Stray
Page 5
But she hadn’t been taken by a human, which was why Marc had come for me.
The stray, I thought, my hands curling into fists around the strap of my backpack. He wasn’t just trespassing; he was collecting. Daddy had sent Marc to make sure I didn’t become the stray’s next acquisition.
I knew then that there would be no arguing, and no negotiation. Marc would take me home if he had to carry me over one shoulder, scratching and hissing al the way. As much as I would have loved to resist, I would spare myself the indignity, because ultimately, he would win a physical fight, no matter how dirty I played. It was just one more of those things that never changed, like Marc himself.
By the time I’d changed out of my citrus-scented pants and packed what clothes and books I couldn’t do without, Sammi was back from the library. She dumped her books on the counter in our tiny gal ey-style kitchen, already chattering about her latest misogynistic conspiracy theory. She hesitated when she saw Marc, and her words sputtered to a stop. It was kind of funny; I’d final y found something to shut her up. Too bad I couldn’t stick around and enjoy the silence.
Marc laughed from behind my desk, where he’d made himself at home.
Beneath him, the straight-backed chair looked no more substantial than a stack of toothpicks, as if it might collapse into a pile of kindling at any moment. “I’m impressed, Faythe,” he said, leaning the chair back on two legs. “I didn’t think you could find someone who talked more than you do, but I’ve obviously underestimated you. Again.”
Well, he did make a habit of it.
“Sammi, this is Marc Ramos. Marc, my roommate, Samantha.”
Sammi’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she tried—and failed—to come up with something intel igent to say. I rolled my eyes. Yeah, he looked good, but her reaction was a little over the top. But then, Sammi had a flair for melodrama.
Marc laughed again and the chair thumped to the ground as he rose to shake her hand. When Marc came toward her, Sammi took a step back, bumping her leg against the edge of an end table before she took his hand in brief, wide-eyed greeting.
“What’s going on?” she managed to say, eyeing the suitcase open on the couch. I’d packed more books than clothing, which meant the bag would weigh a ton, but Marc could probably lift it with a single finger. He wouldn’t, because that would draw attention. But he could.
“Daddy pulled the plug,” I said, snapping the latches on the front of the suitcase. “I’l be back in the fal , but he won’t pay for grad school unless I spend the summer at home.” It was the closest I could come to an explanation Sammi would believe.
“And Marc would be…?” She left the question open-ended, glancing at him during the pause.
Good question. There was no easy way to describe Marc’s role in my life, because he usual y had none. He was no longer my bed warmer, my confidant, or even a fond memory, and he didn’t fit any definition of “friend” she’d understand, so how to explain…?
“My ride.” That should do it. Marc had been demoted to chauffeur, and his only reaction was a wink and an I’ve-got-a-secret grin. Great. He thought it was funny.
Sammi nodded slowly, as if she didn’t believe me, but that was her problem, because I was done thinking up explanations. At least until the fal term.
“You’re leaving now?” She fingered the hem of her blouse, glancing around the apartment at several piles of my belongings that hadn’t made the single-suitcase cut.
“Yeah, sorry about the mess. We’re paid up through the first, and I’l send you a check for my half of next month’s rent. Can I leave my stuff here til I get back?”
“Sure,” she said. “What about Andrew?”
I felt Marc’s focus shift to me, and I bit my lip to keep from saying something I’d regret. I hadn’t told him about my new boyfriend, and obviously neither had any of my father’s spies. No doubt their silence was out of respect for him, rather than me.
Marc stiffened, and only the slight flaring of his nostrils betrayed him as he tested my scent. He scowled, and I stifled a groan, suddenly thankful that Andrew and I had had…um…lunch in his apartment rather than in mine. Smelling a man’s scent mixed with mine was one thing, but smelling it on my sheets would have been quite another.
The lingering smel of stray on me was probably the only reason Marc hadn’t already noticed Andrew’s…um, place in my life. And in my bed. The stray’s heavy mix of earthy musk and mixed blood easily overpowered Andrew’s simple blend of light sweat and untainted humanity.
I would have told him, eventually. Really. However, I pride myself on having marginal y more tact than Sammi. But then, I hadn’t been honest with her about who my ride actual y was, so what did I expect?
“I’l call him,” I said, zipping up my suitcase.
Marc snatched the bag from my grip and stomped out the front door, leaving it open into the hallway.
I hugged Sammi, breathing in the floral fragrance of her shampoo. If my parents had their way, it would be a while before I smel ed my roommate’s wholesome femininity layered with Herbal Essences and cherry Bubble Yum.
Assuming I ever made it back to school at al . And where my father was concerned, there were no guarantees.
“Study enough for both of us,” I said, releasing her reluctantly. She smiled, more confused than sad, and I returned the look. I didn’t real y know what was going on, either.
