How to Keep Rolling After a Fall (16 page)

I open my mouth to speak, then bite my tongue and wait.

“I was reading the paper last night, and I saw an announcement that they're putting on
Rent
at Stockton College,” she says, referencing the state college that's less than half an hour away. “Tonight's the final show … and … I'd be willing to go with you. Perhaps talk to the director or some of the students afterward about the program.”

I'm surprised, to say the least, and I struggle to process her offer. “I have to work till ten tonight,” I remind her.

“I know that, and work comes first. But maybe you can find someone to cover your shift, or at least part of it.” She reaches up and tucks a loose curl behind my ear. I can't remember the last time she's touched me. “You've been working a lot this week; maybe someone could help you out.” She stands. “Anyway, think about it. Let me know later.”

I stay on my bed, perfectly still. I'm not really that inclined to make it work.
Rent
is too gritty for my taste—I'd be more excited about something like
Mamma Mia!
or
Grease
. Plus, her change in attitude is going to take more than half a day to adjust to. I guess I've been waiting for it, but I'm not sure how I feel about it.

All the same, before I go downstairs to meet her at the car, I grab a shirt, a corduroy miniskirt, and brown riding boots. I throw them into my tote bag with my work-required lilac scrubs, just in case.

*   *   *

At five forty-five, I finish introducing myself to Mr. Glogowski for the nineteenth time (yes, I'm counting), close his door behind me, and head toward the nurses' station. I glance at my watch and do some calculations—I'll call my mom now, she'll pick me up, we can be on the road by six fifteen, and we'll arrive in plenty of time for the seven o'clock curtain.

I pass another volunteer, who very generously agreed to stay past her afternoon shift. “Thanks again, Raquel. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

Hoisting my tote bag up on my shoulder, I turn down the corridor toward the locker room to change into my theater-appropriate outfit, when I hear a ruckus from the gym exit. Guys are laughing and bantering, trying to one-up each other in trash talk. But among them, I hear a softer, familiar voice, and it calls to me from down the hallway.

“Hey! Hold up!”

I turn around and see Pax, and I try to do everything in my power to keep the huge, dopey smile from erupting on my face. I mean, I've talked to Pax several times in the last few days, but I haven't seen him in the flesh or been this close since I kissed him good night on Friday, since he showed up in my defense on Saturday morning like a total rock-star-slash-badass-slash-knight-in-shining-armor.

I fail epicly with the whole playing-it-cool thing, and my insta-smile stretches my cheeks. I turn away from the locker room and double back to meet him. When I get close enough, I realize there's no need to feel silly about the look on my face—the one on his mirrors it, and his smile reaches all the way to his eyes, which is the best thing ever. “Hey, Nik,” he greets me quietly.

“Hi.” I come to stand right in front of him and his friends.

They're all but giggling and making side comments to each other and clearly not going anywhere, so he rolls his eyes up at me before making introductions. “Karl, Jack … this is Nikki. Nikki, Karl and Jack. Two of my teammates.”

Karl, small and wiry, rolls forward to shake my hand. “'Sup, Nikki?”

Jack comes forward, too, offering his hand without saying anything, without really smiling.

“Hi, guys, nice to meet you.”

“You gonna come grab something to eat, man?” Karl asks. “Or are you good?”

Pax tilts his head and smiles at me some more, eyes never leaving my face. “I think I'm good. I'm just gonna hang.”

“You're just gonna hang,” Jack mimics. He shakes his head, slapping Pax on the back as he and Karl turn and wheel away. “Sure. Have fun hanging. Till the novelty wears off, anyway.”

My lips part in question as they turn and leave, and I stare at his back, Jack's words making me uncomfortable.

But Pax interrupts my thoughts. “Where ya headed?”

“I'm getting out of here early tonight. Actually…” I pause, wondering how to deliver the somewhat monumental news about my mom and our plans for the night, and how to appropriately thank him for the part I believe he played in it.

“Good.” Before I can come up with anything, he's interrupting me. “Then maybe we can hang out? You wanna come over?”

