The Losers. David Eddings

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      “I didn’t know that.”

      “My sister found out. She took the course a couple years ago. Mr. Pardee won’t mention it in class, of course, but it’s a good thing to know.” She suddenly mimicked their instructor’s gruff voice and deliberately antigrammatical usage. “Since he ain’t about to accept no disrespect.”

      Raphael laughed, charmed by her.

      She hesitated and then spoke without looking at him. “I saw you play in that game last month,” she told him quietly.

      “Oh,” he said, “that. It wasn’t much of a game, really.”

      “Not the way you played, it wasn’t. You destroyed them.”

      “You think I overemphasized?” he asked, grinning.

      “I’m trying to pay you a compliment, dammit.” Then she grinned back.

      “Thank you.”

      “I’m making a fool of myself, right?” “No, not really.”

      “Anyway, I thought it was really spectacular—and I don’t like football very much.”

      “It’s only a game.” He shrugged. “It’s more fun to play than it is to watch.”

      “Doesn’t it hurt when you get tackled like that?”

      “The idea is not to get tackled.”

      “You’re a stubborn man, Raphael Taylor,” she accused. “It’s almost impossible to talk to you.” “Me?”

      “And will you stop looking at me all the time. Every time I look up, there you are, watching me. You make me feel as if I don’t have any clothes on.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “I’ll start making faces at you if you don’t stop it,” she warned. “Then how would you feel?”

      “The question is how are you going to feel when people start to think your gears aren’t meshing?”

      “You’re impossible,” she said, but her voice was not really

      angry. “I have to go home and study some more.” She turned abruptly and strode away with a curiously leggy gait that seemed at once awkward and almost childishly feminine.

      “Marilyn,” he called after her.

      She stopped and turned. “What?”

      “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      “No, you won’t. I’m going to hide under the table.” She stuck her tongue out at him, turned, and continued across the lawn. Raphael laughed.

      Their growing friendship did not, of course, go unobserved. By the time it had progressed to the stage of going for coffee together at the Student Union Building, Flood became aware of it. “Raphael’s being unfaithful to you, ‘Bel,” he announced on one of his now-infrequent visits to the lake.

      “Get serious,” Raphael told him, irritated and a little embarrassed.

      “Don’t be a snitch, Junior,” Isabel said quite calmly. “Nobody likes a snitch.”

      “I just thought you ought to know, ‘Bel.” Flood grinned maliciously. “Since I introduced you two, I feel a certain responsibility.” His eyes, however, were serious, even calculating.

      “Our relationship isn’t that kind.” She still seemed unperturbed. “I don’t have any objections if Raphael has other diversions—any more than he’s upset by my little flings.”

      Raphael looked at her quickly, startled and with a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

      “Oh, my poor Angel,” she said, catching the look and laughing, “did you honestly think I was ‘saving myself for you? I have other friends, too, you know.”

      Raphael was sick, and at the same time ashamed to realize that he was actually jealous.

      In bed that night she brought it up again. She raised up on one elbow, her heavy breast touching his arm. “How is she?” she asked, “The other girl, I mean?”

      “It’s not that kind of thing,” he answered sulkily. “We just

      talk—have coffee together once in a while, that’s all.”

      “Don’t be coy,” she said with a wicked little laugh, deliberately rubbing her still-erect nipple on his shoulder. “A young man who looks like you do could have the panties off half the girls in Portland inside a week.”

      “I don’t go around taking people’s panties off.”

      “You take mine off,” she disagreed archly.

      “That’s different.” He moved his shoulder away.

      “Why is it different?”

      “She’s not that kind of a girl.”

      “Every girl is that kind of a girl.” She laughed, leaning forward so that the ripe breast touched him again. “We’re all alike. Is she as good as I am?”

      “Oh, for God’s sake, ‘Bel. Why don’t we just skip all this? Nothing’s going on. Flood’s got a dirty mind, that’s all.”

      “Of course he has. Am I embarrassing you, sweet? We shouldn’t be embarrassed by anything—not here.”

      “What about those other men?” he accused, trying to force her away from the subject.

      “What about them?”

      “I thought—well—” He broke off helplessly, not knowing how to pursue the subject.

      “Are you really upset because I sleep with other men once in a while? Are you really jealous, Angel?”

      “Well—no,” he lied, “not really.”

      “We never made any promises, did we? Did you think we were ‘going steady’ or something?” The persistent nipple continued its stroking of his shoulder.

      “I just didn’t think you were—well—promiscuous is all.”

      “Of course I’m promiscuous.” She laughed, kissing him. “I had you in bed within twelve hours of the moment I met you. Is that the sort of thing you’d expect from a nice girl? I’m not exactly a bitch in heat, but a little variety never hurt anyone, did it?”

      He couldn’t think of anything to say.

      “Don’t sulk, Angel,” she said almost maternally as she pulled

      him to her again. “You’ve got my full attention at the moment. That’s about the best I can promise СКАЧАТЬ