Dangerous Boys
Page 15
‘Here you are.’ I re-emerged into the living room and set the tray on her lap. ‘I’ll be back before midnight, call if you need anything.’
‘Are you going out with Ethan?’ Mom asked, distracted.
‘Yes.’ I bit back my frustration at the same question, every night.
Mom smiled at me. ‘He’s a nice boy. Helpful.’
‘Yes, Mom.’ I sighed, making sure she had everything she needed before I went and changed, quickly pulling on jeans and a sweater, and thundering back downstairs. I was back out in Ethan’s truck before five minutes had elapsed.
‘See?’ I said, breathless. ‘All set.’
Ethan gunned the engine but paused. ‘Are you sure she’s OK? We can hang at yours, if you want.’
I couldn’t find the ways to describe how much I didn’t want that. Spending another moment in that house would be more than I could take. It was why I was out with Ethan so much, why his house had become my refuge: warm, and bright, and full of activity, the way a home should be.
‘I promised your mom I’d come for dinner,’ I said instead. ‘Maybe another night.’ I waited for us to pull away, but instead, Ethan was waiting. ‘What?’ I asked, still tense. ‘I’m good to go.’
‘Just one more thing.’ Ethan gave me a crooked grin and then leaned over to kiss me.
I relaxed against him, feeling the warmth of his mouth and the gentle curl of his hand against my cheek. I kissed him back, tasting the mint on his breath. This was always the best part of my day.
Ethan pulled back. ‘Better?’ he whispered.
I smiled. ‘Better.’
Ethan put the truck in drive and pulled away. ‘Now I know why Mom wanted me home on time. She loves you, you know,’ he said, as we headed through the neighbourhood. ‘It’s always Chloe this, and Chloe that, and “when are we going to see more of her?”’ He mimicked his mother’s eager voice.
I laughed. ‘I like her. Both of them. Your parents are great.’
Ethan made a face. ‘I know, it’s just . . . they’re kind of full on. Living at home, working with Dad, it’s hard to get any time alone.’ He gave me a sideways look. ‘You know, that’s another thing about your place.’ He slid his hand over, across my thigh. ‘It’s practically empty. Private.’
I caught his hand, lifting it from my leg and intertwining my fingers through his. ‘We get plenty of privacy,’ I reminded him. ‘And it’s just weird for me, having her there. Not exactly romantic.’
Ethan sighed, but he didn’t press the issue. Since that first night, I’d kept us out of the house. It was a tedious dance, snatching moments between his work and mine; here in the truck, there in his bedroom, his parents downstairs, our music on loud. Sometimes, I wished I could go back, just reset the clock to before I’d asked him to stay, but that wasn’t fair. I wanted this too: the way he made me feel, those moments of escape.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured. ‘For understanding.’
‘Of course, babe.’ Ethan gave me a puzzled smile. ‘Anything for you.’
‘I’ll make it up to you.’ I lifted his hand to my lips, dropping a kiss on his palm. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed like a bitch before.’
‘You could never be a bitch.’ Ethan smiled at me. ‘You’re too sweet for that. My sweet girl.’
We pulled in to the driveway of Ethan’s house, a brightly-lit split-level with a neatly-trimmed yard. ‘Hey?’ Ethan called, as he swung open the door. ‘We’re home!’
‘Perfect timing.’ Ethan’s mom, Annette, bustled past him, pulling me inside with a hug. ‘Chloe, so good to see you!’
‘Hi, Annette.’ I smiled shyly, still not used to calling her by her name.
‘Sure, ignore me,’ Ethan teased.
‘Oh, hush you.’ Annette patted his arm affectionately, before turning back to me. Her blue eyes were smiling and she had a streak of flour on her cheek, incongruous against her sleek silk blouse and tailored pants. ‘I’m breaking the habit of a lifetime and trying my hand at dessert. Come tell me if the fruit is too tart. They said to use two cups of sugar, but surely that must be wrong.’
