Any Red-Blooded Girl (9 page)

Anyway, I swear I’m not some sicko pervert
with a domination fetish; I just liked tasting Mick’s tongue in my
mouth and feeling his heart thump against my chest and imagining
his lust for me was so powerful we had no choice but to surrender
to it. After all, I’m only human. This boy would have turned
any
red-blooded girl to mush, especially so up close and
personal.

After a good, solid five minutes of sucking
face, Mick reached toward his pants. And again, I panicked. I mean,
maybe he had more on his mind than kissing and touching. Did he
think I wanted to have sex right there in the woods? Did he think
I’d done things like that before? Had he? A stream of heavy
questions flat-lined my brain. And even though I wanted to say
something—like maybe tell him to slow down just a little—I drew a
complete blank.

The next thing I knew, Mick’s forearm rubbed
across my hip. Then his hand went into his pants—at which point I’m
pretty sure I stopped breathing. Actually, I might have even
blacked out, because I don’t remember anything else until he nudged
me.

“Hey, get up,” he said. He tugged me off the
ground with both hands. “I want to give you your birthday
present.”

I was afraid to look down. Were his pants
unzipped? Shit. What was I going to do if
that
was my
present? I mean, we’d rehearsed all these lame ways to turn a boy
down in Sex Ed, but I’d forgotten the whole routine already. The
truth was, I hadn’t paid much attention in Sex Ed in the first
place, since my prospects of getting anywhere near a boy I liked in
the next century seemed dismal. Most of the time when I liked
someone, they never liked me back. I was cursed—until now, which
left me entirely unprepared for whatever was in Mick’s pants.

“Okay, close your eyes again,” he said.

“Do I have to?”

“You said you loved surprises.”

So the lie had come back to bite me. It
figured. “I
do
like surprises,” I maintained. “But I’m
afraid of bugs and snakes and stuff like that.” Who knew, maybe
exaggerating my fraidy cat
ness
would at least buy me a
couple of extra seconds to think of a good excuse in case I needed
it.

“I’ll protect you. Don’t worry,” Mick said,
stopping to plant a tender kiss on my forehead. “Now go ahead.”

I had no choice but to wing it. If I opened
my eyes and his pants were down, I’d have to come up with something
on the fly. “Okay, here goes,” I said, shutting my eyes and
praying. I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t want Mick sexually; it was
just
way
too soon. Maybe a year or two down the road—if
everything was perfect between us—I would be ready. Just not right
now.

Even though I technically had my eyes closed,
I let them drift open just far enough to catch a few hazy glimpses
of what looked like Mick fumbling with something in his hand. Not
exactly helpful.

“Okay. Ready,” he finally said. “Open up.” I
swear, he sounded so excited I already felt bad about disappointing
him.

“Oh my God! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
I squealed. “I love it! Did you make this?”

Mick was beaming—and his pants were still
zipped—which explained a great deal of my excitement.

Displaying the leather bracelet across his
palm, he said, “I sure did. See, these are
your
initials,
and these are
mine
.” He pointed out the shiny copper
FF
and
MD,
which glowed like pure sunshine against
the black background.

“What’s this?” I asked, transfixed by an
intricate design between the two sets of initials.

“Oh, that’s a Celtic knot. It was my mother’s
idea,” Mick said. “It’s an Irish symbol of eternal love and other
stuff—like the beauty of nature. It’s an ancient pattern. An
endless series of connected loops. Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect. It’s the best present anyone’s
ever given me,” I gushed. “Can you put it on?”

“Why, it’d be my pleasure, Miss Fontain,” he
drawled in a faux Southern accent. Then he took my hand in his,
strapped the bracelet around my wrist, and pushed the small crystal
stud through the slit in the leather.

“I adore you,” I blurted. Because suddenly I
realized that what I felt for Mick was more than love. The gypsy
boy I’d met less than forty-eight hours ago was now quite possibly
my new best friend
and
my hero, all rolled into one.

