even if we have to sic Piper on her.”

  I laughed at the idea of Alina’s pug playing attack dog, then bit into the last cookie. “Mm, chocolate sugar snaps are the best,” I said. Crumbs sprinkled onto the Jaguar’s upholstery, but Alina didn’t seem to care.

  “Spritzes can’t be beat,” she countered, and then we were naming cookies in a flurry of back-and-forth. It really did feel like old times. I knew our fight hadn’t gone away, that there was still a lot to talk about, but for the moment I just enjoyed the category war.

  “Macaroons,” I said as we reached my house.

  Alina frowned. “Blue Beemer?”

  “That’s not a cookie. I win!” Then I looked up and did a double take. “Cloudmonster!” Juliette must have stopped by. As soon as Alina’s Jag stopped I scrambled out and jogged over to pat my old car. “Hey, buddy. Jules treating you okay?”

  “Actually, the car is yours again,” my dad’s voice said. I looked up to find my parents smiling in the doorway.

  “What? But how--”

  “Don’t you worry about how,” he said. My mom’s smile turned strained, and I realized my dad must have talked her into selling some of her epic treasury of jewelry.

  “We settled up with the Callaways yesterday, so the title’s yours again.” My dad looked at me uncertainly. I realized my mouth was open. He’d really bought my car back for me?

  I ran to my parents and hugged them. If I’d ever worried that my dad hadn’t believed me about the arson charge--and I definitely had--the doubts were gone now. My dad handed me the keys. I hugged him again, then ran back to Cloudmonster. Alina had parked her Jaguar behind him and was shaking her head.

  “You and your Cloudmonster,” she said. I grinned.

  “Let’s drop the Jag at your place. We’re going for a drive!”

  ~ ~ ~

  On Thanksgiving, I woke up with a smile and an urge to bake. My parents weren’t close with our relatives, so when the Callaways didn’t go out of town we spent holiday dinners with them. My mom usually ordered apple pies from a gourmet bakery as our contribution, but I decided to make pumpkin cookies too.

  As I scooped batter onto sheets of parchment paper, though, my good mood faltered. Paxton had been avoiding me. Was he angry I was friends with Alina again? Did he think this was like seventh grade on repeat, and I was once more choosing her instead of him?

  The cookies came out perfectly, and I wrapped them up in parchment paper in one of the decorative metal tins my parents kept around for my creations. Homework occupied a few hours, but I kept glancing out my window at Paxton’s house. Finally I decided to go over early on the pretext of helping with set-up, so I took a shower, blow-dried my hair, and agonized in front of my closet before settling on a shoulder-baring summer dress the color of raspberries.

  Cradling my tin and my purse, I walked over to the Callaways. I knocked on the door with my heart in my throat, but it wasn’t Paxton who answered. “Hi, Mrs. Callaway,” I said. “My parents weren’t ready to come over yet, but I was bored. Do you need any help finishing up the cooking?” Rehearsed excuse launched, I held up my tin. “Oh, and I brought cookies!”

  “You are so sweet,” Mrs. Callaway said. She took the tin. “And don’t you look cute! You and your mother are always so put together.” A timer went off somewhere behind her, and she bustled away. I followed her into the kitchen, where she hunched over the stovetop. “Could you help Paxton set the table?” she asked. “I’m afraid he’ll drop something, and Juliette’s locked herself in her room.”

  Mrs. Callaway didn’t usually put up with sulking or whatever Juliette was doing, but I was too busy making a beeline for the dining room to ask why she was getting a pass today.

  Paxton was struggling to take a pile of salad plates from the mahogany china cabinet, a precarious task with only one free hand.

  “You know, if you take them one at a time you won’t drop them,” I said.

  Paxton’s shoulders stiffened. “Then I have to make eight thousand trips.” He slid the pile of plates alarmingly close to the edge of the shelf, and I hurried over.

