The Secrets of Attraction (28 page)

Her eyes planted on mine. Gone was that hungry look. Her face was so neutral, she could have been ordering a chai from me. As if we hadn't swapped spit out in the pasture, or I hadn't saved her from a mutant buck, or dazzled her with my guitar prowess. Nada.

“Ah, yeah,” I said.

“Great.” She dug into her plate of eggs. Something tickled my foot. I flinched and looked under the table, expecting to see one of the dogs. Madison's socked foot slipped under the cuff of my jeans. Proof last night wasn't a dream. I bit back a grin and reached for some bacon.

After breakfast and showers and hair braiding, we said good-bye and started the long trek home. The farther away we got from my aunt's house, the more unreal it all seemed, at least to me. Madison stared out the window, taking in the scenery as we drove. It was a good day for a drive—perfect, cloudless blue sky and open roads.

When we hit the first two-lane road, I pulled into a gas station and shifted the car into park.

“Jess, I think it's closed.”

I unhooked my seat belt and leaned toward her, my hand in her hair. She paused, before bringing her face toward mine. Our lips touched, soft, sweet. I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining last night's starry sky, the perfection of that moment, of this one, of her. Her tongue teased mine as we kissed deeper. I could not get enough of her. I kissed the tip of her nose, her forehead, finally breaking away.

“I wanted to do that all morning,” I said.

She put her fingers to her lips and smiled. “Me too. Does it have to end? Can't we just go back? Screw school.”

“We could squat at Fallingwater. You could sketch.” I pulled the car back onto the road.

“And you could entertain everyone with your guitar. Could you imagine? How freakin' awesome would that be?” She hunkered down, propped her feet on the dash, and put her hand over mine, nudging her index finger underneath my pinkie on the eight-ball stick shift. I smiled.

“Although, we couldn't walk around naked or anything,” she said.

I laughed. “Are you trying to make me drive off the road?”‘

“Never.” She squeezed my hand.

“We could just live in that guesthouse, have our own private pool.”

“You
were
paying attention.”

“Of course,” I said.

I could have driven like that forever, just one long winding road, with Madison holding my hand. My mind kept interrupting, though—making me
think
. Questions I was afraid to ask because I knew they would wreck the mood, but I wanted to know the answers anyway. What were we doing? Could I kiss her again?
Were we . . . together?

Why ruin the moment with reality?

Madison spoke first.

“So . . . why did you and Hannah break up?”

Ah, so she had questions too.

“Where's my grape?”

She smiled. “No grapes today. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want.”

I peeked over at her. She chewed her thumbnail and studied my face. Talking about Hannah didn't bother me, but the dose of reality made it seem like Hannah was in the backseat, leaning forward, waiting to hear what I would say about her.

“It's cool. Ask away.”

“How long were you together?”

“Forever.”

She shifted in the seat, taking her feet off the dash. “Hmm, that sounds like a long time.”

“We live on the same block, so I don't know, it has always sort of felt that way, but we weren't
together
, together until the end of her freshman year.”

I spilled more than I planned, but something about being behind the wheel, driving through the mountains, not looking her in the eyes—made it easier to talk.

“What made you break up?”

“You'd have to ask her.”

“So
you
didn't want to break up?”

There was something in the tone of her voice that made me want to change the subject. The whispering, sexy, chivalrous guitar god was turning back into average-Joe barista in the noonday sun.

“I, um . . . at the time, I guess no. I didn't really expect it, I was sort of blindsided. They're happy together—it hurt to see them like that at first, but now, it's okay I guess. I mean, I don't want to hang out with them or anything, but, you know, if I bump into them, I think I'll be all right.”

“Did you break up because of the drummer?”

“At first I thought so, but it was more than that. We didn't spend any time together. And then I was late for her birthday party. Sweet sixteen. Shitty thing to do, but at the time—”

“Her birthday?”

“Yeah.”

Her brow furrowed. “Ironic, no?”

“Huh?”

“Think about it. We just had this awesome time for my birthday. Maybe you're trying to make up for that. Subconsciously or something?”

“No. That's ridiculous.”
Wasn't it?

She laughed. “Chill, Jess, I'm just fooling around. Wielding my AP Psychology knowledge. I didn't mean to hit a nerve. Sorry.”

“You didn't hit a nerve.”

She curled her feet underneath her and fiddled with the radio.

“Man, do you think we can find a station without static?” She fiddled around until she hit upon what sounded like a pop station. Closed her eyes. End of conversation.

Was it true? Had I just orchestrated this whole thing for Madison's birthday because I was still somehow trying to make up for my mistake? No.
No
. The truth was . . . it never would have occurred to me to do something like that for Hannah, and that made me feel worse. My relationship with Hannah had been easy, I never had to work for any of it. She was pretty and easy to talk to and we had this history, but Madison challenged me. I'd wanted to surprise her, to do something that would really matter. I was over Hannah. Over us. And our breakup had nothing to do with Duncan and everything to do with me.

We finally reached Madison's house at dusk. I pulled into the spot in front of her house and killed the ignition. I'd been so confident after last night, and in the morning when I'd pulled over at the gas station, but in our everyday reality, the spell was broken. She made a move to get out.

“Wait,” I said.

“What's up?”

“What you said before—the whole subconscious thing—”

She slumped back down into the seat. “Jess, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I was being a smartass. That's sort of what I do, when things get too real.”