Ten

AS far as I was concerned, my birthday could
have ended at noon. Because the gorgeous bouquet of wildflowers,
handpicked by an Adonis, and the personalized jewelry, created by
the Adonis himself, had already surpassed my wildest birthday
dreams. To be honest, I was afraid the rest of the day would turn
out to be a letdown in comparison.

But I was wrong.

“Where are we going?” I asked, as Mick
cautiously strung me along behind him blindfolded. “I guarantee I’m
gonna trip,” I threatened. “Just so you know.”

He laughed. “Thanks for the heads up, but I’m
being very careful. You’ll be fine if you just go slow,” he assured
me. “I would never put you in any danger.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but I’m a total
klutz. It wouldn’t necessarily be your fault,” I explained.
“Because with
this thing
over my eyes, I’m like a…” How
lame. I couldn’t even think of one good comparison to make him
understand how impaired I really was. “Oh, forget it,” I said with
an exasperated sigh. “Just wake me up when we get there.”

“All right. But you’re not going to get much
sleep,” Mick said, chuckling. “We’re almost there.”

Thank God. I mean, I wasn’t trying to be a
stick-in-the-mud or anything, but there was only so much excitement
I could take for one day. Plus, all the eye closing and
blindfolding was making me skittish.

Somewhere in front of me, Mick came to an
abrupt stop, which I guess signaled the end of our journey. “So
this is it, I assume. The next stop on the tour?” I said, not even
bothering to disguise my crankiness.

“Wow, Miss Fontain. I did not know you could
be so difficult,” he teased. “Yes, we’re at our destination. You
may remove your blindfold.”

I unwound the bumblebee necktie and freed my
crispy bangs, only to find that we were back at the lake again, in
the same spot where we’d taken our romantic dip. And the place was
deserted, just like before.

“This looks familiar,” I said, surprised by,
well, the lack of surprise.

“Does it? Really? Look around,” Mick
encouraged. “You may find something different. Something that
wasn’t here before.”

Sure enough, a quick scan of the beach
revealed an aluminum rowboat, two life jackets, and two sets of
paddles.

“Where are the fishing rods?” I asked, only
half kidding, as we headed toward the boat. After all, he’d said
this was a good fishing spot, so anything was possible.

“Fishing? No,” Mick said, smirking and
shaking his head. “Not a bad idea, but I had something more special
in mind.”

“Okay…”

“Turn around,” he said, gesturing over my
shoulder. “I think you missed something.”

I followed his instructions, and, of course,
he was right again. Behind us on the sand was a large wicker picnic
basket I hadn’t noticed before. “Lunch? On the water?” I asked.

He nodded. “Precisely. It’ll be fun,
right?”

“Sure. Yeah,” I agreed warily. In theory, a
romantic lake picnic was a smashing idea. But I wasn’t exactly
convinced we could pull it off. “I’m just warning you, though, I
have no coordination. You might end up rowing this thing all by
yourself,” I said, tapping my toes against the side of the
boat.

“Piece of cake. You don’t even have to try if
you don’t want to. I’ve got it.”

“Oh, I’ll try,” I objected, insulted by the
idea I’d give up on something without first failing miserably.
“Just don’t expect much, that’s all.”

“Whatever you do will be perfect,” Mick
assured me with a sweet little peck on the cheek. Then he retrieved
the picnic basket, hoisted it into the boat, and locked an arm
around my waist to steady me as I stepped over the side. And once I
was comfortably seated on the paint-chipped bench, he gave the boat
a few manly shoves toward the water and hopped in.

Technically, we weren’t actually floating
yet; we were just kind of bottomed-out in the muck. “For you,” Mick
said, passing me a standard orange life vest from the floor. “Just
to be on the safe side. Need help getting it on?”

“If I did, you’d be the one I’d ask,” I
joked.

But apparently I was at least proficient at
putting on a life jacket, which impressed Mick to no end. “Good
job,” he praised, as I tied the last pair of grubby straps into a
neat bow. “Those things can be very tricky. And you handled it like
a pro on the first try.” He winked at me playfully.