  “Let me take them.” I put my hand on Paxton’s shoulder. Paxton jerked away, then stumped over on his crutch to sit in one of the carved wooden chairs. A little stricken by his reaction, I slowly started placing the salad dishes next to the dinner plates already set out.

  “Are you mad at me?” I asked.

  Paxton didn’t raise his glare from the crimson brocade tablecloth. “Why should I be mad at you?” It sounded rhetorical. And sarcastic. I plunked the last plate in front of him with more force than was necessary.

  “Well. As long as we cleared that up.” I returned to the china cabinet for the bowls that went on top of the salad plates. Silence thickened until I cleared my throat.

  “So I talked to--” I began, intending to say Alina, but Paxton cut me off.

  “I know what you’re doing, so you can just stop.”

  I paused with a bowl still in my hands. “What am I doing?”

  Paxton stood and braced himself on his crutch. “You’re breaking my fucking heart again,” he said, the quiet words flying at me like shrapnel. “And I’m letting you, because I’m a fucking idiot.” He crutched out of the dining room and into the kitchen.

  “Hi, hon,” I heard his mom say. “Here, the napkins are out of the dryer. Could you fold them like I showed you and put them on the table?”

  A long pause. “Sure, Mom.”

  I was still standing by the table with my mouth open when Paxton stumped back in, gold fabric crammed in his free hand.

  “Again?” I said, as if he hadn’t left at all. “What do you mean, again?” Paxton sat down at the table and started folding the napkins into an elongated triangle pattern, but ignoring me was so not going to work right now. I sat down next to him and put my hand on the pile of gold. “Why did you throw the cranberry juice on me at the dance, Paxton? It wasn’t because of the lunch table thing, was it.” I was pretty sure I’d figured out why, but I wanted him to say it.

  Paxton tried to grab the napkins away, but I held onto them. He let go with a sound of frustration. “Do you even remember when I asked you to go with me to that dance?”

  “Yes,” I said promptly, which seemed to surprise him. “You said, ‘as friends.’”

  Our gazes met, clashed. “Do you remember what you said?” Paxton asked.

  “That I was going alone, with a couple of the other girls.” My gaze flickered away, because I hadn’t wound up going alone after all. Paxton noticed, and smiled grimly.

  “But you didn’t. You went with Thomas Delancey, that asshole from our English class.”

  “He and his best friend asked me and Alina the day before the dance.” It had been my first date, and first double date. Thomas had been popular and cute. I’d been thrilled, as I hadn’t been when Paxton off-handedly suggested we pal around together. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d be weird about it.”

  “So you thought I’d be less weird if you slapped me in the face with it at the dance?”

  “I didn’t know you liked me.” I held my breath, but Paxton didn’t deny it.

  “Of course you didn’t. You didn’t see anyone who wasn’t in Alina’s circle of friends.” Paxton shook his head. “I was invisible all of a sudden. Completely invisible. When you told me you were there at the dance with Thomas, you weren’t even lo
oking at me.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  Paxton’s eyes narrowed. “I did.”

  “Verbally? Because I don’t speak cranberry.”

  Paxton flushed. “Why are you doing this? Do you get off on torturing me?” He tried to take the napkins again, but I held on.

  “What do you mean, torturing you?”

  Paxton pushed his chair back and grabbed his crutch.

  “You finish the damn napkins, then.”

  I stood up too, crushing gold fabric in my hands. “What are you talking about, Paxton? You’re the one who’s been ignoring me for days.”

  At the entrance of the dining room, Paxton paused and flung a glance at me.

  “Why do you care? You chose Ryan.” He swung out of sight.

  What the ... But before I could follow him, Mrs. Callaway walked in and frowned.

  “Hasn’t Paxton finished those napkins yet?”

  “I ... I told him I’d do them,” I said, and sat back down. My mind raced, and so did my fingers. As soon as I finished the last napkin I charged out to find Paxton, but then Mrs. Callaway asked me to put the rolls in the oven. For the next fifteen minutes she kept me busy pouring drinks and getting food into serving dishes on the sideboard.

