Dragons of Drupes - 10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

Jack eyed me with caution the entire journey home. Only once I’d packed Avice’s diary and we were on the road again did he relax a little.

“Spit it out. You’re mad, aren’t you?”

Ya say?

But I wasn’t about to let him take the fun out of my plan by apologizing. “Nup.”

Oh hell yeah I was.

“It’s my birthday, let’s just . . . get along for once, okay?”

He stuck his hands in her pockets and kept walking. A mischievous thrill ran through me as we took a short cut down a narrow side street. “Drake?” Jack’s voice came low and rumbly.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

My heart froze. It was as if there was a big red siren flashing in my head warning me: you know what’s about to come.

Maybe, maybe not, but I still didn’t want to risk it.

“Me first,” I said too quickly. “Am the birthday boy after all.”

“Right.” Jack pulled his hands from his pockets, looping his thumbs around his belt-straps. Why couldn’t he keep his hands still?

Was he nervous?

Danger zone, the siren was now squealing. Maybe he’d noticed the weird way I’d been looking at him yesterday and today. Oh God, maybe he felt uncomfortable and wanted to know what the hell was going on.

Well, that made two of us, buddy.

Or worse (better?), if he knew and didn’t mind it.

“You know how I have this date with Chrissy, Saturday?”

Why couldn’t I’ve thought of something else?

I heard a gulping sound come from Jack. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you think roses would be over the top?”

Roses? What, was I middle aged?

“Really trying to woo her, huh?” Jack actually smiled. “I’m no expert, Drake, but I don’t think she’s the courting type. At best she might find it . . . corny. Best just to you know, be nice.” He said nice like it was a foreign word I might not know about. I wanted to smack his arm, but didn’t want the proximity.

We exited the narrow street and crossed through a long archway of trees into South-Cherry Public Park. “So,” I said, tentatively. Not wanting—and really wanting—to know. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Um, nothing.”

I breathed out, trying not to acknowledge a small—eensy, eensy—part of me that was disappointed.

We walked on in silence beside each other, shoes squelching over soggy ground. Kids in tuxedos and girls in bright, puffy dresses were running round adults who huddled together, waving their arms about, voices loud but indistinct—bawdy, perhaps drunken. What must have been the groom held the bride tightly, swaying in front of a three-tiered wedding cake. Their chaotic hurrah grew louder, heavier, and I was thankful for it making the silence between Jack and me more bearable.

Jack’s arm swung, brushing against mine on the narrow path as we walked toward the wedding party, edging a small lake. It was beautiful. A little like a Monet print, with lily pads and hazy reflections on the water. And for a moment I wished to stop walking and stand there, sinking into the feeling of being surrounded by such warm color, with Jack by my side.

“Check it out,” Jack said, extending his arm, pointing to the top of the little white chapel we’d sat next to only days before. “A dragon smoke-strip.”

I looked at the orange, yellow and red speckled dragon with white wedding lace choked about its neck, no doubt to match the themed wedding party. A huge smoke strip bubbled above his head in the sky, wisps of smoke feeding into it from the dragon’s mouth.

I gasped when I figured out what it was meant to be, disgusted for a moment before the message soaked in and I wanted to cheer the dragon on—for standing up himself.

But I held myself back as the wedding noise clarified: what I thought a bawdy wedding reception was an incensed one. The guests jerked their hands toward the sky, cursing, yelling.

The smoke-strip was an image of an aisle. At the altar stood two dragons, one wearing a veil, the other a suit. Chained up at the ends of each pew where normally flowers would be, were babies with bows around their necks.

A group of five policemen arrived as we rounded the last edge of the lake. They climbed up a ladder at the side of the chapel. I stopped in my tracks, watching as the dragon anxiously glanced at the men making their way up for him. But still he blew the smoke, keeping the strip intact.

Once the policemen reached the roof, they pulled out batons.

I stumbled back into Jack and he dug his fingers into my arm when they beat the dragon. Jack and I screamed a string of curses at the police men, but our words were whipped up by a breeze and blown away. I yanked Jack away, trying to turn us both around so we wouldn’t have to see.

