November 16, 2010

• nanowrimo, day sixteen (DOUBLE FEATURE TUESDAY!).

  ...I added what was going to be the beginning of tomorrow's chapter,
  since I love you (and I'm kind of on a roll, here). ♥ ENJOY! 

  

  The sun is hitting my face. There is a definite crick in my neck. My shoulder blades feel like they’ve been twisted into triple-knots. The side of my face is really hot, and my hair is a sweaty mess.

  I’m pretty sure I told Charlotte I wasn’t going to do any shots…

  “You didn’t,” says a luxuriant voice, rumbling just beneath my ear.

  I jump up, screaming, and hitting my head on something very hard. I fall over something solid, and land on my back with my feet in the air.

  “Georgia, relax, what the hell--?” The raspy baritone registers in my brain as Lucas Browning.

  “What the hell, what the hell?” I blink several times. “Oh my God, I’m half blind!”

  “No you’re not, your contact probably just moved,” Charlotte says groggily from nearby.

  “What the hell?” My mind is going down a very disturbing path.

  “Oh my… Georgia!” Nadia reaches over and smacks my head. “You really need to relax with the weird fantasies when readers are present.”

  “WHAT THE HELL?” I repeat, as no one has explained anything to me yet.

  “Georgia,” Lucas yawns, “We all fell asleep in the car last night.”

  He is surprisingly undisturbed by the sick turn my thoughts have taken.

  “You didn’t even have a drink, stupid,” Charlotte rolls her eyes, trying to pat down her wild blonde mane.

  “Thank God,” I sigh, and look around. “Why am I in the trunk?”

  “You just fell back there, loser. Geez, Lucas, did you slip something in her water bottle or what?” Charlotte snorts.

  I pop my head up from behind the backseat; my eyes are huge and wild.

  “No,” Lucas says toward me, holding up his hand that is twice the size of mine, his index finger upward. “I did not. Would not. Ever.”

  “You aren’t usually this incredibly paranoid when you first wake up, Georgia Lynn,” Charlotte shakes her head.

  “I don’t usually wake up on top of a man, Charlotte Reese,” I say with screeching sarcasm in my voice.

  “I would hope not,” Zahari snickers from the front passenger seat.

  I realize then that Lenny, Louise and Wyatt must’ve awakened and left before any of us noticed it was morning.

  “Lord,” Lucas mutters under his breath, covering his face. “Georgia, you make it sound so dirty.”

  I ignore him. “May I ask why we all decided to sleep in the car instead of walking up to the house and going into our own rooms?”

  “Because we were all too lazy,” Jonathan stretches his arms. “And my gift is not Superman’s strength, so I wasn’t carrying all of you up there with me.”

  “I already texted Lydia before I passed out,” Zahari assures me with a slight grin. “She was calling all of us thinking something horrible had happened. Now she just thinks we were all too drunk to walk up the stairs.”

  “Oh, well, drunk is better than dead,” Charlotte ponders aloud.

  I give her a look, surprised at her callous words. She shrugs.

  “And, Georgia, you were not on top of me,” Lucas growls, obviously unable to let that go. “You fell asleep on my shoulder and I move in my sleep. End of story.”

  “Riiight,” Charlotte mocks. “That’s what they all say.”

  “Shut up, Charlotte,” Nadia shoves her. “Georgia has enough of a complex about this whole thing.”

  “Hey!” I object.

  “It’s the whole KV thing,” Charlotte purses her lips like a psychotherapist.

  “Hey!” I object louder, hoping they will stop.

  “Kiss virgin?” Zahari pipes up from the front. “I knew that would really mess with her psyche when a man came into the picture.”

  “Oh gee, Zahari, like he can’t already read minds. Let’s make it audible,” I slap my forehead, and sink back down into the trunk.

  “I’m really hungry,” Jonathan says loudly. “Anybody else?”

  “I am,” Nadia agrees, looking over her shoulder at me with I’m sorry in her eyes.

  I roll mine.

  “What are you making?” Zahari grins, opening her door to follow his lead.

