Escape In You (7 page)

Even in the dim light, I can see Taylor is offended. “Hey, it’s not like that. I consider Everett a friend.”

I start to laugh but stop when I see that he’s serious.

“I’m not like all those assholes at the party last night, Zoe. I’m really not.”

I watch him for a minute. “I’m starting to believe you.”

That earns me a grin. “You wanna go for a walk? Hunter has been staring at us since I sat down, and it’s starting to creep me out.”

I glance across the circle and, sure enough, Hunter is watching us. I laugh. “He thinks you’re hot,” I say. “And gossips worse than a girl.”

“Are we gossip-worthy, Zoe?” he asks, a smile dancing around his mouth. Just like last night, I have the urge to kiss him.

“We will be if we go off walking in the woods together.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “How ‘bout it?”

Of course I go with him. Refusing Jet Taylor when he’s looking at me like that is beyond my powers of self-control. He stands, holding out a hand to help me up from my log, and before I know it our fingers are entwined and he’s leading me toward the trail, away from the light.

We walk hand-in-hand through the darkness of the woods until I can no longer hear my friends laughing in the distance. The trees have thinned out a bit here, and when I look up I can see the moon above us. It lights up Taylor’s face and I’m struck anew by how ridiculously hot this guy is in any light.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” he asks, startling me.

“What?”

He stops walking and turns to look at me full in the face. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend? I saw the way every guy at that party looked at you. I was sure you’d be taken.”

“How were guys looking at me?”

Taylor chuckles. “Come on, Zoe. You’re gorgeous. I know you’re not one of those girls that doesn’t realize when guys are into her.”

I shrug, feeling uncomfortable. “Guys hit on me. They hit on Ellie more, but I do okay.”

“So I ask again, why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

I’m starting to wish I hadn’t come into the woods with him. I’m not thrilled to be talking about why I don’t date. When it becomes obvious he isn’t going to let it go, I sigh. “I don’t have time for a boyfriend. And I don’t really see the point.” I look into his eyes. “I’m not a fairytale kind of girl. I fully understand that things usually don’t work out. So I don’t let myself get worked up about that kind of thing. I’d rather just have fun.”

He’s looking at me strangely, almost as if he’s disappointed. I thought he’d be thrilled by my views on the subject, since everything I’ve heard about him made him sound like quite the womanizer. I don't have a problem with that. I’m basically the female version of the same type.

“Don’t tell me you’re a big romantic, Taylor. Your reputation precedes you, you know.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re right, I don’t date much either. Never have. Don’t really see the point in it myself.”

I nod. “So we’re on the same page. Fun is better.”

“Fun, huh?” He reaches his hand toward me, and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. I shiver at this near-touch on my neck. “Do you think you might want to have fun with me?”

I can think of a million fun things I want to do with him, very few of which involve clothing. I swallow. “I think maybe I can handle that.”

His eyes gleam in the moonlight as he moves his face closer to mine. “What kind of fun did you have in mind?”

I take a brief moment to question whether this is a good idea. I know Taylor is dangerous, know he has a strange ability to draw out more from me than I planned to share. Looking into his eyes, it’s obvious this could end very, very badly.

But in the end, I just don’t care.

I lean forward, closing the remaining inch between us and pressing my lips against his. He lets out a little sigh, almost like he’s relieved. Then his arms come up around me, pulling my body roughly against his.

I’ve kissed a lot of boys—in fact, I’ve done a lot
more
than kiss a few boys. Few activities better offer the distraction I crave. Ellie and I both have a reputation, and it’s pretty well earned. I’ve kissed boys at parties, in the back seat of cars, even in these very woods. But I’ve never kissed a boy like Taylor before.

His lips are like fire against mine, and he presses against me like he can't get enough. His hands are as tight as a vise on me, but somehow that isn’t tight enough. I wonder if it will
ever
be tight enough. Without even realizing I’ve moved my hands, my fingers are somehow tangled up in his hair, urging his mouth to remain against mine. Then our lips are parting, his tongue running against mine, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out with the sheer awesomeness of it.