But he threw me off.

“This is so wrong,” he croaked. Blood spilled out of the dragon and its image turned into a haze of smoke.

 

Still, they kept beating him. I felt Jack shudder.

“Let’s go,” I said, tucking my arm under his and pulling him away.

I offered him a tissue from my pocket, but he only looked away and swiped his eyes with his sleeve. “That’s fucking wrong,” he said, when he could turn to me again.

My stomach had churned seeing it, and I was close to throwing up. “I know.”

Now it was my turn to shudder.

Behind a large cherry tree, Jack stopped and took my hand. It was just for a second, just enough to make me stop too; but suddenly, my stomach was churning differently.

“That was awful, Drake,” he croaked. “I don’t understand why they—”

I collected a breath. “This is a very prejudiced society, Jack. This type of thing goes on all the time here.”

Jack shuddered again. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged.

“Sorry,” I said.

I should have let go almost as soon as I started it, but I didn’t, his warmth was comforting—reminding me I wasn’t alone in the terror of what I’d just seen. I needed to feel him closer and squeezed once more, feeling the heat of our bodies so close together.

Jack ripped away, turning from me. I thought he might have cussed under his breath, but I wasn’t sure. Then he charged ahead of me and walked to the road.

My plans for getting back at him drizzled away. How could I do it now?

“Shit,” he said, kicking at a clump of grass.

“You alright?”

He spun. “No, I’m not freaking alright. How can I be when I have to spend the afternoon with you. And then,”—he pointed back toward the chapel—“that! This is screwed up!”

The way he said ‘you’ was cold and hard, almost a sneer.

I wasn’t going to admit hearing it hurt.

But, okay, it did.

Jack threw his head back toward the sky and breathed out. “Look, sorry, that came out—”

“Doesn’t matter.” I walked past him.

The plan was so back on.

I found the small diner without any problem. It was tucked in between a bike rental store and a small supermarket. A couple of tall red tables stood out front, and I led a moping Jack to the one furthest from the diner entrance.

“Wait here, I’m going to grab us something to eat with the tenner I found in the gutter, yesterday.” In five minutes I returned with a large burger, fries and soda.

I pushed the burger in his direction. “Eat.”

Jack glumly looked at the food, and reluctantly took a bite. A drop of tomato sauce ran down his finger. He licked it off and I swallowed. Then he took another bite, chewing slowly, before placing the burger back on the plate. “Tastes weird.”

Coolly, without any hint of a smile, I replied, “Never eaten spider meat before. Weird, huh?”

Before I could tell what was happening, his plate had been shoved toward me with such force that the burger had come apart and was dripping down my front. I watched Jack’s face contort in anger, then pale. He turned so white, I thought he was going to chuck. Slowly, the color returned to his cheeks. “You’re kidding.”

I pulled out Avice’s diary from my bag and flicked it open to the correct entry.

Man I just love food! To remember: Salad Andrews for the best salads (but that was probably obvious wasn’t it?), Tiny Totters for the most awesome sweet potato croquettes, Eight, Nine, Ten for the finest spider paddy burger, Alco Ococ for the best fizzed jam, Cindy Cunday for a pretty damn good ice cream...

Jack looked up at the diner. “Eight, Nine, Ten,” he read. Then he ran from the store to the park across the road and threw up in the bushes.

I followed him. (Yes, feeling bad I’d gone through with it. I hadn’t thought he’d chuck for real.)

His jaw line hardened when he stood up and saw me. “Jerk.”

He stalked off.

“Wait,” I yelled. “It’s just a joke. It was a falafel burger with eight layers of stuff, that’s all!”

He kept walking.

Ah, crap.

Maybe we were better at hating each other than being . . . friendly anyway.

I let him go, and stalked off in the opposite direction, wishing each heavy step would take away the guilt that seemed to be growing.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, and still feeling guilty, I arrived back home. Faye and Terry were in the kitchen, eating cake. They looked dark through my sunglasses.

