Falling for the Ghost of You (17 page)

“Ouch!”  Mom yelps, and looks down.  “Violet!  Did you just kick me?”

I gulp, eyes widening guiltily, meanwhile Zane—the jackass—is making muffled sounds behind his fist.  “No!” I deny, and cut my gaze to Bill, silently implicating him.

It only goes downhill from there.  After dinner, I yank Zane by the front of his shirt into the bathroom.  I just shut the door when he shoves me against it, trapping me with his body.

"Are we doing it in a bathroom?" He grins down at me.  "Violet, I’m shocked."

"Oh, shut up!"  I place both hands on his chest and try to push him back.  He doesn't budge.  "How could you have said those things in front of my mom, you pervert?!  What if she had caught on?"

Zane just shakes his head.  He braces a hand against the door, above my head.  "Oh, come on.  Parents only hear what they want to.  Your mom's so distracted by the wedding plans, I could do this in front of her, and she wouldn't even notice."

He presses closer, trailing kisses down my neck.  I shiver uncontrollably.

And just like that, we're making out wildly against the doorway.  In the bathroom.

I can't help it—Z
ane does something amazing with his hand, and I moan loudly.

"
Ssh
!"  He laughs and presses a finger over my lips. I freeze under him.

Suddenly, there is a knock on the door.

"Violet?  Is that you in there?"

Mom!

I stare helplessly at Zane.  Oh, crap!

"Uh, no, it's me, Lily," Zane answers, saving me.  "I'm ju
st having some problems with my…
zipper."

I snort loudly.  Zane, his dark eyes dancing, covers my mouth.  We both snicker at Mom's silence.

"Oh," she finally says in a subdued way.  "Well, let me k
now if you need any help.  Oh—n
o, I didn't mean it like that!  I just meant if you—oh, no.  Okay, I'm going to go!  Well, good luck!"

Zane rests his forehead against mine, trying hard not to laugh.  "Okay!  Thank you!" he manages to say.

We both collapse in laughter.  Zane's hand is still over my mouth, so I bite it.  He winces and pulls away with a little smirk.

"You go out first," I whisper as he buttons up his shirt.  “And don’t say anything dirty again!”

"Don’t run from me again.”  He says it teasingly, but his dark eyes are deadly serious.

He bends down to give me one last kiss, then picks me up and moves me away from the door.

When he's successfully escaped, I shut the door and lean against it once more.  I let my head fall back, laughing incredulously to myself.  My bones are like mush--whether from the near miss, or Zane's kisses, I couldn't say.

But that half-painful, half-ecstatic soaring and diving feeling?

What can I blame that on?

******

Chapter 16

It sucks that Zane is an hour and a half away in L.A., but we are always on the phone with each other, and he drives down to see me whenever he can.  We still have to sneak around because I’m paranoid we’ll run into my mom—which is why we avoid the local spots.  I’m torn between wanting to show Zane off to people I know, and wanting to keep him my own smug little secret.  He doesn’t seem to mind either way.  We go to movies in different towns, have dinner at restaurants so exclusive and fancy, I’m certain no one I know can afford them. 

Oh, and here's something that really annoys me:  everywhere we go, girls are constantly hitting on him!  Blatan
tly, and right in front of me—w
hen, clearly, we are together.  Zane reacts with a practiced friendliness that suggests it happens to him all the time. I, however, don't handle it nearly as well as he does.  Yeah, it turns out I'm a jealous freak who has no problem telling a b she needs to back the hell off.  Zane thinks it's funny, but it really bothers me.  Who knows how many girls are all over him when he's home in L.A.?  Does he flirt back?  I
obsess
over it, but I can't bring myself to ask him about it, or ask him to define our relationship.  I'm afraid of what he'll say.

I like the times we just hang out at the beach at night best.  We talk about everything and anything.  I tell him about my boring day at school, he tells me about a complex project he's working on.

