For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (13 page)

    
His tone carries me to deeper, more disturbing thoughts.  I assumed Tamrin’s issues were entirely psychological, but with this weird development of people scratching him, there might be a reason he retreats to his fantasy world.  He’s trying to hide the ugly truth of an abusive home-life.  I can’t kick him out.  He has nowhere to go.

    
“Are you listening?” Tamrin interrupts. 

    
I look up from his hands and stare at his mouth.  His lips purse, like trying to come off as stern and forceful.  In my mind he looks kissable.  It's a shame he's so messed up.  It’s terrible anyone would want to hurt him.  Maybe he’s right?  Maybe no one is hurting him.  Maybe he voluntarily sleeps around.  I read that sex is a way for a man to bond?  Maybe he’s trying to find love because he has none at home?

    
It’s not right.  He shouldn’t have to sacrifice like that.  He deserves someone who loves him for more than his really, really good genes…

    
“Jeanette?” He tries to reel me back in, but I'm too fascinated with how his mouth forms the two syllables of my name.

    
Something warm and firm is pressed against my shoulder.  I glance at Tamrin's hand on my shoulder.

    
“Are you all right?” he asks, voice dripping concern.

    
I try to look unfazed.  “Yeah, why?”

    
Tamrin focuses at my chest and his brow creases.  “Your heart is racing.”

    
“What?” I squeak.  I press my hand to my chest.  My heart hammers against my palm.

    
“You look flushed, maybe you need some water,” he suggests.  He's half-way out of his seat and heading toward the bathroom before I catch his hand.  His fingers wrap around mine like a reflex.  Tamrin stares at his hand like it’s done something against his will.

    
“I-I'm fine, let’s just finish.”

    
Tamrin turns the distrustful glare on me then back to his fingers.  They twitch a couple of times before they slowly release my hand, letting it drop into my lap.  His mouth opens, but instead of speaking, he focuses on the rose sitting next to us.  Before we sat to study, he scooped up all the petals and put them into the heart-shaped crystal candy dish I normally keep paper clips in.  A fresh petal has fallen.

    
As he picks up the petal, his hand shakes.  He flips the petal over and over between his fingers, his hands working in a gentle, expert familiarity I find mesmerizing.  Needing some sort of noise to drive out the sound of my pulse thundering in my ears, I say, “I don’t get it.  It’s not wilting, but the petals are falling off.”

    
Shrugging, Tamrin puts the petal in the dish.  “It’s a magic rose.”  He picks up the dish and glances around the room.  “Do you have a place where you hide things?”

    
“What?”

    
“A hiding place,” he says impatiently.

    
“Uh,” I falter, confused.  As if my breath carries the force of the west wind, another petal falls from the rose.

    
He growls to himself.  “Never mind.”  He scoops up the newly fallen petal, sticks it in the dish, then replaces the top with a
clop
and heads for my dresser.

    
In slack-jawed horror I watch him open my underwear drawer and dig a path to the back.  He pulls out a hidden box of strawberry Pocky, replaces it with the dish, and covers it with a particularly sexy pair of lacy, Victoria’s Secret underwear Amber convinced me to buy when we went Christmas shopping last year.  I feel my cheeks burn and when he turns and leans against the drawer to close it, I avoid meeting his gaze.

    
I hear him open the box of Pocky.  “You’d think a girl your age would have something more condemning to hide than snacks.”  His voice sounds muffled and I know he’s got a stick of Pocky in his mouth.

    
I bite my cheek.  “I’m allergic to strawberries.”  It’s not a lie, but it’s not the reason why the candy is there either.

    
“So, you keep this stuff around in case you need to off yourself?” he muses. 

    
“No, I have you to do that for me,” I mutter sarcastically.

    
Chuckling, he says, “Does this stuff even have real strawberries in it?”

    
I glance over the rim of my glasses to find him examining the ingredient list.  “It’s not for eating.  It’s for smelling.”  Because Timmy ate strawberry Pocky all the time and smelling it reminds me of him.

    
His jaw stops working as he holds the box up to his nose and takes a slow inhale.  His eyes flutter closed and it seems like he’s savoring the scent.  At my elbow three more petals fall off of the rose.  I stare at them, and for a moment, a wild horror gallops through my stomach.

    
“I think we should put this thing in water or something.  It’s losing petals like crazy,” I suggest, but when I turn back to Tamrin, my concern for the rose is forgotten.

    
His eyes are wide and look glassy, entranced, distant – like he’s coming out of a daydream or a drug stupor.  He fixes on me, and the expression becomes so intense that a jolt below my stomach coils to my toes.  The look is possessive, knowing, and mockingly familiar.  My heart skips and then thumps erratically. 

    
Alarm shoots through him and he drops the Pocky on the floor, his expression disappearing behind wild, panicked eyes.  “Your heart– What’s wrong?” He sounds genuinely scared. 

    
Does he think I’m going to drop dead of a heart attack right here?  Well, maybe I am.  “What?  What do you mean what’s wrong?”  I can’t help how shrill my voice is.  “Don’t stare at me like you’re peeling off my clothes with your mind and then be all ‘
what’s wrong
’ when I freak out.”

    
The electrical vibration of the garage door makes both of us jump.  I glance at the floor.  “Dad’s home.”

    
Tamrin doesn’t speak.  He stares at me, still as a Pointer.  Clearing my throat, I turn away and pretend to read.  I sense more than see Tamrin wander out of the room.  A moment later, I hear Dad’s footsteps on the stairs. 

    
I take a deep breath and let it out with a squeak as Dad pokes his head through my doorway.  “Hey, kiddo.”