“Give Avice back her diary?” was the first thing Faye asked at the same time Terry asked, “What’s with the sun glasses.”

I faced Faye, taking off the glasses. “I sure did. There’s your proof.” She winced at the black eye left behind from Avice’s killer right hook.

“Dude,” Terry said, shaking his head.

But it didn’t hurt, I didn’t care about it at all. I just wanted to know one thing.

“Jack back, yet?”

“Thought he was with you,” Terry said, pink icing streaked across his upper lip.

“We kinda had a fight.”

“No surprise there,” Faye said.

I slipped the sunglasses onto my head and sat. “What about Walter? You guys get proof?”

“See for yourself,” Terry growled and threw his camera over as if it were a ball in a rugby game. I caught and switched it on.

The quality of the image displayed on his small digital camera was crystal although it was difficult to hear anything being said. The image rocked a bit as Terry walked down the hall to the first door. Through the eyes of the camera, I investigated each room. Most of the smooth surfaces were covered in family photos; there were many of Walter when he must have been twenty years younger, as well as some of Josina and Avice.

Then Faye and Terry entered his study. Faye was riffling through the documents on his desk, letting Terry zoom up on any she thought were important. First was his calendar entry for the day the jewel went missing: Berlin with Avice. Museum of Natural History, 10am. Then came some receipts for diamorphine and diclofenac. “Diamorphine? What is that?” I mumbled. “Painkillers?”

“Very strong painkillers.” Faye had come up behind me and was watching, too. “I did some research as soon as I got home. These painkillers are only prescribed to people who… who are dying.” She said the last words softly.

“Dying?” I repeated, something clicking in my head.

Then on screen Faye took out a black folder from the bottom desk drawer. Even before she opened it, I knew what it would be.

“Walter didn’t steal the jewel,” I said.

“I know,” Terry growled again and now I understood his reaction. He was disappointed. He wanted to get to the end of the mystery so that his home, our home, was finally secure again.

I watched as the camera zoomed up on Walter’s will.

“He’s left everything to Josina,” Faye said.

“But he hasn’t even told her he’s dying . . . ” I gulped, suddenly sad for the warm woman who had so openly welcomed us into her home. (Even if she had poisoned Jack). It made me feel terrible for deceiving her.

I switched the recording off and handed the camera back to Terry.

“Cake?” he offered.

“Hell yeah.” I stuffed a square piece in my mouth, hoping like an idiot it would choke away the shittiness I felt.

“What did you fight about this time?” Faye asked.

“Nothing much. I pretended that he’d eaten a spider burger and he freaked out.”

Terry laughed. Finally, someone who got that it was a joke. “Better watch your back,” he said. “He’s bound to come back with birds.”

I shivered.

But when midnight came, and Jack was still not back, I started wishing what Terry said would come true. At least then he’d be home.

A hard lump formed in my throat when I thought about the dragon beating we’d witnessed. How upset he’d been.

He wouldn’t do anything stupid, though. Would he?

It made me anxious, but Terry and Faye didn’t seem to think there was anything to worry about except that he was really, really pissed.

I had two cigarettes, one after the other to calm myself down. My matches were running out. I really had to find my lighter. Another half-assed search of my room revealed nothing. I glanced at my watch. Half past twelve. I crept up to his room and planted myself on a chair.

 

It was one thirty when he got back. Under the gap of his door I saw the light from the hall. I couldn’t hear his footsteps and he opened his door slowly as if making sure it wouldn’t squeak and give him away.

The hall light went off, but he didn’t bother turning his bedroom light on. Not wanting to freak him out again, I shuffled on the chair.

“Who’s there?” he whispered.

“Me,” I said, and he hissed. Guess I didn’t need to clarify with a ‘Drake’.

“What do you want?”

I stretched out to tug his curtains until a small beam of sunlight filtered through, giving the room a faint bit of definition.

“You’re home late.”

“Depends on how you look at it. In New Zealand it’s pretty early.”

I moved off the chair. “Jack, we were worried.”