The stray, I thought, my hands curling into fists around the strap of my backpack. He wasn’t just trespassing; he was collecting. Daddy had sent Marc to make sure I didn’t become the stray’s next acquisition.
I knew then that there would be no arguing, and no negotiation. Marc would take me home if he had to carry me over one shoulder, scratching and hissing al the way. As much as I would have loved to resist, I would spare myself the indignity, because ultimately, he would win a physical fight, no matter how dirty I played. It was just one more of those things that never changed, like Marc himself.
By the time I’d changed out of my citrus-scented pants and packed what clothes and books I couldn’t do without, Sammi was back from the library. She dumped her books on the counter in our tiny gal ey-style kitchen, already chattering about her latest misogynistic conspiracy theory. She hesitated when she saw Marc, and her words sputtered to a stop. It was kind of funny; I’d final y found something to shut her up. Too bad I couldn’t stick around and enjoy the silence.
Marc laughed from behind my desk, where he’d made himself at home.
Beneath him, the straight-backed chair looked no more substantial than a stack of toothpicks, as if it might collapse into a pile of kindling at any moment. “I’m impressed, Faythe,” he said, leaning the chair back on two legs. “I didn’t think you could find someone who talked more than you do, but I’ve obviously underestimated you. Again.”
Well, he did make a habit of it.
“Sammi, this is Marc Ramos. Marc, my roommate, Samantha.”
Sammi’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly as she tried—and failed—to come up with something intel igent to say. I rolled my eyes. Yeah, he looked good, but her reaction was a little over the top. But then, Sammi had a flair for melodrama.
Marc laughed again and the chair thumped to the ground as he rose to shake her hand. When Marc came toward her, Sammi took a step back, bumping her leg against the edge of an end table before she took his hand in brief, wide-eyed greeting.
“What’s going on?” she managed to say, eyeing the suitcase open on the couch. I’d packed more books than clothing, which meant the bag would weigh a ton, but Marc could probably lift it with a single finger. He wouldn’t, because that would draw attention. But he could.
“Daddy pulled the plug,” I said, snapping the latches on the front of the suitcase. “I’l be back in the fal , but he won’t pay for grad school unless I spend the summer at home.” It was the closest I could come to an explanation Sammi would believe.
“And Marc would be…?” She left the question open-ended, glancing at him during the pause.
Good question. There was no easy way to describe Marc’s role in my life, because he usual y had none. He was no longer my bed warmer, my confidant, or even a fond memory, and he didn’t fit any definition of “friend” she’d understand, so how to explain…?
“My ride.” That should do it. Marc had been demoted to chauffeur, and his only reaction was a wink and an I’ve-got-a-secret grin. Great. He thought it was funny.
Sammi nodded slowly, as if she didn’t believe me, but that was her problem, because I was done thinking up explanations. At least until the fal term.
“You’re leaving now?” She fingered the hem of her blouse, glancing around the apartment at several piles of my belongings that hadn’t made the single-suitcase cut.
“Yeah, sorry about the mess. We’re paid up through the first, and I’l send you a check for my half of next month’s rent. Can I leave my stuff here til I get back?”
“Sure,” she said. “What about Andrew?”
I felt Marc’s focus shift to me, and I bit my lip to keep from saying something I’d regret. I hadn’t told him about my new boyfriend, and obviously neither had any of my father’s spies. No doubt their silence was out of respect for him, rather than me.
Marc stiffened, and only the slight flaring of his nostrils betrayed him as he tested my scent. He scowled, and I stifled a groan, suddenly thankful that Andrew and I had had…um…lunch in his apartment rather than in mine. Smelling a man’s scent mixed with mine was one thing, but smelling it on my sheets would have been quite another.
The lingering smel of stray on me was probably the only reason Marc hadn’t already noticed Andrew’s…um, place in my life. And in my bed. The stray’s heavy mix of earthy musk and mixed blood easily overpowered Andrew’s simple blend of light sweat and untainted humanity.
I would have told him, eventually. Really. However, I pride myself on having marginal y more tact than Sammi. But then, I hadn’t been honest with her about who my ride actual y was, so what did I expect?
“I’l call him,” I said, zipping up my suitcase.
Marc snatched the bag from my grip and stomped out the front door, leaving it open into the hallway.
I hugged Sammi, breathing in the floral fragrance of her shampoo. If my parents had their way, it would be a while before I smel ed my roommate’s wholesome femininity layered with Herbal Essences and cherry Bubble Yum.
Assuming I ever made it back to school at al . And where my father was concerned, there were no guarantees.
“Study enough for both of us,” I said, releasing her reluctantly. She smiled, more confused than sad, and I returned the look. I didn’t real y know what was going on, either.
