Stray
Page 68
Unfortunately, my clothes were nowhere in sight.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I made myself concentrate on the order of last night’s events. Each flash of memory felt like someone ramming a fist through my chest to squeeze my still-beating heart. And if it hurt me, I could only imagine what it would do to Jace. Or to Andrew. Shit, what about Andrew?
What the hell was I thinking?
I hadn’t been thinking anything; that was abundantly clear. It had also been the whole point. I’d given my brain the night off, abandoning my body to the mercy of hormones and alcohol. And grief. The truth was that I’d needed comfort, and so had Marc, and we’d found it in each other. As wonderful as that had been, the unbelievable freedom of letting go, of giving myself completely to someone wil ing to do the same, morning would bring to light the inevitable consequences of what I’d done. But I wasn’t ready to face them. Not just yet.
So where the hell were my clothes? I peeked carefully beneath the edge of the sheet draped across one of Marc’s legs and twisted around the other. Aha. Found my shorts. One article of clothing down, and only three more to go.
I found my bra dangling from the closet doorknob and my panties peeking out from under the bed. Dressed but for my shirt, I searched the room frantical y with my eyes but saw no sign of the green halter top I’d put on after my marathon bathing session the day before.
Marc grunted in his sleep and rolled over onto his side. His hand landed in the warm hollow my hip had occupied moments earlier, and a fresh surge of panic flooded my body. I grabbed the first piece of cloth I found and pul ed it over my head. It was the old, black Aerosmith T-shirt Marc had worn the day before. It stil smel ed like him.
The shirt was huge on me, effectively hiding my shorts, but it would have to do, because I had to use the restroom. Immediately.
I eased open the door, crossing my fingers against squeaky hinges, and slipped into the upstairs hall. The hall was more like a big rectangle, with the stairs rising up from the center and one door on each of the four wal s. Three of the doors led to bedrooms and the fourth was the bathroom. That was the one I needed.
And there, on the floor between the landing and the bathroom door, lay my shirt, a crumpled pile of green cotton triggering the memory of how it got there.
Images and sensations roared over me as I remembered Marc pressing me against the wal while he pulled the shirt over my head. The memory was stil powerful enough to send tremors down the length of my body. My stomach clenched in dread and confusion. What the hell am I going to do about Marc?
The sound of running water came from the bathroom, and I froze, three steps from my shirt. Someone else was up.
The door opened, and I tensed. Jace stepped out. I stopped breathing.
Completely.
At first, he didn’t notice me. The hal way was dark, and—like me—he’d probably thought everyone else was asleep. He smiled when he saw my face, but his expression wilted as his gaze traveled over my tousled hair and down the front of Marc’s shirt, to my apparently bare legs.
“Jace…” I began, desperate to explain, but no words came to follow his name.
He knelt to pick up my halter top. “You lost something,” he said, and the cold quality of his voice made it clear that he didn’t just mean the shirt. He threw it at me.
My shirt landed on my head, covering most of my face. I couldn’t bring myself to pull it down until I heard his bedroom door close.
Faythe, you coward. My shirt hanging limp from one fist, I glanced at Jace’s door, then at Marc’s room. I’d made a mistake. It was understandable, and a good one, as far as mistakes go, but nothing had changed. At least not for the better. I wasn’t home by choice, and I couldn’t stay to be with Marc any more than I could stay to be with Jace. One round of consolation sex wasn’t enough to change that, no matter how wel it had worked. Or how good it had been.
My bladder pleaded with me to go into the bathroom, but I couldn’t do it. I had to get out before Marc woke up and wanted to talk. Or do anything else. I dropped my shirt on the floor and took the stairs two at a time.
Ethan’s obnoxious snoring greeted me on the bottom step. He lay sprawled on the couch, one arm dangling over the side. Great. There was nowhere for me to sleep. It didn’t matter, though, because I couldn’t have stayed in the guesthouse anyway. But I had to go somewhere.
My mind grasped at possibilities while my eyes roamed the room, and I knew what to do when I saw what lay unattended on the counter, amid a jumble of empty bottles, lime rinds, and sticky glasses: Jace’s keys. I hesitated for a moment, my fingers hovering over the Kentucky Wildcats key chain. Then I grabbed it and ran for the door. The keys were mine. I’d earned them.
I had a brief moment of doubt in the driver’s seat of the new Pathfinder when it occurred to me that Jace would never forgive me for taking his car, in spite of our bet, because I’d promised both him and Daddy that I would wait. But he’d never forgive me for sleeping with Marc either, so what did it real y matter? Besides, I wasn’t running away. I just needed to drive around and think. I’d be back before anyone woke up, and with any luck, they’d never know I’d left at all.
As quietly as possible, I pulled past the house, relieved when the headlights shone on Owen’s truck, parked in his usual space. He’d made it home safely.