“Oh, are Faye and Terry here, too?” he said with an edge of sarcasm.

“No. Fine, I was worried.” He stopped shuffling in the room and a silence filled the space between us. “I mean, I’m sorry about earlier.”

He sighed and fell back onto his bed. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d been so cruel to you in Quincey’s office. But I guess I was just as much a dick.”

“It’s alright. No biggie.”

He turned his head in my direction. “Call it even?”

“Sure,” I said, watching as he kicked off his shoes and moved to his built-in closet.

When he dug his hand into his pocket as he opened the closet door, I frowned. I found myself getting up and crossing over to him. He chucked some pajamas on the bed and closed the closet; he was just turning away from it when I closed the last few meters between us.

I pressed my hand on the door so he was trapped by my body, but not touching. He didn’t even try to escape; he leaned back against the door and looked at me.

His brow furrowed with concern. “Your eye.”

“It’s fine. Deserved, even.”

He glanced at my lips and up again.

I brushed my hand against his jeans, feeling something hard in his pocket.

I leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking about this,” I said, and slid my fingers into his pocket. He grabbed my wrist but I shook him off, plunging deep into his pocket until I had my fingers around it. Then quickly withdrew them.

I flicked my lighter open and a flame flickered between us.

“Sorry, Drake,” he croaked, glancing away from me, shrinking back against the closet door. “I didn’t want you smoking anymore.”

All the times he’d put his hand in that exact pocket came back to me—he’d been carrying the lighter with him the whole time! I believed him when he said he didn’t want me smoking, but touching it so often—it was more than that. Suddenly things were becoming clearer. A lot clearer.

He liked touching something of mine.

I swallowed a sudden intake of air, almost coughing. My body felt as if it was shaking to its core, my pulse racing so fast Jack had to hear it. He liked touching something of mine? Because he—because he liked me? He liked me. My mind strained to process it—taste what it meant. But it was like my senses were on overload, and I couldn’t palate it. A part of me wanted to sink closer into him, let him touch me instead, and another part wanted to hurl myself across the room, getting as much space between us as we could.

Then I caught Jack’s lip tremble and when he bit his lip, it was so endearing I wanted just to watch him—to smile, and what did that mean? Dammit what the fuck did all that mean?

My gut stirred and with it the sudden need to swipe the nervous look off his face, to make him stop making me feel like this.

I slammed my hand against the door on the other side of his head, forcing him to look at me. “Damn it, Jack! This is—This just can’t happen.”

“I don’t—”

“You know what I’m talking about. You and I can’t happen. More than that, it won’t. You’re my flatmate, and a fucking guy!” I snapped the lid to my lighter shut, and Jack jumped away as I yanked the bedroom door open and stormed off.

So what it was out in the open? I’d put him in his place . . . Put both of us in our places. Now we’d just have to move on and forget about this. The lighter cut into my gripped hand and I threw it across the room to clatter against my own closet. In the morning this would all be over, forgotten—I wouldn’t think about it anymore. Starting now.

I stripped down to my boxers and jumped in bed. I twisted and turned to find one comfortable position. But there were none.

After an hour, I screwed up my sheets and threw them to the floor.

He was a guy.

Then I cried and cried until I fell asleep.

 

* * *

It was seven pm, Saturday evening. Most of the day I’d spent avoiding Jack, although it didn’t take much effort as he was doing the same thing.

I served up sweet and sour vegetarian stir fry onto four plates, concentrating hard on doling out the food evenly. Harder than I normally would have anyway, because Jack had just walked into the room. I heard him open the fridge and pour himself a glass of something. He was an apple juice fan, so I guessed it was that.

“Hey guys,” Faye said entering the room, as I drained the water from the rice, “You want to recap what we got so far?” It was a good idea to do our usual mid-mystery analysis, but I didn’t want a group meeting right now. “We could do it over dinner?”

“You all do it without me, I’ll catch up later,” Jack said, heading out the room.