That’s what we’re doing right now.  Hanging out at the beach.

“Okay, are you sure you want to see this?”

I sit on my knees, facing Zane.  His profile is to me, he's sprawled in the sand leaning on his elbows and watching the waves crash to shore.  The breeze blows gently through his short dark hair, but tosses my locks mercilessly about.

“I am dying to see a picture of you as an adorable ten year old girl,” Zane says mock solemnly.  “Come, on, let’s see it.”

“Okay.”  I’m clutching the picture in my hand.  “You’re going to laugh, so I forgive you in advance.”

I thrust the picture at his chest.  He takes it and squints at it in the softening light.  Then his eyes widen.  “Holy shit,” he breathes.  “Is this the girl that ate you?”

“Ha, no.  You’re funny.”  I snatch my picture back.  “So I was super fat.  It’s my father’s fault.  He never hugged me.”

“So, what, you ate him?”

I punch him in the shoulder.  “You are so mean.”

He laughs, and grabs my hand.  “Okay, I’m sorry.  Can I see it again?  I promise I’ll be good.”

“You’d better,” I huff.

I hand the picture back to him, and he studies it carefully.  I don’t really mind his teasing—heck, I know I was a brick house.  But showing him my fat ten year old self feels kind of like a
confession.  Will he look at me differently now?

“You were cute,” Zane says finally, handing it back to me.

“I was not,” I correct him.  “I looked weird.  I had that light blonde hair with this skin color, and the funny-shaped eyes.  I looked like an alien.  A fat blonde alien.”

“Nah.  You were exotic.”

I roll my eyes.  “Okay.  So, what did you look like as a kid?”

Zane sits up, bringing his long legs up and resting his arms on his knees.  “Ah, you know, about the same as I do now, except short
er
.  And adorable, of course.”

“Yeah?  I bet you were a little brat.”

"Me?  Nah, I was a good k
id.  When I was, I don't know—five, maybe—I
used to tell everyone I was Chinese."

"What?" I start laughing.  "Why?"

Zane shrugs, smiling a little as he scratches his chin.  "I don't know.  We had a Chinese cook.  I guess I liked how she talked.  Okay, I guess I was weird."

"That is kind of weird," I agree.  "What did you want to be when you grew up?  Did you always want to be a software engineer?"

"Hell, no."  He chuckles.  "Uh...a school janitor.  What?  Don't laugh."  He nudges me with his shoulder.  "I liked the green coveralls."

"Oh, yeah, I can totally see you in those," I say, nudging him back.  "You would look
hawt
."

"I
would
look hot," he says.  When I snort, he tosses a handful of sand at me.  "Your turn, Mercer.  What did you want to be?"

"A dinosaur," I say matter of
factly
, and he laug
hs.  "Okay
, I guess I wanted to be a writer."

"And now you are.  A successful one at that."

I shrug uncomfortably.  "Oh, not really," I mutter.  "I just make stuff up that I think people want to read."

Zane cocks his head at me, squinting in the dying pinkish light.  "Sounds like a writer to me."

"No, it's not the same."  I shake my head.  "To me, it's not really writing, because I'm not writing what...I want to write.  I'm writing what sells.  It's following a successful formula, you know?  All the popular books out there are just the same story, with the names chan
ged.  I don't even enjoy the process of it
because I feel like a sellout."

"Hey, you paid your mom's medical bills with it, didn't you?  That sounds pretty damn amazing to me."  Zane reaches over to tug on a lock of my hair.  "If it were that easy, we'd all be doing it."

I sigh moodily, digging my bare toes into the cool sand.  "Maybe."

"Sometimes you have to compromise a little to get to the point where you can do what you want," Zane says philosophically.  "I think you're at that point, Violet."

"Getting there," I murmur.  I shake my head.  "Let's change the subject.  Uh...when did you lose your virginity?"

He
slants me a look.  "You first—w
hen do you
want
to lose your virginity?"