    
“Hey.”

    
He slips into the room.  “Guess it was too much to hope you had started dinner, huh?”

    
I face-palm.  “Oh!  Sorry, I completely forgot.  I got so caught up with homework.”

    
He smiles.  “Homework?”

    
“Yeah,” I say, sounding confused.  “It’s not like I don’t do my homework on a regular basis.”  Geez, get one F and suddenly the career of straight As and Bs is forgotten and you’re on route to a maximum security prison.

    
Dad starts to say something, but I’m saved by the toilet flushing down the hall.  Dad stares at the doorway until the occupant finishes washing his hands and steps into my room.  Tamrin.

    
My body assumes rigor mortis and I crumple my study guide in my sweating palms as Tamrin shoves his hands in his uniform pockets and saunters into the room.  He gives a wave to Dad and offers a “Hi, Mr. Sauderheim,” as he walks by. 

    
“Hey, Tam,” Dad says absently.

    
My jaw falls, but I suck it up when Dad turns toward me.  “Are you two getting any work done up here?”

    
Tamrin answers.  “No, not really, but we will.”

    
“Oh,” Dad breathes with a shrug.  “Well, let me know when you want dinner.”  He disappears and I listen to him thump down the steps.

    
Tamrin heads out of the room before I collect my shattered brain.  “I’m thirsty, you want anything?”

    
At my silent response, he shrugs and follows my father.  A heartbeat later, I’m on my feet, scattering papers across the floor, and thundering down the stairs.  I skid into the kitchen and slip past the counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area.  “What was that?” I demand.

    
Tamrin glances at me from behind the bottle of Vitamin Water he’s claimed.  XXX flavored.  How cute.  He lowers the bottle.  “What?”

    
“Did you drug my dad or something?  He’d never be okay with a guy alone with me in the house.  And how does he know your name?”

    
Tamrin grins wickedly, knocking my stomach across the room.  I almost feel it hit the wall of cabinets and squeal with some strange mixture of delight and bewilderment.

    
“That disgusting habit I have has some very beneficial side effects.” His voice is a smooth mockery.  “Believe it or not, I’m good at what I do.  I get paid well.”

    
I want to snatch the bottle of Vitamin Water out of his hand and beat him over the head with it.  “What. Did. You. Do. To. My. Dad?”

    
“He’s fine, calm down.”  He turns his attention back to the open fridge.  “What do you want for dinner?  Something heart healthy.  Salmon?  That’d be good, lots of Omega-3.  And maybe some spinach, you’re low on lutein and B-vitamins today,” he muses.

    
“How do you know what I’m short on?”

    
Tamrin braces his elbows on the refrigerator door and leans forward until his face is less than an inch from mine.  “I know all about your body Jean, especially your heart.”

    
I want to yell at him for calling me Jean again, but I’m too busy melting to the linoleum floor. 
God, where does he get that voice?  And those eyes?
They rove over me like he does know.  A sudden sickness takes hold.  Oh crap, what if he really does know?  What if he’s a creepy Peeping Tom?  I mean, he knows where I live.  What if he watches me through the windows?  What if he felt me up while I was sleeping last night?

    
He straightens.  “I had to pay to be able to do that.  Just like I had to pay to learn Spanish and for acceptance from your family, friends, and school, but I figured it’s the investment that gave me the best return.  If I want your heart to be perfect, then I need to make sure you are taking proper care of it.  I should get you on a treadmill.  I’m worried you’re not getting enough cardio-exercise, but if your heart keeps racing even while you’re standing around that’s enough, I guess.  You should lay off the sweets.”

    
My cheeks heat up a little more.  “A-are you calling me fat?”

    
Tamrin gives me a surprised look and begins thinking.  No, not thinking, assessing – like he’s taking BMI measurements with his eyes.  “Maybe you could lose a little bit of body fat,” he says, voice clinical.

    
I’m about to punch him in the pretty nose when he cocks his head and makes a pouty face.  “Shame though, I like you the way you are.  But this isn’t about what I want, now is it?”

    
“Then what
is
it about?” I ask, stepping out of his way as he closes the fridge and deposits my heart healthy dinner on the counter.  Salmon, spinach, and sweet potatoes.  I suppose it would be too much to hope he’ll smother the latter with butter and brown sugar.    

    
Tamrin turns to me, his expression grave.  “Keeping both of us alive.  At least, until I have to kill you.”

Tamrin

     Jeanette stares at me like she doesn’t believe the words that came out of my mouth.  Why doesn’t she ever believe me? 
I’ve never lied to her, I never would.
  Oh really?  I demand of my new secondary instinct on how to interact with Jeanette. 
Really.
  I don’t know why I’m arguing with myself when I already know it’s true.  I wouldn’t lie to her.

    
For some reason, I
get
Jeanette and how to work with her better than any other woman.  And I’ve been with many.  It’s like she’s a long-lost limb.  I even know how to look at her to get her to derail completely.  It’s pretty fun, actually.  The whole secondary instinct thing is weird, but it’s making my adjustment to this arrangement move progressively faster.  The familiarity must come from the fact I’ve visited her every morning for the past few years, I probably subconsciously learned her body language.

    
Her father comes around the corner, rubbing his hands together like they itch.  He catches the intensity between Jeanette and me and stops mid-stride.  “Am I interrupting something?”

    
Blushing, Jeanette ducks her head and takes two steps away from me.  I sense her floundering for something to say and the red in her cheeks rises at the same rate her heart does.  I really need to get her away from sweets, they’re doing crazy things to her blood-sugar levels to make her heart this sporadic.