Taylor groans against my mouth. It’s just about the most arousing thing I’ve ever heard. His hands press lower against my back, dangerously near my ass. I whimper, wishing he would hurry. I want his hands everywhere, now.

A twig cracks somewhere to our left, and I pull back, gasping. Taylor stares down at me, a dazed expression on his face. We look at each other for a beat, both breathing heavily. “Holy shit,” he finally mutters, and I laugh, the tension broken.

“What
was
that?” he asks, running a hand through his hair.

I shake my head. “A pretty amazing kiss, I’d say.”

He gives a short, shaky laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

We stare at each other for another moment. I want to get back to the kiss, but I’m a little worried we won't stop this time. I’m not too crazy about having sex in the middle of the trail in the woods with my friends a few yards away.

“We should go back,” I say, looking over my shoulder.

Taylor nods, taking my hand. Somehow the gesture feels more meaningful now, as if we both realize we are embarking on something different for us. I usually don't do well with different. With all the craziness in my life, I crave familiarity. I like my group of friends, like being pretty certain what we’ll be doing on any given night. I know I can count on Ellie and Hunter, know they’ll never ask more from me than I can afford to give.

I don’t think I can’t trust Taylor in the same way. He seems like the kind of guy to take
much
more from me than I want to give. But somehow, as he leads me back through the woods toward the sounds of my friends’ voices, I realize I haven’t thought about home or my mom in more than a half hour, probably a record for me. The ever-present knot of worry in my stomach seems to have disappeared right around the same time Taylor showed up.

And that should scare me more than anything.

Chapter Six

Zoe

By the following Tuesday, I’m starting to wonder if I might have imagined the intensity of the kiss we’d shared. On Saturday night I would have bet the little cash I had that Taylor was interested in me. But when Sunday passes without a word from him, and Monday, too, I start to wonder. I spend way too much of my class periods thinking about him. What is he doing now? Is he thinking of me?

It frustrates me to no end. I’m not one of those girls who obsesses over boys to the point of distraction. I have enough real shit to worry about without adding Jet freaking Taylor to the list.

But he seemed so into me in the woods.

On Wednesdays I usually meet up with Ellie for lunch in the food court on campus. She’s taking classes through the college to become licensed in hairdressing—or, as she would say, the atheistic arts. She’s a lot farther along than I am, however, having started her program right after we graduated high school. She’ll be finishing up at the end of the summer.

Ellie takes one look at me and shakes her head. “You look stressed.”

I plop my backpack down on the table and take a chair across from her. “I haven’t been sleeping much.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Run-of-the-mill Zoe problems or more specific hot-boy problems?”

“Take your pick.”

“So he still hasn’t called? I guess he’s just an asshat like all the rest.”

“I guess so.”

“Listen, babe. Any guy who causes you this much angst is so not worth it. You’re already the angstiest girl I know—you’re about to OD on it. Let’s go out tomorrow and find you a no- strings-attached, angst-free guy to play tonsil hockey with for a few hours. You’ll be over Jet in no time.”

I don't tell her that I doubt any guy could come up to par after our scorching lip lock in the woods. Maybe she’s right. I usually base my romantic conquests purely on their potential to be hassle free. I have real life to provide me with drama and worry. I certainly don’t need it from any guy.

I take a sip of my Diet Coke. “Yeah, I think that’s a good plan.”

“Great. I’ll round up Hunter and Everett and pick out a bar to hit up.” She’s quiet for a moment while she steals fries off my plate. “Shame, though,” she finally says. “He was super hot. I’m bummed we won’t be finding out what kind of heat he’s packing under those motorcycle-dude clothes of his.”

I laugh, feeling slightly better. “C’est la vie.”

My improved outlook lasts about as long as it takes to finish my classes for the day and head home. My mom managed to make it out of bed this morning, but that’s hardly cause for celebration. I find her sitting on the couch in her bathrobe, crying into a cold cup of tea.

