As Long As You Love Me. Ann Aguirre

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СКАЧАТЬ his irises were a swirl of charcoal and mist with specks of blue, fringed by ridiculously thick black lashes. In a face without such a strong nose and firm chin, those eyes would make him too pretty. When I had sleepovers at Nadia’s, back in high school, I imagined him cornering me and shoving me against the wall, overcome by his unspoken longings. That was pretty much my favorite fantasy when I was sixteen, but Rob never gave any sign he suffered from ungovernable passion.

      Too bad.

      “That’s not true,” he said quietly.

      A little flicker in his eyes, a twist of his mouth, and I got the impression that he was incredibly sad. He didn’t have an expressive face, and truthfully, his at-rest look suggested he didn’t have much going on in his brain box. Behind his back, people had been calling him the quintessential dumb jock for as long as I could remember. The girl he went out with in high school dished about his body, but she never mentioned any other traits. In my rich fantasy life, I’d never wondered about his thoughts or feelings, either, and staring up at him now, a pang of remorse went through me.

      “I disagree. But don’t take my word for it,” I said breezily. “I’m just the idiot who flunked out of Mount Albion.”

      “Bullshit. You were always on the honor roll along with Nadia. You’re only here because you want to be.”

      I was astonished into silence for a few seconds, then I rallied. “That’s a bold statement. What about the love child I’m having?”

      His gaze swept down my body, quietly intense. “Nope.”

      I wished I was wearing anything but sweats and that my hair wasn’t a bird’s nest. But he’d known me since I was seven, and he’d never seen me as a potential anything, so that was pointless regret. A dress or a hairstyle wouldn’t change a lifetime of indifference.

      “I should get going,” I said. “My mom’s waiting for the milk and eggs.”

      Clearly, I should win a prize for clever comments. But Rob nodded like I didn’t sound like a sixteen-year-old dipshit with a specialization in being weird around boys. Which was so messed up; at school, the one damn thing I excelled at was witty banter, making guys laugh. I was fucking popular at Mount Albion.

      “You doing anything tonight?” he asked.

      Huh? Somehow I managed not to let my jaw drop open. “Not really. I just got unpacked and most of my friends from high school are gone.”

      “Avery’s visiting her cousin in Omaha this weekend, so I thought maybe you want to split a pizza. I don’t feel like cooking.”

      Wow. This is definitely not a date.

      “Sounds good,” I said. “What time?”

      “Five-thirty?”

      “Sure. You remember where I live?” He’d driven me home a few times when Nadia called him to rescue us from out-of-control parties, but I didn’t imagine those occasions made much impression on him.

      To my surprise, he nodded. “Out on Dover Road still, right?”

      “Yep, that’s the place.” With a friendly wave, I pulled my basket past him and went to the checkout lane.

      I kept the excitement in check until I got into my car, then I full-out screamed. My favorite high school memory involved Rob pulling up at a farmhouse, drunken teenagers all over the yard. I’d stumbled outside with a guy who was wasted enough that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. The dude pushed me against the garage, his mouth loose and wet on my neck, while I shuddered and shoved at him. In the next instant, he wasn’t touching me anymore. Rob yanked him off and took him out with one punch. Then he put a gentle hand on my shoulder and helped me to the car. He’d always protected me like a little sister, but I responded to it differently than Nadia. She was impatient over his protective streak, sharp and annoyed, while I wanted to make out with him instead of the high school boys on offer. I’d spied on him kissing his girlfriend, and it fueled my fantasies for, like, two years.

      Telling myself not to be stupid, I drove home and put away the groceries. My mom was getting ready for a date, which proved I was right about Mr. Handyman. I propped myself in the doorway to the bathroom and watched her put on lipstick.

      “So when do I get to meet him?”

      She flushed. “You don’t mind?”

      “Of course not. It’s good to see you happy.”

      “There’s leftovers in the fridge—”

      “Don’t worry about it. Rob’s picking me up in an hour.”

      “Nadia’s brother?” Her brows shot up. “Isn’t he dating that awful Jacobs girl?”

      Sharon didn’t have much of an upper class, but Avery Jacobs definitely belonged to it; she wore nothing but name brands and had a driver who made sure she never rode the bus. In school, her nose had been so far in the air, it was a wonder she didn’t drown during a rainstorm. Nadia had been friends with her when we were younger, but I never was, and I liked Avery less when she ditched Nadia as soon as the cliques formed in junior high.

      “She’s out of town, and it’s just pizza. He probably feels sorry for me, what with my mom having a better social life and all.” I grinned to show I was teasing.

      She threw a cotton ball at me. “That’s not funny. If you knew how long I waffled over telling you about Stuart...”

      “So that’s his name.”

      “He sells insurance,” Mom said. “You’d think that makes him boring, but he’s very sweet.”

      “No need to convince me. I need a shower, though, if you’re almost done in there.”

      “No problem. I can finish my makeup in the kitchen.”

      Damn. She’s pulling out all the stops.

      Though it wasn’t a date, I did the same. An hour later, I had on my best jeans, a blue sweater that framed my boobs perfectly, plus my favorite leather jacket. I also did my eyes to full bam, straightened my hair and put on awesome knee boots. Rob pulled into the driveway right on time, so I yelled bye to my mom and bounded down the steps. He drove a newish red pickup, though I wasn’t into vehicles enough to be sure of the make or model.

      He was still in blue flannel, but I’d expected no less. As he had when I was a drunken senior, he went around to open my door. There were no running boards, and I was short, almost a full foot smaller than him; before I could clamber up, he set his hands on my waist and lifted, setting me on the passenger seat with the sort of casual strength that stole my breath.

      “Wait, sorry, I should’ve asked before manhandling you.” He seemed dead serious, worried that he’d offended.

      “It’s fine.” Or it would be if these shivers would stop. I could still feel the imprint of his hands at my waist.

      “You’re not as touchy as Avery,” he said as he climbed in. “I haven’t done a single thing right for her in the last month.”

      Maybe she’s not the right person for you. But if I said that, it would definitely come from an ulterior СКАЧАТЬ