I followed her through the house, savouring the bright, warm rooms and the smell of sugar and vanilla drifting in the air. The Reznick house was like a spread from a magazine; not one of those cold, stark showrooms, but lived in and relaxed: polished wooden floors laid with fluffy rugs, walls covered with family photos and colourful abstract paintings that Annette had collected over the years, overstuffed couches to curl up in front of the fireplace that burned real logs (however much Ethan complained about carrying timber from the shed). I could have happily moved in and left my own cold, dark house behind, pretended as if this family were my own: loud and teasing and good-natured, instead of the fractured broken truth.
‘How was work?’ Annette chatted, as we reached the kitchen, a blue-tiled haven with acres of countertops now all covered with baking ingredients.
‘Fine. Quiet.’ I slipped on to a stool at the breakfast bar, my usual spot, and watched her stir a pot of something on the stove. She dipped a spoon in, then held it out to me. ‘Here, try, but watch out, it’s hot.’
I blew on the sauce, then tasted. ‘Great. But, maybe more sugar?’ I agreed. Annette made a face.
‘I’m trying to get the boys to cut down, you should see what they eat all day at work. Nothing but junk.’
‘And look how it’s stunted me!’ Ethan sauntered in. He flexed his biceps, grinning. I elbowed him as he passed, and he caught me in a hug, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
‘You say that now, but just you wait.’ Annette looked over, affection clear in her eyes. She scolded Ethan, but it was always good-natured. She couldn’t have been prouder of her son if she tried. ‘Your father was just like you, then he hit middle age and everything changed.’
‘Then that gives me another twenty years,’ Ethan laughed.
‘It goes sooner than you think,’ Annette warned him. ‘Here, Chloe honey, come stir this. I need to get started on the crust.’
I helped with the rest of dinner, while Ethan took a shower and changed. We had dinner ready by the time his father arrived home, greeting Annette with his usual kiss.
‘Good to see you again, Chloe.’ Derek Reznick was the older version of Ethan, so much so it was unnerving: the same broad, strapping physique, the same clear blue eyes. Derek’s hair was greying from blonde to silver, and his figure was softer and padded with age, but still, there was no mistaking the likeness, a glimpse of what Ethan would look like in another thirty years.
‘Are you going out with Ethan?’ Mom asked, distracted.
‘Yes.’ I bit back my frustration at the same question, every night.
Mom smiled at me. ‘He’s a nice boy. Helpful.’
‘Yes, Mom.’ I sighed, making sure she had everything she needed before I went and changed, quickly pulling on jeans and a sweater, and thundering back downstairs. I was back out in Ethan’s truck before five minutes had elapsed.
‘See?’ I said, breathless. ‘All set.’
Ethan gunned the engine but paused. ‘Are you sure she’s OK? We can hang at yours, if you want.’
I couldn’t find the ways to describe how much I didn’t want that. Spending another moment in that house would be more than I could take. It was why I was out with Ethan so much, why his house had become my refuge: warm, and bright, and full of activity, the way a home should be.
‘I promised your mom I’d come for dinner,’ I said instead. ‘Maybe another night.’ I waited for us to pull away, but instead, Ethan was waiting. ‘What?’ I asked, still tense. ‘I’m good to go.’
‘Just one more thing.’ Ethan gave me a crooked grin and then leaned over to kiss me.
I relaxed against him, feeling the warmth of his mouth and the gentle curl of his hand against my cheek. I kissed him back, tasting the mint on his breath. This was always the best part of my day.
Ethan pulled back. ‘Better?’ he whispered.
I smiled. ‘Better.’
Ethan put the truck in drive and pulled away. ‘Now I know why Mom wanted me home on time. She loves you, you know,’ he said, as we headed through the neighbourhood. ‘It’s always Chloe this, and Chloe that, and “when are we going to see more of her?”’ He mimicked his mother’s eager voice.
I laughed. ‘I like her. Both of them. Your parents are great.’
Ethan made a face. ‘I know, it’s just . . . they’re kind of full on. Living at home, working with Dad, it’s hard to get any time alone.’ He gave me a sideways look. ‘You know, that’s another thing about your place.’ He slid his hand over, across my thigh. ‘It’s practically empty. Private.’
