Fairest (3 page)

“Reality check,” I told myself and batted away that thought.

I decided I could stay in New York for the weekend, fly down to New Orleans on Sunday, see the show Monday, and then fly to Savannah on Tuesday. It could work if I was sneaky enough.

There was no way my daddy would agree to let me go to New Orleans by myself, but I had a feeling Lizette would. She attempted to mother me by offering me advice on boys and buying me all sorts of expensive clothes and shoes. At ten years younger than my daddy, she was more like a thirty-seven-year-old sister than a mother. As such, she tended to let me do things that a parent wouldn't. I dialed Savannah.

The phone rang several times, but no one answered. Even better. When the answering machine picked up, I said, “Hi, Lizette. I got Daddy's text. I'm going to swing by New Orleans and see Shinedown at the House of Blues on Monday night. I'll fly to Savannah on Tuesday. I've got my phone, so call or text me if you need to. Bye.”

Confident she wouldn't call back and tell me no, I bought the plane and concert tickets, and I booked a room at the Riverwalk Hilton. After that, I shut down my laptop and changed into my comfy, Irstwitch sweats. To get in the mood, I cued up some Shinedown and Paramore on my MP3 player and hooked it to my daddy's awesome stereo.

While I made chicken and rice, I sang away all the anger and confusion of the day. By the time dinner was ready, I felt a hundred times better.

My daddy called me around eight to apologize for missing our week. He didn't mention New Orleans, so I guessed that he hadn't spoken to Lizette, she hadn't gotten my message yet, or she just didn't tell him about my plans.

“So, how's school?” he asked.

“I've got A's. I'm tutoring for community service. It's good.” While we chatted, I finished washing the dishes and putting away leftovers.

“What about friends or, ah, boyfriends?”

“I've got some girls I talk to,” I fudged. I spoke to classmates and dorm mates in passing. “No boyfriend.”

“Hmmm…that doesn't sound like friends, though.”

I sighed as I took my glass of tea and sat on the sofa. “It's good, Daddy.” After having been made fun of for being poor, I couldn't tell him that the kids now made fun of me for the reason we were now wealthy. My phone beeped to tell me I had another call. When I checked, it was Whit. “Daddy, that's one of my friends calling, now.”

“Oh, well, by all means, sweetie. Talk to ‘em. Love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy.” I never hung up first. I always waited on him. Once I heard the beep that ended the call, I switched over to Whit. “Hey.”

“Hey. Did you lock the door? We aren't in BFE, Connecticut, anymore.”

“Yeah, I locked it.” I got up and double-checked before walking over to the TV and grabbing the remote from on top of it.

“Did you eat?”

“It's after eight. So, yeah.”

“Oh. Must be a southern thing to eat early,” he muttered. “Well, what did you have?”

“Whit, do you really care what I ate?” I aimed the remote at the TV and punched the power button.

“Yes.”

I flicked through the few channels I tended to watch. Nothing looked too interesting, but there was a movie on SyFy. I flipped to it.

“Fine. Chicken and rice.”

“Where did you order that?”

I snorted out a laugh. “I didn't order it. I
made
it.”

“You cook?” He sounded amazed.

“Yeah. Not everyone grows up having a personal chef, you know.” The movie on SyFy looked terrible, so I sat down in the floor and opened the drawers of the entertainment center to look through the DVDs. “See, my daddy was always working, so I learned. My stepmom doesn't cook, so I do it for him.”

“See,” Whit said, “you
are
sweet.”

“I love my daddy. It doesn't mean I'm sweet.”

“You put up with me.”

“Well, you need my help.” From the collection of movies, I chose
Juno
. “I'm also patient, but that still doesn't mean I'm sweet.”

“Yeah, well…I finally got you to tell me something about yourself.” I hadn't meant to do that. I'd just prattled on without thinking. I was mentally berating myself when Whit asked, “So, Skye. Will you buzz me up?”

“What?” I dropped the movie. I jogged down the hall and looked out the window of my bedroom. Whit was on the sidewalk in front of our building. “You're going to get robbed!”

“Then, let me up.” He looked up but walked to the door.