This is the part where I should tell him about
Rent
, about how I need to call my mom and get changed ASAP. But instead, I'm silent, studying him. He's just showered, and his hair looks soft and damp, and I can smell the cool cleanness of his shampoo from where I stand. Pax is wearing loose gray sweats and a very un-loose sleeveless black T-shirt that provides an unobstructed view of his impressive shoulders and biceps.

Then he does something really cruel. Smirking devilishly, he crooks his index finger and beckons me closer. “I mean…” He waits until I lean forward, my hands braced on the armrests of his chair, and then slides his hand around the back of my neck to pull my ear down to his mouth. “Since Friday? Been too long.” Pax kisses me once, softly and gently. “I've missed you.” His voice is husky, at odds with the innocent nature of his kiss, thick with undertones.

“I…”

That's as far as I get, one weak syllable, before he kisses me again, parting his lips this time, the tip of his tongue just barely touching mine before pulling back, rendering any additional syllables impossible.

“Come on. Come over.”

I weigh my options. There is an awkward car ride with my mom and a depressing portrayal of poverty and AIDS and death. I look at Pax some more: the slightly dirty, inviting grin. The merriment in his eyes. Those biceps.

It is six o'clock. My mom doesn't know that I've got my shift covered, and so I'm not due home for more than four hours.

My mind is made up at once.

“All right, I'll come over.” I smile brightly and kiss his lips. “Just let me go change.”

*   *   *

Pax's mom is putting dinner on the table when I arrive at his house. “Good to see you again, Nikki,” she greets me warmly. “Are you hungry? Do you want to join us for dinner?”

The warm tang of spaghetti sauce and the yeasty scent of hot, buttery bread greet me, and I'm happy to accept the invitation. “Sure. That would be great.”

She introduces me to Pax's father, and a moment later Pax appears from his bedroom. I'm both pleased and frustrated to see he's still wearing the tight T-shirt, which is more than a little distracting and might steal my focus from making a good impression on his parents. But it turns out that both of them are so easy to talk to and funny, sort of like Pax, and it's actually nice to share a meal with them. It's a heck of a lot more relaxed than mealtimes at my house have been lately.

I don't regret my decision to skip out on the play, not for a second, and I'm smiling as I help Mrs. Paxton clear the table and load the dishwasher when we're done.

She glances at the kitchen clock and calls to her husband through the open kitchen door. “Honey, what time is Gardener's open till?”

“At least eight o'clock,” he answers.

She closes the dishwasher and wipes her hands on a dish towel. “I was hoping to get over there to pick up some mums for the planters. You feel like taking a ride with me?”

“Sure, I'll come along.”

Pax turns to me and smiles once they leave. “They like you,” he tells me. “Didn't think twice about leaving the two of us here alone together.” Then he laughs and shakes his head. “That, or my parents also seriously doubt that I have any game whatsoever in this thing.”

I recall the effect he had on my body back at the center, when he was kissing me and telling me that he'd missed me. His parents are sorely mistaken. And I, for the record, am sort of giddy at the prospect of being left alone in the house with him.

Pax transfers to the couch, and I settle in beside him. He reaches for the remote from the end table and turns the channel to the CW just in time for
Arrow
to start, then wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close against him. I snuggle in contentedly, grateful that Pax is no longer insisting on the silly distance he'd proclaimed he wanted last time I sat next to him on this couch.

The minutes creep by slowly. Although Stephen Amell is pretty hot himself and during this episode there's an action-packed flashback to his time spent shipwrecked on the island, I'm way too distracted to enjoy any of it. There's the sight of Pax's handsome profile in my periphery, his warm, even breathing in my ear … not to mention the way he's rubbing slow, intoxicating circles into the palm of my hand with his thumb.

Kisssssss me
, I groan silently.
Please kiss me again.

We're only about twenty minutes into the show when I detect a change in his breathing. It's shallower and sort of ragged, and suddenly I know Pax is thinking about the exact same thing I am. During the next commercial he answers my unspoken request, turning to look at me from inches away. His eyes are cloudy and sort of distant, telling me what he wants. I give it to him without hesitation, finding his mouth with mine, deepening the kiss without preliminaries.