At the end of the driveway, I rolled down the window to push the button on the automatic gate opener. But then I hesitated again. Beyond the gate, a narrow paved road separated our property from a smal patch of forest. Several miles down, the road intersected a highway, and from there, I could go anywhere I wanted.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I made myself concentrate on the order of last night’s events. Each flash of memory felt like someone ramming a fist through my chest to squeeze my still-beating heart. And if it hurt me, I could only imagine what it would do to Jace. Or to Andrew. Shit, what about Andrew?
What the hell was I thinking?
I hadn’t been thinking anything; that was abundantly clear. It had also been the whole point. I’d given my brain the night off, abandoning my body to the mercy of hormones and alcohol. And grief. The truth was that I’d needed comfort, and so had Marc, and we’d found it in each other. As wonderful as that had been, the unbelievable freedom of letting go, of giving myself completely to someone wil ing to do the same, morning would bring to light the inevitable consequences of what I’d done. But I wasn’t ready to face them. Not just yet.
So where the hell were my clothes? I peeked carefully beneath the edge of the sheet draped across one of Marc’s legs and twisted around the other. Aha. Found my shorts. One article of clothing down, and only three more to go.
I found my bra dangling from the closet doorknob and my panties peeking out from under the bed. Dressed but for my shirt, I searched the room frantical y with my eyes but saw no sign of the green halter top I’d put on after my marathon bathing session the day before.
Marc grunted in his sleep and rolled over onto his side. His hand landed in the warm hollow my hip had occupied moments earlier, and a fresh surge of panic flooded my body. I grabbed the first piece of cloth I found and pul ed it over my head. It was the old, black Aerosmith T-shirt Marc had worn the day before. It stil smel ed like him.
The shirt was huge on me, effectively hiding my shorts, but it would have to do, because I had to use the restroom. Immediately.
I eased open the door, crossing my fingers against squeaky hinges, and slipped into the upstairs hall. The hall was more like a big rectangle, with the stairs rising up from the center and one door on each of the four wal s. Three of the doors led to bedrooms and the fourth was the bathroom. That was the one I needed.
And there, on the floor between the landing and the bathroom door, lay my shirt, a crumpled pile of green cotton triggering the memory of how it got there.
Images and sensations roared over me as I remembered Marc pressing me against the wal while he pulled the shirt over my head. The memory was stil powerful enough to send tremors down the length of my body. My stomach clenched in dread and confusion. What the hell am I going to do about Marc?
The sound of running water came from the bathroom, and I froze, three steps from my shirt. Someone else was up.
The door opened, and I tensed. Jace stepped out. I stopped breathing.
Completely.
At first, he didn’t notice me. The hal way was dark, and—like me—he’d probably thought everyone else was asleep. He smiled when he saw my face, but his expression wilted as his gaze traveled over my tousled hair and down the front of Marc’s shirt, to my apparently bare legs.
“Jace…” I began, desperate to explain, but no words came to follow his name.
He knelt to pick up my halter top. “You lost something,” he said, and the cold quality of his voice made it clear that he didn’t just mean the shirt. He threw it at me.
My shirt landed on my head, covering most of my face. I couldn’t bring myself to pull it down until I heard his bedroom door close.
Faythe, you coward. My shirt hanging limp from one fist, I glanced at Jace’s door, then at Marc’s room. I’d made a mistake. It was understandable, and a good one, as far as mistakes go, but nothing had changed. At least not for the better. I wasn’t home by choice, and I couldn’t stay to be with Marc any more than I could stay to be with Jace. One round of consolation sex wasn’t enough to change that, no matter how wel it had worked. Or how good it had been.
My bladder pleaded with me to go into the bathroom, but I couldn’t do it. I had to get out before Marc woke up and wanted to talk. Or do anything else. I dropped my shirt on the floor and took the stairs two at a time.
Ethan’s obnoxious snoring greeted me on the bottom step. He lay sprawled on the couch, one arm dangling over the side. Great. There was nowhere for me to sleep. It didn’t matter, though, because I couldn’t have stayed in the guesthouse anyway. But I had to go somewhere.
My mind grasped at possibilities while my eyes roamed the room, and I knew what to do when I saw what lay unattended on the counter, amid a jumble of empty bottles, lime rinds, and sticky glasses: Jace’s keys. I hesitated for a moment, my fingers hovering over the Kentucky Wildcats key chain. Then I grabbed it and ran for the door. The keys were mine. I’d earned them.
I had a brief moment of doubt in the driver’s seat of the new Pathfinder when it occurred to me that Jace would never forgive me for taking his car, in spite of our bet, because I’d promised both him and Daddy that I would wait. But he’d never forgive me for sleeping with Marc either, so what did it real y matter? Besides, I wasn’t running away. I just needed to drive around and think. I’d be back before anyone woke up, and with any luck, they’d never know I’d left at all.
As quietly as possible, I pulled past the house, relieved when the headlights shone on Owen’s truck, parked in his usual space. He’d made it home safely.
At the end of the driveway, I rolled down the window to push the button on the automatic gate opener. But then I hesitated again. Beyond the gate, a narrow paved road separated our property from a smal patch of forest. Several miles down, the road intersected a highway, and from there, I could go anywhere I wanted.