I grumbled something unpleasant, which made him laugh, and I walked back to the front door to buzz him into the building. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I called to ask you out and hoped that by being here, your southern manners wouldn't allow you to turn me down, again.”

“Who says I have good southern manners?”

A knock came on the door, and after I checked the peephole to make sure that it was Whit, I opened it.

“Well, you just let me in instead of sending me home,” he said into the phone and then touched the screen to end the call. He looked around, as if searching for something. “Where is your dad? I wanted to meet him.”

As I closed the door and locked it, I said, “He isn't here.” I went back to the entertainment center and picked up the movie. “He had to go to Japan.” I opened the case and took out the disc.

“You can't stay in the city by yourself for a week,” Whit said.

I slid the disc into the player and absently waved at him. “Don't worry about me. I'm flying out Sunday.”

“You'll be gone all week?” He sounded disappointed. “Then, you have to come to my party tomorrow night.”

I turned and frowned at him. “Why? Do you have some kind of bet with someone?”

“Oh my God, Skye. No.” He shook his head and then gripped the back of the sofa. “Is it so hard to believe that I like you, and I want to date you?”

I turned on the DVD player and tossed the remotes on the sofa. “Yeah.” I looked at him, all cute and angry, wrinkling the fabric of the sofa. “If you're hungry, I can warm you up a plate.”

He sighed, straightened, and said, “That would be nice.” I waited for him to take off his coat, and I hung it in the coat closet. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night. Then, come out to my parents' Hampton house with me. Meet them.”

Whit followed me into the kitchen and watched as I took out the container of leftovers and got down a plate. “You want me to meet your parents?” I eyed him as I shifted a large portion of chicken and rice onto the plate. He nodded. “Did you warn them?”

He rolled his eyes as I put his plate in the microwave. “I talked to my dad. He said he'd love to meet you.”

“Uh-huh.” I pressed the reheat button and got the tea pitcher out of the fridge. The glass Whit used during his earlier visit was in the dry side of the sink, so I picked it up and poured him some tea. “You told him you wanted to date Miss Cluck Moo, and he's excited about meeting me?”

“No. I said, ‘I really like this girl named Skye Daniels, and I want to date her, but she thinks I'm a douche.'” I laughed at that, which made him smile. “Then, I asked if he would meet you and use his mad, art-selling skills to convince you I'm sincere…but, yeah. I told him that your dad is Winston Daniels.”

The microwave beeped, and I took out the plate. After stirring everything and sticking my finger in it to make sure it was hot enough, I grabbed a fork, nodded my head at his glass of tea, and walked into the dining room. He picked up the glass and followed me. As I set the plate down, he shifted out chairs for both of us.

“And?” I gave him the fork and watched him dig into his food.

His brows darted up, and he looked at me. After covering his mouth, he said, “Wow, this is really good.”

“I got the recipe off the back of a can of Campbell's soup. So?” He looked at me. “Your dad?”

“I already told you. He said he would love to meet you.” He took a gulp of the tea and choked a bit. “This is more sugar than tea.”

I smiled at him. “That's the southern way.”

After Whit ate and got a tea refill, we sat on the sofa and watched
Juno
. Here we were, two teenagers sitting at home on a Friday night and watching movies, like normal people. It was something my daddy and Lizette didn't even do. While I listened to Juno and Bleeker sing to each other, I wondered about my daddy and Lizette.

He met her while on a business trip to Texas. Some men who wanted to open a Cluck Moo took him out one night, and he met Lizette at a karaoke bar. She had no idea he was rich, and he kept it from her right up until after he proposed.

At the time, I wondered why he married her. Now, I decided that maybe he was lonely. I believed that he loved Lizette, and I hoped she loved him as much as it appeared she did. He deserved a happy ending.

“What are you thinking about?” Whit asked me.

I turned to find him staring at me. “My daddy and stepmom.”

The credits were rolling, and being a gentleman, Whit got up to deal with the player. He went over to the entertainment center and dug around in the DVD drawer. I hadn't intended for him to get a new movie. Since it as after eleven, I assumed he would be going home. Instead, he put
Kill Bill: Volume One
in the DVD player.

“Really?” I asked.

