Wicked Sense (36 page)

“What’s wrong?” I ask after we make out. “I mean, besides…” I let my voice trail.

We’re at Priscilla’s—now Drake
’s
and mine—
hidden
picnic table behind the building.

“I’m not worried about you,” he says. “I mean, you can detect Jane, and you showed me you can take care of yourself. But I wonder if she will go after me, you know?”

“After you?
She already went after you.
”

“After my family. It’s the oldest trick in the bad guy’s handbook, right? And
it would
be easy. Dad is so trusting, and Mona is already hanging out with
crazy people.
”

I don’t know what to say.

At
night,
I
get to
sleep
really
late,
concerned about Jane, the human wrecking ball
,
and all the other weird stuff. I wake up so tired that I don’t have the energy to be worried. My body just drags itself downstairs.

When I arrive at the kitchen, I see Dad drinking coffee. He sets the mug on the table deliberately.
A
big grin
lights up
his face.

“No work today?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

I’m too sleepy to inv
estigate further. I just pour myself
some coffee and munch on a
n
E
ggo
(a habit I retain from my toddler years).

Sounds come from upstairs. Mona
is
up, and she’s probably rummaging through her drawers.
D
oors
are
opened and closed, faucets turned on and off. I sip my coffee and
notice
some neatly stacked sheets of paper on the kitchen island. My brain is too sluggish to register
their
meaning
,
though.

Mona fi
nally comes to the kitchen. She’s
as surprise
d
as
me
when she sees Dad at home.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” she asks.

“Well, I live here,” he says, still grinning. What’s up with him?

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Renton by now?” Mona asks while
she steals
half of the
E
ggo
from my plate. I’m too slow to react.

“I’m going to Vegas today,” Dad says, and we can tell he’s been dying to say it for a while.
He glances from
me
to Mona and back, scrutinizing our reaction.

I finally feel strong enough to get back to the world of the living. “Are we that deep in debt? Are you trying to gamble your way now?”

Nothing fazes him and his (rare) grin.

“We have an IT convention in Las Vegas,” Dad says. “Tom was supposed to go, but he came down with the flu, and the company gave his spot to me.” Dad seems very satisfied with the arrangement.

Mona leans back on the counter. “Really? Because this sounds like an elaborate story.”

Dad goes on the defens
ive.
“No, I really have to go to Las Vegas. I’m a vendor. Look,
I have the badge and everything.
”
Beaming, he shows
us
a fancy name
card with the company’s name and the convention logo. I decide to have some fun

“
’
Shopped!”
I say.

“What?”
my father
asks, confused.

“I don’t
even
work with computers and I can
create a better Photoshop than that,
”
I explain, handing him back the badge.

He snatches it from my hands. “You two are impossible,
”
he mumbles.

“
Come on, Dad. It’s a joke…”

“Go have fun!
”
Mona says.

“
Yeah!” I say. “
Just don’t come back married, okay? I don’t want an exotic dancer as
a
stepmother.”

He chuckles, but his expression becomes solemn again.
He points to the papers on the counter. “I printed the hotel information and the whole schedule so you guys can find me if you need me. There’s an envelope with money for expenses, but only use it if you really need it.
The bills are paid, the fridge stocked.
”
He stares at us, and I recognize the same look he gave me when I was
six
and he left
me
at the
kindergarten
for the first time
. “Are you going to be okay? I have
to stay there until Friday, but I’ll call every night.”

“Don’t you gu
ys go out after the convention?”
I ask. Dad is reluctant to reply, so I go on, “Don’t worry about us. If we need somethin
g, we’ll call you. Just enjoy the trip
.”

He
nods, grateful, and
turns to Mona.
“I’ll be back with plenty of time for your birthday, sweetie. Any ideas for gifts?”

“A year in Europe?”
She raises her eyebrows. I can’t even tell if she’s serious about it.

“I can bring you a replica of the Eiffel Tower, what do you say?”

“A r
eplica of a replica? No, thanks,
”
Mona repli
es. She eats the last piece of
E
ggo
.
My
piece.

“I’ll surprise you, then,” Dad says.

I can’t shut up. “You already did
.”

***

After I tell Skye about my Dad’s impromptu trip,
her blue eyes sparkle.

“What about your sister?” she asks.

“
Mona,
the Q
ueen of
Dramaland
, informed me this morning
s
he’ll be staying over at Pain’s—her friend.
Sleepover
.”