  “I’m hoping it’s beignets,” Charlotte hollers as she runs after them, “because those ones on Wednesday looked hardcore good.”

  “I second that,” Nadia says, closing the door behind her.

  That, of course, left Lucas and me alone.

  He is sitting up now, his arms resting on the seat between the headrests.

  “Kiss virgin?” he quirks his eyebrow.

  “Yes,” I say from my place a few feet from him, eyes covered by my arms. “It’s humiliating. I’m in my twenties and I’ve never been kissed.”

  “I can’t imagine someone not trying, or at least wanting, to kiss you,” he says.

  I smile, keeping my eyes covered.

  “It was by choice, actually. When I was seventeen, and had my first serious boyfriend, I—“

  “Your first serious boyfriend was when you were seventeen?”

  I sit up, to look at him while I explain. “Shut up. Long story short, I decided that kissing just lead to other sexual temptation I didn’t want to be a part of. So, I swore it off. My boyfriend agreed with me, and when we broke up we still had never kissed.”

  “He agreed with you?” Both of his eyebrows are raised now.

  “Yes,” I shrug. “He was very supportive.”

  Lucas’s lips tilt into a mischievous grin. “He is also gay.”

  “What?” I screw up my face. “No, he isn’t. Or, at least, he wasn’t.”

  “Yes, he is,” Lucas shakes his head. “Any man who is with a gorgeous woman, and abstains from even kissing her, likes the boys.”

  I lean in close, my eyes glistening conspiratorially. “Come to think of it, I do think he joined a troupe of traveling mimes a short while back.”

  “There you go,” Lucas grins. “You were helping him play the role of a straight man. Good for you. That’s like, the trapped-in-a-box gag, but strictly for gay guys.”

  “That makes me feel better about my strong convictions being upheld by whom I thought was a respectable gentleman. Thank you for crushing my dreams,” I deadpan.

  “Sweetheart, I’m a respectable gentleman, and my eyes have dropped to your lips six times during this very short conversation.”

  I want to say something witty, and caustic, but the flattered feeling that fills me up seals my throat and just won’t let me.

  “And you can keep your strong convictions without being overly cautious,” Lucas tells me, his voice gentle. “I, for one, would be glad to respect whatever physical boundaries you set. In fact, I will even set some really good ones for myself…”

  His intense hazel eyes are flecked with gold amusement as they search my blushing face. “…but I am going to kiss you, a lot, if you’ll let me.”

  We stare at each other for a long minute, and my eyes drop to his mouth before meeting his gaze again. His lips twist into a grin, knowing that he caught me.

  Lucas Browning, you are a terrible flirt.

  “Luke,” he corrects softly.

  My eyebrows are a question mark.

  He reaches out slowly and tucks a tangled tuft of hair behind my ear. “I would really love it if you’d call me Luke.” His fingers linger on my face; he traces my jaw with his fingertips. “Like we’re friends.”

  The word friends sounds so absurd coming out of his perfectly-formed mouth.

  I close my eyes, and my stomach twists itself into a huge mess.

  I know what’s coming next.

  So, I wait.

  …and wait.

  …and wait.

  What are you waiting for?

  I open one eye, and Lucas—excuse me, Luke—is staring at me, his expression quizzical and amused.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asks out loud.

  “I thought you were going to…” My face gets very hot as I realize I’m very wrong.

  “Ohhh, you thought I was going to give away a kiss, just like that?” Luke looks shocked, then cocky. “How easy do you think I am?”

  My jaw drops, and I don’t know whether to be insulted, or just laugh.

  He chooses the second option, chuckling as he leans in and brushes his lips ever-so-lightly against my flaming cheek.

  “Come on, let’s go get some breakfast,” he coaxes, right next to my ear. I feel his breath on the skin of my earlobe, and shiver.

  I just nod obediently, and he moves away from me slowly. I feel his eyes on my face, but I can’t bring myself to open my eyes with him that close.

  I’m scared of what I might do.