‘Jack,’ I said, stopping him mid-track. Sorries flooded my mind as I saw his flustered face, but all I said was, “Here’s your dinner” and pressed a plate into his hand and quickly turned away.

“You’re on dishes,” was all he said.

Jack left and Terry stopped in the doorway. “Smells delicious, man.”

I gave Faye and Terry a plate and we all sat at the table. Faye had her small laptop opened up. “Let’s start with Auber, Rohesia. What do we know about her? What could her motivations be?”

“Didn’t you say she had a lot of jewelry? Maybe she just wants it?” Terry suggested.

“Flick on the video footage of when you two were distracting her,” I said. I know Terry and Faye found nothing suspicious about the interaction, but I thought I should finally check it out.

Faye turned the laptop around so I could see the screen clearly. “First bit is only the walk to her place from the square. Only a bit of audio from the radio interview and then this bit, you bumping into Professor Quincey, it’s funny to watch.” She pressed start.

There I was stumbling over the Professor. “I’m so sorry,” came a voice, a deep voice—familiar and unfamiliar—mine. “Are you okay?”

“Guys,” I said, “Do I sound like that?”

“Yup,” Terry said. “But damn it’s weird to hear your own voice. I thought mine would be lower.”

“I really am sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Me again.

It sounded familiar. . . .

Faye waved a hand in front of my face? “. . . okay?”

“Huh?”

“I’m fast forwarding to Rohesia.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I only just got her face in the frame because the threshold was like, that high.” She held her hands a school ruler-length apart. “And the recording chip was on my chest.”

Terry laughed. “Yeah, the way you held out your chest was like you were trying to compete with her or something.”

“I don’t like the way you say trying,” Faye said, looking at him out the corner of her eye. He shut up.

“Did she have—” I started.

“Huge,” Terry said.

“Anyway . . . ” Faye said, and I refocused on the screen.

The first part showed Faye and Terry handing out a brochure and presenting their ‘Vote Madeleine Boteler’ badges. There was a brief introduction to what their ‘party’ represented and then came the bit I wanted to see. Rohesia’s face seemed friendly. It was hard for me to imagine that she could be a thief when I looked into her wide blue eyes.

But I’d been surprised before.

“Did you know that the rate of break-ins in this area has risen?”

“This is a pretty well-off area. I’m surprised,” Rohesia said, her eyebrows lifting.

“You would be surprised. That’s why your vote should go to Madeleine Boteler. She proposes tougher punishment on crime.”

“As a concerned member of society, wouldn’t you like to see thieves and petty criminals behind bars much longer than three months? According to recent surveys, that’s the average time these thieves serve.”

Rohesia blinked, but her face remained still. “I’m sure they will have had sufficient time to reflect on the error of their ways. I think it’s a good thing people are given second chances.” There was no doubting the sincerity in her eyes. I watched as she outlined her argument. She seemed genuine about the importance of integration of criminals into society without black tags hanging over their name. Still, there was nothing that proved she didn’t do it. Just nothing that proved she did, either.

After we’d finished brainstorming about Rohesia, where we came up with nothing but a jewelry obsession, we looked at the Ballard-Cardons. We’d decided Walter was clean. Avice was a bit trickier. Was it possible that she stole the jewel to prolong her granddad’s life? It was reasonable to assume she didn’t want her granddad to die, and maybe she’d gone to lengths stop that from happening.

“I checked my inbox and we all got two sample lessons from Beatrice Wymer. Want to take a look?” Faye asked.

Terry lurched over to my side of the table. “Where’s the popcorn!”

“Finish your rice.” Faye pressed play and joined us. “This is the theoretical introduction from last year’s course.”

“Looks just as—” he cut off at Faye’s glare. Terry raised his hands. “Alright.”

Beatrice Wymer stood at a podium and a board behind her projected slides. Every time she pointed her Soundimer in its direction, a new diagram came up. “Welcome to Geology 375.”

The camera took a sweeping shot of the audience and returned to zoom up on Beatrice. She outlined the structure of the course, including how many lectures there were, when the field trips would be taking place, and of course, not forgetting to freak out the students about what tests, essays, and assessments lay ahead.