“Interesting…
” Skye says. “So, you’re going to be home alone?”

I grin. “Yes…”

She slides her index finger
down
my chest. “I thought about something we could do.”

“I thought about it too,” I manage to say. It’s hard
to speak
while holding
my
breath.

“
Cool. We need a good plan for the search,
” s
he
says
,
excitedly
.

I feel like someone poured
icy
water on me. “What?”

Skye withdraws her wandering finger. “What? Isn’t it what you were thinking?”

“No
.
Not even close,” I say.

She bursts out laughing. When she sees my annoyed face, she stops. Unwillingly.
S
he
touches my face with
her hands
,
holding
my head between her palms
and
staring i
nto my eyes. “Now that you mention it—not that you actually mentioned it—I understand what you mean.”

I nod slowly, my head still
captive in her hands.

“It’s not a bad idea,” she says.

I hope I heard her
right. “You mean it?” I whisper.

But there it is, a slight hesitancy. In a
flash
, I feel hopeful, crushed, and guilty about our exchange. I don’t want to put pressure on her. Well, I’m not a
monk
, and I’d prefer not to wait forever, but the last
thing I want
is
to
leave
her i
n an uncomfortable spot.

“Why—why don’t you come over?
I’ll cook something, w
e can watch a stupid movie, and just, you know, be together,” I say. “No expectations,” I add, after a pause.

She shows me a sunny smile: a
n absolute, joyous smile.

Then she moves
closer
and kisses me. This kiss—
an enticing, lush display of passion—is nothing like we had ever had. It
tastes like
a juicy
fruit
,
a
scrumptious,
fleshy delicacy
. She pulls me to her
as if afraid
she might lose me
. For some reason, this
feeling of being desired
put
s
it
over the top for
me.

The kiss
moves instantaneously to the top spot of my “best
kisses
ever” list.
Fortunately, an ever-expanding list.
 

Drake picks me up
at home, under the suspi
cious glares of Aunt Gemma. Feigning
innocence
, I wave goodbye
. I had menti
oned to her that I might
arrive
home
late, if
not
at all, and we had a
nasty
discussion.

He doesn’t speak much on our way over. It’s weird going to spend the night, with the sun still up. Dusk won’t be upon us until around
seven o’clock.

He makes a point of opening the door
for me and letting me in first
.

The
house
is
neat—or maybe Drake slaved all afternoon to make it more presentable. We go through the kitchen to the
deck
.

“I hope you like
barbecue
,” he says.

He must see my eyebrows raising, because he adds, “I wanted to cook for you, but I don’t know how.
Barbecue
is a no-brainer.” He shrugs.
“Don’t worry, I know you don’t eat meat.”

“I love
grilled veggies,” I say
. He beams
and
proceeds to turn on the gas grill.

I look for a
n
MP3
player of some kind. When I ask Drake about it, he blushes a bit and points to a small pile of CDs by the home theater
system
. I browse through the plastic cases: it’s most
ly
emo
and
goth
bands, and some
indie
rock.
I smile: almost all the
indie
b
ands are
from the UK
.
Dirty Pretty Things,
the
Arctic Monkeys.
The last remnants of our
old e
mpire.

“Are all of those yours?” I
ask, raising my voice so he can hear me from the deck
.

“Only the
music
CDs. The
downer
bands are all Mona’s,” he yells back. He seems to be struggling with the
vegetables he intends to grill
.

So, Drake is a
rocker
—an endangered species. I still know so little about him…
Franz Ferdinand is
my choice.
I skip to the third track.
Through the patio door, I see Drake smiling softly when he hears the first riffs of
“
T
ake Me Out
.”
I’ll
leave the more romantic soundtrack for later; now I want to inject some life into the house.

I come to him and embrace him from behind. He leans back slightly, making the contact between our bodies more intimate, but he carries on with his cooking.

“What are you
making
?” I ask.

“I’m wrapping corn in aluminum foil, so it doesn’t burn. We’re also having
broccoli on the grill
.
I’ll cook your
boca
burgers and my
real
burgers later.
”

I give him a soft kiss on the back of his neck. “Mind if I look around?” I ask.

He hesitates
for
the tiniest of seconds, but point
s
to the inside of the house with his
barbecue
tongs.
“Go ahead,” he says.