“Real?”

“The past twenty-four hours have been maybe some of the best of my life. It flew by, and the thing is—I never even thought about wanting to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else. It was nice.”

She played with the string on my hoodie, pulled me close.

“I like you, Madison. I didn't do this to make up for anything. I did it for you. And I really hope we can do this again. Not this exactly, but do stuff. Together.”

Maybe I
was
being too real, but I couldn't help it.

“Me too, Jesse,” she whispered, and put her lips to mine. “Walk me up?”

“Yes.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

JESSE SLUNG MY BAG OVER HIS SHOULDER AND WE
walked up the stairs to my porch. Normally I climbed them two at a time, but I took it slow, feeling the railing under my fingertips, clinging to the last moments of our road trip, because once we said good-bye, Fallingwater would be in the past. A memory. I wasn't ready for that. I hadn't even given Jesse back his jacket. Maybe if I didn't say anything, I could keep it overnight, wear it to school, keep the weekend alive even in a small way.

The porch light was on, but the house was dark.
Odd
. My mother was supposed to have been finished with her RYT class by early afternoon. Her car was in the driveway. She should have been home. Not that I expected a welcoming committee but I thought at least she'd want to hear how my unofficial birthday road trip went. Whatever.

“I need my bag,” I said. Jesse handed it to me and I knelt down to rummage through the side compartment for my keys. I tucked them into my pocket, rezipped the bag, and stood up. A few weeks ago when I'd dyed his hair, Jesse and I'd been in the same face-to-face position to say good-bye. I'd thought about kissing him then, but now I wanted to act on it. I tugged his hoodie strings.

“Come here.”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

He smiled under my kiss, then finally surrendered to my persuasive tongue. I'd spent the better part of last night tossing and turning, imagining what might have been if his Aunt Julia hadn't greeted us with cocoa. This was worth the wait. I pulled back. Why not take advantage of my mother's absence?

“Wanna come in for a bit?”

He scratched the back of his head. “Uhhh—”

“Or not, I just thought—”

“Yeah, sure. Kind of not ready to go home yet.”

My fingers were noodles, useless after the kiss.
Key in lock, Mads.

I finally turned the knob, and pushed open the door. The house was still.

“Hello?” I called, shutting the door behind us.

Silence.

I walked through the kitchen and flicked on the light. Everything was in place. Not even a note on the table. Living room the same. Then I took a breath and creaked up the stairs.

“Hello?”

I turned on the lamp at the top landing. All the doors on the second floor were open.

We were alone. For how long I wasn't sure, but I didn't care. My mother obviously didn't either or else she would have been home.

Jesse stood at the foot of the stairs. Waiting. I slipped off the jacket and hung it over the bannister. I raked my fingers through his hair.

“Close your eyes.”

“Madison.”

“Trust me.”

He relented.

“So we're walking back from the meadow and no one is awake—what would we have done?”

I brought my forehead to his, tracing his lips with the tip of my tongue. His hands found my waist, caressed the curve of my hips as he kissed me full, taking my tongue in his mouth. I threw my arms around him, closing the space between us. He staggered back and my feet left the ground. I wrapped my legs around him, but the momentum made us fall back onto the stairs. My butt at least softened the blow. His hands were on either side of me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Just kiss me.” For the moment his mouth was the perfect sedative, and who cared if we were in this awkward position on the stairs—they always did this sort of thing in the movies, fade to black. The reality was different, though, and about a minute in, the pain in my back went from dull to sharp. My spine wasn't meant to follow the angles of stairs while Jesse did the equivalent of a push-up—breaking the laws of our own organic architecture.

“Maybe we should take this somewhere else,” I said between kisses.

“Mmmm . . .”

“Come on, Jess.”

As we got to my bedroom door, my mother's face popped into my head. What if she came home now, would it piss her off? I turned on my bedside lamp, and Jesse's eyes wandered the room.

“Hey, you did this?” He pointed to a model of Hearst Tower on top of my dresser, which I'd built out of Popsicle sticks for a sophomore art project.

“Guilty. I love that design.”

“Cool,” he said, moving over to my desk. I resisted the urge to dart in front of him and body-block it. It was a disaster zone. Koh-I-Noor pens with missing caps, crumpled paper with failed drafting attempts, rubber-band bracelets that I still wore sometimes. I noticed something else, something he was about to pick up.

“Oh, um.”

I froze, fingers up my lips. My cheeks burned. I normally didn't blush but it felt like I could light the whole room. This was too personal. For both of us. He looked at the sketch—the one I drew from the picture of him from that night at the Sadie Hawkins Dance—without saying a word. I wouldn't have blamed him if he wanted to leave—I wanted to leave. Why had I asked him in? Where the heck was my mother when I needed her to intrude?

“Is this—?”

“You? Yes.” I stepped from one foot to the other. “From that night at the dance. You were in the background of this picture I took and when I saw it I thought—it made me wonder what you were looking at, and I just started doodling and, I know, it's awful.”

“No it's not.” He tilted his head as he studied the sketch.

The question that inspired me to draw the picture prodded my brain.

“Were you really just there to see the band that night?”

He nodded, placed the paper back on the desk, and turned to me. His eyes were different, or maybe I was—he had the upper hand, he knew somehow he had caught a glimpse of me in that picture. He knew that I thought about him. I stepped back as he came toward me.