“This course begins with geology and ends with geochemistry, leading nicely, for those that have passed well and are interested, into my Geology 376 paper, which shows how the Soundimer is an essential tool of modern science. The goal for this course is to develop an understanding of the essential foundations of geology and geochemistry. Geology is the observation and analysis of solids and this part of the course will include stratigraphy, paleontology . . .”

I would have thought by this point I’d have wanted to fall asleep, but Beatrice had such a way of captivating her audience it was hard to get bored. The next sample lesson was set in a lab, and Beatrice wore a white coat and had her Soundimer looped around her middle finger.

“Geochemistry is the application of the principles of chemistry. . . .”

I suddenly felt bad Jack wasn’t here to watch this with us. This was so his thing and he’d have loved giving us mini lectures on what all this meant.

“The important thing to remember in this class is patience. We could dissect and pull apart this complex rock in a matter of seconds, but that would be counter-productive. It’s too much strain on any one Soundimer. Therefore, we do things step-by-step and over a period of a few days. The results of the reattachment of precious and semi-precious jewels are hugely beneficial to science. By reconnecting amethyst components into a different pattern we can produce medicines like painkillers that are used in surgery . . .”

We watched both her sample lessons and discussed Beatrice’s motivations. Some unanswered questions remained: Why was she wearing such an oversized jacket in the stuffy museum room? She ran courses on dissecting the different elements of jewels. She certainly had the knowledge how to use the power the jewel contained. But other than research, what could’ve been her motivation? Or was the research itself enough?

I told Faye and Terry about the essay title I’d seen, and how there was something about it that bugged me, though I couldn’t place it.

A Dissection and Comparison of the Properties of Stones and Gems Found on Earth and Dowrl; The United States of America vs. The Cariema Belts. Geo 376. Lecturer Beatrice Wymer. Student ID number: 202876.

 

Still nothing clicked.

“I’m beat,” Terry said, leaning his head against the wall.

“Another slice of cake?” I suggested.

“For sure.”

I hacked three large squares from the half-eaten cake and handed them each one.

With a full mouth, Faye added, “Nutrition smishen. I could live off cake.” Which made Terry and I grin.

Stretching my arms, I linked my hands together and clicked my fingers. “Better. Right, I’m off to my date.”

“That’s tonight already?” Faye asked, shutting her laptop.

“In twenty minutes, actually.” So, yeah, I might have forgotten for a bit, but I remembered. That’s what counts, right?

“Wanna borrow my bike?” Terry said, standing up with me.

“Was just gonna take the bus—”

“Tested her wheels earlier today, she’s a smooth rider.”

“It’s no problem?”

Terry beckoned me toward the stairs.

“Awesome,” I said. Having Terry as a friend and flatmate was easy. He was generous and together, and when he needed, he could still scare the living daylights out of any sod who crossed him. He really was the best.

He showed me how to start the engine on the bike and gave me not one, but two, motorbike chains. “Seriously, two? These things weigh what? Ten kilos.”

“Five and a half each, so yeah, round ten. But she’s my baby. You understand.”

I dropped the chains into my satchel and maneuvered the bag behind me so I’d be more balanced.

“Later,” Terry bellowed behind me after he’d helped me change Oxions and practically pushed me and the bike out my floor door.

As I hopped on the bike, I flashed a wave at him. I was sure I saw Jack standing in his shadow, but when I looked again, he’d gone.

“Time to focus on Chrissy,” I hummed to myself. The hum sounded muffled and strangely pitched in my head, reminding me of what my voice sounded like to everyone else. Deeper than I thought, and also annoyingly familiar like—

Images of my crazy-drunk dream came back to me. On stage with the chandelier, Chrissy, Jack. That voice I couldn’t make out! It’d all been me. All along me.

I frowned, thinking the dream over in absurd clarity, but so what I figured out the voice was me—it didn’t solve whatever mystery I was supposed to solve.

Jesus, why was I even caring so much?

It was a trippy dream.