  My parents showed up as I took the rolls out. Mr. Callaway called hello as he carved the turkey. The desserts my mom brought went next to my cookies on a table in the den, and before I knew it we were all sitting down to dinner. The adults were at one end of the table, my parents across from the Callaways. I sat next to my mom and across from Paxton. Juliette was at the foot of the table, between me and her brother. I stared at Paxton, whose gaze touched on everyone, everything in the room but me.

  The adults chatted easily as we ate. Usually Paxton and I took part in their conversation, part of our routine at holidays; the more we talked to them, the less we had to fake politeness to each other. But today I barely heard the voices in the room. Setting Paxton straight about Ryan had become more important than turkey and stuffing, and my preoccupation even turned the sugared sweet potatoes to clay in my mouth.

  Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore, and nudged Paxton’s unhurt foot under the table. His gaze snapped to mine. I opened my mouth, wondering how I could bring this up without everyone else at the table knowing what we were talking about.

  “Why would you think that?” I asked. Paxton’s eyes narrowed.

  “Think what?”

  “Think I chose ...” I glanced at Juliette. She’d been quiet so far, but now she glanced up curiously. “Um, oak. Over ... cedar,” I improvised, hoping Paxton would understand. Did he know he smelled like the cedar disks his mom put in his dresser?

  “Oak over cedar?” Juliette asked. “What, is this a school project?” I nodded absently, and she propped her elbow on the table. “What are you making?”

  “A sculpture,” I said, still staring at Paxton. “Why would you think that?” I asked again.

  “Because oak said so,” Paxton said flatly.

  “I didn’t know wood could speak,” Juliette joked. “I want a talking sculpture.”

  My mouth had dropped open. “He said what?” Paxton just raised his brows. “He either majorly misinterpreted our talk, or he’s lying,” I said. Had Ryan assumed I was playing hard to get or some stupid thing?

  “Wooden sculptures are known to lie,” Juliette deadpanned.

  “He didn’t sound like he was lying,” Paxton said.

  “I told him specifically that I wasn’t ... carving anything until I cleared my ... schedule.” Did that make any sense?

  “Okay, I am beyond lost now.” Juliette looked from me to Paxton, who leaned forward.

  “And after you clear your schedule?”

  “That’s why I wanted to talk to cedar.” I put down my fork. “But cedar’s been avoiding me.”

  “What the hell?” Juliette waited, but neither of us broke eye contact to answer. She sat back in disgust. “Fine. Great. I get it--this is one of your stupid pranks, and I’m the butt of it. Make Juliette feel dumb. Ha freaking ha.”

  “What’s wrong, honey?” That was from Mrs. Callaway.

  “Nothing,” Juliette said loudly. “I was just congratulating Rose on getting her car back.”

  Surprised, I broke Paxton’s gaze to meet hers. “What?”

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said sarcastically. “Now I get to be carless. Again.”

  “Juliette,” Mr. Callaway said in a warning voice. “We talked about this.”

  Juliette subsided, but gave her mashed potatoes the evil eye.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” my dad said. “I didn’t even think about Juliette not having a car now.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mr. Callaway said. “With all Rose has been through recently, we thought she deserved something fun.” He smiled down the table at me.

  “I don’t believe this.” Juliette pushed back from the table.

  “Where are you going, young lady?” her mom asked as she brushed past.

  “To the bathroom!” Juliette shouted from the hall. Her feet sounded on the stairs.

  “Must be the upstairs bathroom,” my mom said lightly, and distracted the Callaways with some tidbit of gossip about one of their clubhouse friends.

  “So you’re not with him?” Paxton asked. I shook my head. Red crept up Paxton’s neck, as if he felt like an idiot for jumping to conclusions. Good. Then his gaze dropped to my lips, as if he were remembering our kiss. Like I was. I felt myself flush. I dropped my gaze to my plate, but barely tasted the rest of the meal.