A tiny guttural moan escapes his mouth as he pushes himself up from the couch to be able to pull me all the way into his arms, his hands moving around to my back and sliding up under my curls.

We kiss and we kiss, occasionally taking the smallest of breaks to catch a quick breath or switch positions before longing pulls our mouths back together again. My chest is pressed against his, and as much as I love the strong, firm feel of Pax's body against mine, I can't seem to get close enough to him. Shifting my hips, I pivot so that I end up more or less on top of him, able to feel the entirety of his body below mine. His breath catches anew, and he murmurs something indecipherable into my ear before pushing my hair out of the way to kiss my neck.

I close my eyes and give in to the sensation, shifting my hips against his lower body. Abruptly, something catches my attention, and I feel my lips curving into a smile against his.

He notices, whispering “What?” into my ear.

I shake my head against his. “Nothing. Tell you later.” I find his mouth again, not wanting to waste this time talking, and draw him back into the kiss.

We don't stop making out until we hear wheels in the driveway, and it's sort of a miracle that we hear them at all, as caught up as we are in the kissing. But when I hear the crunch of gravel, I quickly struggle to untangle my legs from his and right myself, tugging on my shirt to straighten it and trying to push my now-wild hair back off my face.

I giggle at the sight of Pax's face, which is pink and flushed, totally giving us away. I sort of doubt his parents are going to be so quick to leave us alone together again, at least not if they turn on the overhead light and take one look at their son.

Luckily, they come in through the garage so they can deposit the flowers, and they call only a quick “good night” to us before retreating into their bedroom.

Pax has shifted back to a more respectable spot on the couch. He glances at me and raises an eyebrow, his chest still rising and falling heavily. “Good catch,” he says. “I wasn't hearing
anything
.”

I giggle. “Yeah, I didn't want to tarnish that nice impression they have of me.” I punch his arm. “Or let them know that you actually do have an awful lot of game.” Remembering something else, I struggle to keep the smile off my face, but my lips keep quirking upward.

“What are you laughing at?”

Another case of the giggles overtakes me, and I hide my eyes with my hand. “Nothing.”

Pax pulls my hand away. “Come on, that's wrong. You can't hook up with someone and then start
laughing
like that. What's so funny?”

But I can't seem to stop. “It's just … what you … I…” Finally, I throw my hands up. “This is embarrassing,” I whisper.

“Nikki, I told you—I'm waaay past the point of embarrassment. About anything.”

I bite my lip and look away, wishing I'd never given myself away at all. “Um … what you said the night we went to Philly, in the pool, about not knowing if…” I trail off, my cheeks feeling as if they're on fire as I remember the thing that had been very obvious when I was lying on top of Pax. “It's just … you know … obviously not something you need to worry about.”

It takes him a minute for understanding to dawn. Then he says, “Oh.” His cheeks turn pink anew. “Oh.” He laughs and hangs his head. “Okay, so yeah, maybe it's the slightest bit embarrassing.” But a minute later he's over it, and he looks up at me, his eyes gleaming with mischief as the tip of his tongue appears through his lips. “So I guess … good to know?”

I reach for his hand, enjoying the way our laughter relieves the tension. “Yeah. Guess it's good to know.”

“D'you know one time in a para forum, I stumbled across this online guide called ‘Sealing the Deal While on Two Wheels'?”

I look at him, trying to decide if he's kidding. He doesn't look like he's kidding. “Seriously?”

Pax cracks up. “No!”

I shove his chest, pushing him into the couch. “Jerk.”

Suddenly he winces and rubs at his right shoulder, which he bumped against the wooden edge of the couch. “Shit. Ow.”

I hadn't meant to hurt him. “I'm sorry!”

“It wasn't you,” he clarifies. “My shoulder's been acting up for a while now.” Pax grimaces. “Really bad news for someone who depends so entirely on his shoulders and arms to get around. I've been trying to ignore it, but Jack nailed me today in practice, and now it hurts like hell. It should pass, though.”