That was it.

* * *

 

Chrissy was sitting in a red and white striped booth at the window, sipping a soda through a straw. Her blonde hair was twisted together and hanging over her left shoulder. She looked hot. I ran a hand through my hair, hoping the wind hadn’t disheveled it too bad, before walking to the table and sliding into the booth opposite her.

“You showed. I was beginning to think you were a no-show.”

“Hardly the best plan seeing we jam together.” I grinned. “You might want to get even and stand me up on the night of our gig.”

“Piss me off too badly, and that might still happen.” She raised one brow. “So, how was the rest of your b-day?”

Kinda sucky. “Alright.”

“Think about me?” she said with a confidence that impressed me.

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s up with the rest of your flatmates? Out partying?”

“Nah. Jack’s a pain in the ass, like always, but I guess that’s not news. Terry’s doing some work in his shed. And Faye’s playing online games. Everything’s running smoothly except that I sometimes just want to throttle Jack. He stole my lighter trying to stop me smoking, could you believe. I mean, I guess he was just trying to help, but—”

“Want to sip?” Chrissy interrupted, smiling. She shoved her soda over to me and I took her straw and sucked up some of the fizzy liquid. That I was drinking from her straw made my lips tremble. I pushed it back and locked my eyes onto Chrissy, watching as she sucked hard.

She was hot. So why wasn’t I getting that Coca-Cola fizzing feeling right now?

Maybe I just needed to get closer.

Under the table I slid a leg her way until our ankles rubbed, she raised a brow at that, smiling.

“So, Jack’s the ass in your flat, huh? Sounds a bit like my brother. Always meddling—thinks his way is always best. Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but sometimes I just want to kill him, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s exactly the way I feel with Jack, well, minus the good part, but all the rest. Like the other day he . . .” I relayed to her how frustrating he was, and before I knew it, Chrissy’s drink was finished.

I shut myself up. Crap, there I was babbling about Jack, when I should be asking her questions. Maybe making some sort of move.

“Can I pay for your drink?” I asked.

“Nup, it’s already done.”

“Good.” I grabbed her hand, whisked her off the seat, and dragged her outside. “Let’s go somewhere.”

We walked in silence until I found an empty and clean park bench. I sat down and pulled her onto my lap. She giggled. I wasn’t really in control of my actions anymore. I clutched onto the sides of her face, bringing her closer.

“You’re so hot,” I said.

“You too, Drake, but—”

Before she could finish her sentence, I crushed my lips against hers. She was wearing apricot lip gloss, which smelt good, and I licked her bottom lip.

Still, it wasn’t totally working for me.

Until I closed my eyes. Then I kissed her harder and she returned the favor. I groaned and tried to deepen the kiss, but she drew away. It took me a few seconds to adjust to the dark park and Chrissy frowning on my lap.

“What did you just say?” she said.

I had no idea what she was on about. I’d said something?

“You called me Jack,” she said, sliding off me and pulling her jacket tightly around her middle.

I did what? “I did not.”

But I couldn’t be sure of anything. The end part had been all just a wonderful blur.

“You definitely said his name. Jeez, I knew it! The way you kept talking about him! You said you hated him, but the whole time your face was glowing, like inside you were smiling or something.”

“No way, I . . . there’s nothing—” I said a little too fast, breaking myself off. A part of me, as hard as I tried to quell it, whispered there might in fact be something going on.

“Right. See you at band practice.” She started walking off the way we’d come.

“Wait, I’m . . . ” Confused. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say—”

Chrissy stopped in her tracks and came back a few steps. “Drake, I . . . I’m not really upset. I thought I would be more, but I’m not. I liked kissing you, but I guess . . . I had a feeling that kiss was too intense to be all about me. We don’t really know each other that well. I’m okay about it. And the other thing. Lips are sealed.” She smiled and took a step forward. “No hard feelings, ‘kay? I think I prefer just jamming with you.”

With that she turned and left, leaving me going over every second of the kiss again.

Suck it to hell and back again.

I’d said Jack.