  I hear him chuckle, deep in his throat, and open the back door of the car, getting out. It’s when I hear the crash of the door closing that I open my eyes and realize I am still in the trunk. “Luke, wait, I need you to—“

  The trunk opens, and Luke is waiting for me to get out, grinning.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not joining you back here,” he reassures me, putting his other hand behind his back.

  I give him an I-am-not-amused face before scrambling out of the trunk and back into the real world.

  “I have convictions too, you know,” he teases, leaning away from me as my feet hit the pavement and I stretch as far as my few-inches-over-five-feet frame allows.

  “Sure you do,” I roll my eyes, pulling my arms behind my head.

  “I do,” he assures, “and you are not helping with them right now.”

  I slump back to my normal, awkward posture, and scrunch up my nose in disbelief. “I’m causing you to stumble just by stretching?”

  “You would not believe the onslaught of images,” he shrugs, closing the trunk.

  “You are lying,” I shake my head, walking away from him, heading for the house.

  “I’m not, actually,” he growls, and before I can argue with him again, I’m swept up off my feet and being spun around like a rag doll.

  Laughing breathlessly, I hold onto his arms that surround me, terrified of falling.

  He sets me down on my feet, but still won’t release me. He leans down and says right in my ear, “And I would appreciate it if you remember that for the future.”

  “Yes, sir,” I laugh.

  He laughs with me, and kisses me roughly on the cheek, growling playfully.

  The butterflies morph into thunderclouds, sending lightning through my limbs.

  I lean back and look up at his face, taking in the line of his jaw before he looks down at me and grins.

  “I feel like you’ve always been in my life,” I tell him, and feel his strong heartbeat against my temple.

  His cheeky grin slips into a warm smile, and he squeezes me a bit. “I can honestly say I have never felt as comfortable with another human being in my life as I do with you.”

  “We’re freaks,” I decide, with a firm nod.

  “Yes, that must be it.” He laughs and lets me go.

  We fall into step together at a relaxed pace, and I slowly and carefully reach for his hand. My soft fingertips brush the rough calluses he’s collected from years of dedicated guitar practice – and I didn’t know what else, what other work he’d done.

  He slides his fingers between mine, and I see him smile at the small gesture from the corner of my eye. We slip into a comfortable silence, and all I hear is our breath and the rustling of dying grass and crisp leaves beneath our Converses.

  “You know, I really do hope Jonathan made his beignets,” I say, shattering the peace. “Those things are the bomb, for real.”

  Luke’s stomach growls and he squeezes my hand. “No kidding.”

   

  

  “What, didja slip in a quickie while we were in here, or what?” Charlotte bombards me with teasing accusations the second Luke and I sit down at the long, wooden table across from our friends.

  “Oh yes, Charlotte,” I assure her, reaching for her glass of water and taking a sip. “It was some seriously passionate trunk time. You should be jealous.”

  “Don’t worry, I am,” she laughs, taking a bite of the huge, golden waffles on the plate in front of her.

  “IS HENRY COOKING TODAY?” I ask her breathlessly, my eyes wide with indescribable desire.

  She nods the affirmative as she chews.

  “HOT DAMN!” I yell, slapping my hands on the table and shoving my chair back out with the backs of my legs.

  What’s the significance of Henry cooking?” Luke asks me, but I’m already out of my seat and headed for the kitchen.

  He repeats the question for Charlotte, and I yell over my shoulder, “HE PUTS CHOCOLATE CHIPS IN MY WAFFLES.”

  “That’s what she said!” one of the Baxter twins – Josh, or maybe it was Eric? – yells in my direction.

  “Don’t worry, honey! He puts laxatives in yours!” I yell back cheerfully.

  They both laugh, and high-five each other.

  Only fifteen-year-old boys can appreciate my sense of humor sometimes. It’s kind of sad, really.

  “Oh, Henryyyyy,” I call out in my best and most cheerful singing voice.

  “Oh, Georgiaaaa,” he sings back.

  I stroll into his workspace without fear of being stabbed with something or getting burnt, because I know Henry Lee enjoys my company immensely. “Do you have something just for meeee?” I bat my eyelashes. “Or do I have to start singing ‘Secret Asian Man’ for you again?”