As hard as it is to watch her sleep every day away, watching her cry is even worse. I feel so helpless. When I was younger and she had these episodes—those days she used to call her blue hours—I used to be able to cheer her up by singing to her, or playing games, or sitting on her lap and holding her tightly. But that was a long time ago, long before I realized how bad things could really get. And her brother had been around in those days. Peter could always make her feel better. But thinking about my uncle brings on a familiar rush of rage that I struggle to tamp down so my mom won’t get even more upset.

The house is in desperate need of cleaning, and no one else is going to do it. While I dust and vacuum and do the dishes, I keep up a steady stream of conversation, trying to draw her out of her crying spell. Instead she cries harder at the evidence that I’m spending my early twenties caring for her instead of out living my life. I get her to eat nearly an entire meal of grilled cheese and canned tomato soup. By the time she goes back to bed, I’m almost relieved, though it’s nowhere near a normal person’s bedtime. It’s exhausting, trying to pretend like we’ll be fine.

I finish drying our bowls from dinner and put them away in the cupboard before leaning against the counter and gazing around the silent, empty kitchen. My cleaning spree has resulted in spotless floors and counters, but no amount of cleaning can hide the cracked linoleum tiles or the cheap, peeling laminate edges on the countertops. I hate this kitchen. Though our old house hadn’t been anything fancy, the kitchen had, at least, been warm and cheery. My mom and I spent hours at the butcher-block kitchen island, experimenting with our own baked good concoctions with varying degrees of success. When I was a little older, she’d join Grace and me at that same counter after school. She’d fix us a snack and ask us all about our day, gossiping with us about the boys in our class like she was one of the girls.

There’s no sense in thinking about that
. I’m mad that I even went there.
That’s all over now.

I’m starting to get that familiar, tight-skinned anxious feeling that usually comes from too much time in the house. I know if I stick around much longer it will slowly morph into all-out panic. A glance at the clock tells me it’s only eight p.m., not even fully dark out yet. I rack my brain for something to do, some excuse to leave.

Ellie has a date with some guy she waited on at the Burrito Barn Sunday afternoon, so she’s out. I text Hunter and then remember that he’s working. If it were a weekend I could text any number of people to find out where the most promising parties were. But Wednesday night isn’t prime party time in this town. Sighing, I grab my purse. I have to find something to do, or I’m going to go nuts. Not having a car limits my options considerably, but I don’t care. Anywhere is better than here.

It’s about a twenty-minute walk to the center of town. There isn’t a lot down there, just a few restaurants and a couple of bars, but it will have to do. I can find a quiet corner in a quiet bar and nurse a few beers until I feel tired enough to go home.

As I step out onto the sidewalk, the muggy heat of the summer night envelops me. I reach into my bag, grab a hair tie, and pull my hair back off my neck as I walk. At the corner, I wait for two cars to pass before crossing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the second one, some kind of old muscle car, slow down before stopping entirely. “Keep going, buddy,” I mutter and quicken my pace. Instead, the car backs up to the intersection, where it turns and heads my way. Great.

“Hey,” Taylor calls from the window. “That you, Zoe?”

I squint at the half-rolled-down window in the dimming light. “Taylor?”

“Yeah. Hang on, this thing is stuck.” He disappears out of view for a moment. Then the window rolls the rest of the way down, and he sticks his head out. He grins at me. “Where ya going? Want a ride?”

I debate for a moment. I’m still kind of miffed that he hasn’t called after our kiss—which is silly, because he doesn't owe me anything. And getting in that car is only going to drag me further into the ridiculousness of this crush.

“Come on, Zoe.” He winks and somehow that looks dangerous. “Isn’t it hot out there?”

It is hot, and really muggy. A ride actually sounds really good. “Okay,” I say. “What the hell.” I climb into the passenger side, sighing a little when the ice-cold air hits my skin.

“Isn’t that better?” he asks, rolling his window back up and putting the car into gear.

“Much.”

We’re silent for a moment, and I wonder if he’s feeling as awkward as I am.

“So,” he finally says, “where were you heading?”

I stare out the window. “Nowhere in particular. Just needed to get out.”

“Do you always walk around alone after dark?”