  Finally the adults began to groan about being full. When they moved into the den for more wine Paxton glanced at me and cocked his head towards the backyard. I nodded, hoping my face wasn’t on fire. Paxton stood and braced himself on his crutch.

  “We’ll be outside,” he told his parents. “The lawn dart set is still in the shed, right?” His mom said yes, and we made our escape. Excusing ourselves like this was also part of our holiday-pretend-to-get-along routine, but usually he went to play video games solo in the den while I read a book on the deck or something.

  Tonight, though, we headed outside together.

  Dusk was in its early stages, softening edges with shadow. I followed Paxton across the deck and down past the pool. We went to the shed, but instead of opening it Paxton glanced back at the house, grinned, and pulled me around the corner. The shed was at the edge of the pool area where concrete gave way to earth, and I stumbled on the two-inch drop. I wound up falling against Paxton.

  Which, coincidentally, was right where I wanted to be.

  Our eyes met. His were dark in the shadows but bright at the same time, and I nearly drowned in them. Paxton’s hand on my wrist was warm, and sent my heart into flips and tumbles. My lips found Paxton’s, and then we were kissing frantically in the semi-dark, Paxton propped on his crutch and against the wooden shed. I leaned into him as if I could kiss the last few days of awkwardness right out of existence.

  Paxton’s hands abandoned his crutch for me, and it slid and bumped to the grassy lawn. Paxton turned us so I was the one against the shed now. I pulled him against me and lost myself to his mouth, his touch, the way his back felt under my fingertips.

  “You make me crazy, Rose,” Paxton murmured against my neck. “You make me so crazy.” His mouth was at my ear. His teeth closed on my earlobe in a hard nip and I don’t know where he learned to do that but ohmyGod I nearly died right there. A sound came from my throat, and I wedged myself up against the shed and wrapped one leg around Paxton’s waist, then the other. I felt like we were consuming each other in a ball of fire.

  Paxton’s hands went to my bare legs to brace them, but then they slid up my thighs and under the ridden-up hem of my dress.

  Somewher
e in all the shifting, though, Paxton lost his balance, and since he only had one good leg to hold both of us up, suddenly we were falling to the grass. Paxton twisted so he landed under me, and I barely felt the impact.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, worried his broken ankle had been wrenched, but Paxton just laughed and pulled my head down for another kiss. I cradled his head so it didn’t touch the ground, and shifted so I was straddling him. Paxton’s hands started at my knees and slid breathtakingly upwards, then roamed, and I couldn’t think anymore.

  And I wanted ... I wanted ...

  Paxton wanted it too, that much was obvious from his body under mine. We ground together, lost in sensation until finally Paxton lay his head back against the grass and groaned. His breaths came fast; his face was flushed. I bet I looked the same. I put my forehead to his, and we breathed together. His mouth opened under mine.

  “I don’t suppose you have ...” Paxton trailed off, but I knew what he was asking. I raised my head.

  “A condom hidden in my dress somewhere?” I smiled. “I think you would have found it by now.” We stared at each other, lost together on the edge of something, and I felt so full of want that I had to look away. A stray thought crossed my mind, and I glanced behind me at Paxton’s cast. “Can you even ...”

  Paxton propped himself up on his elbows. He looked slightly offended. “What do you mean, can I even?”

  “I meant with your ankle,” I said, and kissed him.

  “Screw my ankle,” he said breathlessly when we came up for air.

  “I don’t think that’s the way it’s supposed to work,” I said, and we laughed.

  “We have to talk about this,” I said, tracing the line of his jaw with my thumb.

  “This?” Paxton leaned into my touch, his eyes closed.

  “You know. Us.” I held my breath. Surely he wanted an ‘us’? Paxton opened his eyes, then pulled back a little. He stared up at me with an odd expression. I caught a tinge of guilt, as if he were remembering that Ryan thought I was, or would be, with him.