  “See, now, if only my dear mother could see that I have gorgeous women hitting on me all the time here, even if it is only for my gift for adding chocolate chips to things that are already fattening, maybe she would stop giving me all these numbers from her friends’ daughters,” Henry shakes his head as he holds out a heaping plate of chocolate chip waffles, dripping with butter.

  “Oh, Henry Stan Lee, you’re trying to fatten me up so that you’re the only man in the world who would want to marry me because of your chubby white girl fetish,” I sigh with delight.

  He hands me a fork, a satisfied grin on his face. “Baby, if that were the case, I’d have put whipped cream on the top, too. And don’t kid yourself, beautiful. You know you want to marry me anyway. That’s why you give me such flattering middle names.”

  “Oh, you and your Marvel comics,” I swat a hand at him. “You know DC will kick your ass from now til kingdom come.”

  Henry stabs his index finger at me. “And that is why you will never bear my children.”

  “Are you sure? And here I thought it was because your mother wants you to marry one or all of her Asian friends’ daughters?” I stab my clean fork back at him.

  “Well, now you should know it’s because you’re heartless. And because Wolverine would kill Batman in a fight: you and I both know this.”

  “See, I have to agree with you there,” I stick the fork in my beautiful homemade waffles. “Bruce may be the sexiest and richest man in comics, but I don’t think his huge muscles would do him any good against claws made of Adamantium.”

  “Actually, sweet cakes, Tony has your little Bruce beat in the riches department,” Henry argues. “And also, if you must know, he has the upper hand in the sexy department.”

  I reach out and touch his hand theatrically. “Oh, honey, I knew you were gay. Thank you for finally telling me. I feel much better finding out now, instead of fifty years from now when I’m still pining after you and my barren womb is longing for your half-Asian babies.”

  “Don’t mock the Forbes Fictional 15,” Henry ignores the jab. “It knows all.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” I grin.

  “I will,” he grins back, and I turn to leave, but change my mind.

  “By the way,” I lean in close to him, my lips nearly brushing his ear, “your waffles are burning.”

  “DAMN YOU AND YOUR FEMININE WILES!” he yells after me as I sneak quickly out of the kitchen with my waffles before he can throw things in a fit of rage.

   

  “Why is Henry sending you to hell this time?” Zahari asks, raising her dark eyebrows in curiosity.

  Henry is seated at our table, having passed on his waffle-making skills to his younger, naïve breakfast protégé, Roger.

  I sit down between Zahari and Luke, ignoring Henry’s disgusted look. “I got him into a heated debate about whether Batman or Iron Man’s alter ego is richer. He burnt his batch of waffles.”

  “You geeks and your comic books,” Zahari shakes her head.

  “It’s Iron Man,” Charlotte speaks up, twirling her last bite of waffles in the maple syrup left on her plate. “I mean, if Forbes Fictional Fifteen said it, I believe them. They know their shit.”

  Henry looks up from his glaring at me, and it’s as if he’s seeing Charlotte for the first time.

  Oh, no.

  “That’s what I told her!” Henry throws his hands up in the air. “She doesn’t believe me!”

  “It’s legit, Georgia,” Charlotte mumbles, her mouth full.

  “Oh, I believe you guys, and I knew Tony was richer.” I shrug. “I just enjoy pissing Henry off.”

  “After all I do for you!” Henry complains. “Do you realize how hard it is to hide chocolate chip-filled anything in a house full of Gifteds?”

  “Last weekend, the Baxter boys had him convinced that he misplaced them,” I grin, lifting another bite of sweet success to my lips.

  “Their last name is so accurate,” Henry growls.

  “Except you should slip and say Bastard boys instead, am I right?” Charlotte nods her agreement.

  “Exactly,” Henry nods, a peculiar smile creeping its way across his face.

  I give Luke a questioning look, wondering if he can see what’s inevitably coming as easily as I can.

  His grin is a resounding yes.

  
  

  • 10:13 pm
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