“Uma Thurman rocks in this movie,” he insisted, sitting closer to me this time and starting the movie.

“I figured you would be bored with me by now.”

When I shifted away a bit, he moved closer to me and put his arm around the back of the sofa behind me. “To be so smart, you think some dumb things,” he said.

His fingertips rested on my shoulder, but his attention was on the movie. After the first few opening scenes, I relaxed, and when he hugged me closer into his side, I didn't fight it. He was incredibly warm, which I found comforting.

* * * *

“Skye,” Whit said on a sigh.

When the soft calling of my name woke me, I found we were on the sofa with Whit on his back and me atop him. My head rested on the right side of his chest with my hand over his left pec and his hand on top of mine. The TV was off, but the lights were still burning. When I looked up at Whit's face, his eyes were closed. He had said my name in his sleep.

“What?” I whispered and waited to see if he would speak, again.

“Mmmm.” He squeezed my hand gently, and then his hand slipped off to his side. His chest began to rise and fall more rapidly as his breathing increased. His face twitched, and I wondered if he was having a nightmare. His lips parted, and I watched his Adam's apple bob.

“Whit,” I whispered to him.

He made a small sound and then went still—so still that I moved my hand to make sure his heart still beat. If I hadn't seen his chest rise and fall, I might have thought something bad happened to him. After a few moments, he groaned and stretched. He opened his eyes, and he smiled. Then, his smile faltered, and his eyes went wide.

“Excuse me,” he said and quickly removed himself from under me and from the sofa.

I propped on my hand and watched him hurry out of the room. Moments later, the door to the bathroom banged shut. Fearing he might be sick, I got up and went to the door. Through it, I heard him swear.

“Whit, are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, but he sounded irritated.

“Did my food make you sick?”

“No. I'm fine, really. Just peeing.”

“You were cussing. Is it normal for you to cuss when you pee?” I heard the sink run, and then he yanked open the door. The front of his jeans looked damp. I hid my involuntary smile behind my hand. “Did you pee yourself?”

“No.” He snapped off the light. “I, ah, well…shit.”

“You
pooped
yourself?”

“No,” he said, outraged. “God, Skye.” Even in the darkened hallway, I could tell his face was red. “I…I had a wet dream, okay?”

My eyes went wide, and I continued to cover my smile. “You had a wet dream just now?”

He glared at me. “Yeah, ha-ha. You weren't laughing in my dream.”

“Oh? What was I doing in your dream?” I lowered my hand and bit my lower lip in hopes that the pain would help me stop smiling.

He tugged the bottom of his T-shirt down as far as it would go. “We were in the library, and you were tutoring me in Latin.”

“That doesn't sound, ah, wet dream worthy to me.”

“Well,” he smiled, now, “You were wearing that tank top from the photo, no bra. I was in my usual chair, and you,” his smile widened enough to show teeth, “shouted phrases while straddling and bouncing up and down on me. The librarian had to shush you.” My cheeks flushed. “It's so cute when you blush like that.” He laughed once. “You're embarrassed that I have sex dreams about you?”

“Well, yeah.” I stepped back to let him exit the bathroom. “I'm fifteen, and I don't think about…sex…very much. I'm tutoring you, and, uh…” I stammered.

“Well, how about kissing?”

“I don't think about that much, either.”

“You will,” he said.

This time, when he kissed me, he didn't hesitate or wait for me to respond. After the initial meeting of lips, he slid his tongue into my mouth. Not knowing what else to do, I wrapped my arms around his waist and tried to do what he did. When his hand cupped my breast, I jerked back from him.

“That's more than kissing,” I growled at him.

“What?” He shrugged. “I just wanted to see if I got the size right. You're hiding some nice boobs under your loose blouses and baggy sweatshirts.” I crossed my arms over my chest and strode back into the living room. “Oh, come on, Skye. I just jizzed in my pants—Lonely Island style—and you're the one who's embarrassed?”

I whirled to confront him. “You make me nervous.”

“Why?” Now, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Because I…Well, you know. I don't date. I didn't before I started at Irstwitch. You're the first person I've ever really kissed.” I looked away from him. “You have a lot more experience at that sort of thing, so you make me nervous.”