I caught his hand, lifting it from my leg and intertwining my fingers through his. ‘We get plenty of privacy,’ I reminded him. ‘And it’s just weird for me, having her there. Not exactly romantic.’
Ethan sighed, but he didn’t press the issue. Since that first night, I’d kept us out of the house. It was a tedious dance, snatching moments between his work and mine; here in the truck, there in his bedroom, his parents downstairs, our music on loud. Sometimes, I wished I could go back, just reset the clock to before I’d asked him to stay, but that wasn’t fair. I wanted this too: the way he made me feel, those moments of escape.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured. ‘For understanding.’
‘Of course, babe.’ Ethan gave me a puzzled smile. ‘Anything for you.’
‘I’ll make it up to you.’ I lifted his hand to my lips, dropping a kiss on his palm. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed like a bitch before.’
‘You could never be a bitch.’ Ethan smiled at me. ‘You’re too sweet for that. My sweet girl.’
We pulled in to the driveway of Ethan’s house, a brightly-lit split-level with a neatly-trimmed yard. ‘Hey?’ Ethan called, as he swung open the door. ‘We’re home!’
‘Perfect timing.’ Ethan’s mom, Annette, bustled past him, pulling me inside with a hug. ‘Chloe, so good to see you!’
‘Hi, Annette.’ I smiled shyly, still not used to calling her by her name.
‘Sure, ignore me,’ Ethan teased.
‘Oh, hush you.’ Annette patted his arm affectionately, before turning back to me. Her blue eyes were smiling and she had a streak of flour on her cheek, incongruous against her sleek silk blouse and tailored pants. ‘I’m breaking the habit of a lifetime and trying my hand at dessert. Come tell me if the fruit is too tart. They said to use two cups of sugar, but surely that must be wrong.’
I followed her through the house, savouring the bright, warm rooms and the smell of sugar and vanilla drifting in the air. The Reznick house was like a spread from a magazine; not one of those cold, stark showrooms, but lived in and relaxed: polished wooden floors laid with fluffy rugs, walls covered with family photos and colourful abstract paintings that Annette had collected over the years, overstuffed couches to curl up in front of the fireplace that burned real logs (however much Ethan complained about carrying timber from the shed). I could have happily moved in and left my own cold, dark house behind, pretended as if this family were my own: loud and teasing and good-natured, instead of the fractured broken truth.
‘How was work?’ Annette chatted, as we reached the kitchen, a blue-tiled haven with acres of countertops now all covered with baking ingredients.
‘Fine. Quiet.’ I slipped on to a stool at the breakfast bar, my usual spot, and watched her stir a pot of something on the stove. She dipped a spoon in, then held it out to me. ‘Here, try, but watch out, it’s hot.’
I blew on the sauce, then tasted. ‘Great. But, maybe more sugar?’ I agreed. Annette made a face.
‘I’m trying to get the boys to cut down, you should see what they eat all day at work. Nothing but junk.’
‘And look how it’s stunted me!’ Ethan sauntered in. He flexed his biceps, grinning. I elbowed him as he passed, and he caught me in a hug, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
‘You say that now, but just you wait.’ Annette looked over, affection clear in her eyes. She scolded Ethan, but it was always good-natured. She couldn’t have been prouder of her son if she tried. ‘Your father was just like you, then he hit middle age and everything changed.’
‘Then that gives me another twenty years,’ Ethan laughed.
‘It goes sooner than you think,’ Annette warned him. ‘Here, Chloe honey, come stir this. I need to get started on the crust.’
I helped with the rest of dinner, while Ethan took a shower and changed. We had dinner ready by the time his father arrived home, greeting Annette with his usual kiss.
‘Good to see you again, Chloe.’ Derek Reznick was the older version of Ethan, so much so it was unnerving: the same broad, strapping physique, the same clear blue eyes. Derek’s hair was greying from blonde to silver, and his figure was softer and padded with age, but still, there was no mistaking the likeness, a glimpse of what Ethan would look like in another thirty years.