I laugh nervously.  "Uh-uh!  I asked you first."

"Yeah, but my question's more important.  So...I think your answer would be better as more of a show than a tell."

I lean forward to smack him, but he grabs me and pushes me back.  We wrestle a little, and I end up lying on my back in the sand, with him on top of me.

Zane looks down at me from his superior position on top.  "I win," he says smugly.

He's bracing most of his weight on his forearms, so why can't I breathe?  Oh, right, he always does this to me when our bodies are touching.  I'm sinking into his warmth, his scent.  If we kissed, it would taste slightly salty, like the ocean air.

His face is inches from mine.  "You cheated," I say softly, looking into his shiny dark eyes.  "You're trying to distract me."

He gently brushes loose strands of hair from my face.  "It's working, isn't it?"

"Hey, you kids!  No public fornicating!  Get a room!"

The sudden shout is jarring.  Zane and I both look up to find a creepy skinny guy with scraggly red hair and a long beard, grinning toothlessly at us.  He hitches up the back of his threadbare shorts and cackles maniacally as he wanders away.

We look at each other and laugh.  Zane rolls me on top of him so I end up straddling his hips.  He puts his hands behind his head in a relaxed position.

"I'd like the view a lot better if you were wearing less clothes," he murmurs.  That lazy sexy smile is back on his face.

"Sure, why don't I just take my top off, then?"  I glance around at the few dots of people further down the beach.  "You think I could get any money for showing off the girls?"

Zane laughs.  "Honey, I'll give you the grand that's in my pocket right now if you show me your girls."

"Oh, is
that
what's in your pocket?" I ask innocently.  "So, that's what one thousand dollars feels like."

"No, that's what eight in—
"

I cover his mouth, then poke him in his hard flat stomach.  "So
,”  I clear my throat.  “H
ow old were you when you first did it?"

Zane takes my hand and kisses my palm.  "Okay, but don't judge me.  I was twelve."

My eyes widen in disbelief.  "What?!  Was it...were you...?"

"She was an older woman—t
hirteen."  He squints adorably at me as he pauses.  "I was kind of precocious.  After my mom killed herself, I went a little wild.  Drank a lot, slept with every girl stupid enough to say yes to me...I don't know what I was trying to prove."

I slide off of him and lie beside him in the sand.  "Shoot, you were just a kid, trying to cope in a horrible situation, any way you could."

"Yeah."  Zane exhales lightly and stares up at the clouded sky.  "You wanna know something pretty screwed up?  I wasn't sad that she was dead.  I was pissed.  Because she fucked up my life yet again with her crazy shit.  You
know, I didn't even miss her—her death was more of
an inconvenience to me
than anything
.  Guess that makes me an asshole, huh?"

I'm careful to keep my gaze heavenward.  "No.  You said you barely knew her, and all your memories of her were traumatic.  Just 'cause she's your mom doesn't mean you're required to love her.  She was just some poor crazy lady that happened to give b
irth to you.  Maybe you were just relieved that she wasn’t suffering anymore.
"

He is quiet for a minute, then turns his head to look at me.  "Where were you when I was twelve?"

"Well, I was nine."  I cut my eyes over to him.  "And probably locked in the back of a Ho Ho truck, eating my way to freedom. Yeah, that really happened."

Zane rolls over onto his stomach, laughing.  "I bet you were awesome."

"Well, yeah," I say modestly.

H
e reaches over and trails a finger feather light down my cheek.  His eyes seem to darken with some serious emotion.  "I would have liked you even back then."

The intensity of his gaze is too much to bear.  It makes me feel helpless, exposed.  I break contact, turning away.  "You like fat chicks, huh?" I say, pushing my hair back.

Zane grabs my chin, making me face him.  His eyes look steadily into mine.  "I like girls with eyes the color of honey and cinnamon, lips I can't stop kissing, and an incredible body made to fit against mine."