Okay, enough already with the unwarranted
praise. I mean, sure, some sick part of me was getting a cheap
thrill out of all the fawning, but such over the top sucking up
couldn’t continue forever.

I picked up the oars next to me and dangled
them over the sides, while Mick attempted to dislodge us from the
muck by brute force. “Want me to help you?” I asked, as he
vigorously stabbed at the lake bottom.

“That’s okay. Save your energy,” he said.
“We’ll be out of here in no time.”

With a few more jabs, he launched us on our
journey. And while he rowed away in silence, I stared lovingly at
his beautiful face and daydreamed of our unlikely future. Because
already, in the impossibly short time I’d known him, Mick had
changed me. He was the sunlight that made me bloom, and I never,
ever wanted to fall back into the darkness.

“Do you believe in fate?” I asked. “Like
things being meant to be?”

He pulled the oars inside the boat and let us
drift. “Hmm… I don’t know,” he pondered, studying my face like he
was trying to solve a riddle. “I think some things are more likely
than others, if you know what I mean.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I just mean some things are more
natural,” he clarified. “There are forces pushing us in predictable
directions.”

“Like fate?”

“I wouldn’t call it fate. That sounds so
final,” he said, shaking his head. “Look at it this way: The
universe presents us with opportunities, then
we
decide. But
the universe determines the opportunities, so predictable things
end up happening. Does that make any sense?” he asked with a
frown.

“Yes and no,” I admitted. Really, all I
wanted to know was if he thought we were meant to be together. “Do
you think the universe picked us for each other?” I asked. “Is
there anything special about
us?
”

He shot me a perfectly-crooked, understanding
smile. “Well, what I said about predictability—it’s probably true
in most cases: the expected thing happens. But sometimes something
special—something out of the ordinary—comes along,” he said,
winking. “Sure, it’s rare. Probably more rare than, oh, getting
struck by lighting. But if you pay attention, if you look for them,
these surprises can change your life.”

“Is that what we’re doing? Changing each
other’s lives?” I dared to ask.

“I think so,” he said. “Love is powerful. It
leaves a mark. And I can only speak for myself, but finding you,
knowing you, loving you—it’s marked me for life.”

Once again, I was floored. My hot, sweet Mick
was so insightful. So philosophical. And so in love…with me? It was
all too good to be true, which made me wonder for a second if maybe
it wasn’t. I mean, maybe I was rowing around the lake by myself
with my imaginary new boyfriend. Or maybe I’d conked my head back
at the rest area, and now I was in a hallucinatory coma. Almost
anything
seemed more plausible than the truth.

“I love you,” I said. “And ditto on
everything. I’m marked now too.”

I leaned forward for a kiss, which
predictably sent the boat sloshing from side to side. So Mick
clamped his hands around my waist and steadied me for a deep, wet
one. Unfortunately, though, our kissing had to come to a premature
halt, because as hard as we tried, we couldn’t stop the boat from
threatening to drown us.

“Ready for lunch?” Mick asked, as I shimmied
back to my seat. “I made you a birthday picnic.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said. I mean, I
didn’t want to burst his bubble, but my dad had already surprised
me with my favorite food on earth: Belgian waffles. In my opinion,
it was all downhill from there.

Mick rowed us back toward shore, stopping
only when the front of our boat dug into the sandy lake bottom.

“You’ll need one of these,” he said, passing
me a rugged paper plate, which I balanced across my knees. “And
these too.” He handed me a white linen napkin and a plastic
fork.

“Ooh, fancy!” I teased.

Mick just grinned. “Do you like salad?” he
asked. “Because I made Caesar for the first course.” He retrieved a
Tupperware container and a big silver serving spoon from the basket
and dished out two perfect portions.

“Salad’s okay,” I said, hardly believing a
man would even make such a thing in the first place. But hey, maybe
he thought all girls were on diets. After a few bites, I stopped to
dab my face with the frou-frou napkin and said, “It’s good. I like
it. You’re quite the chef.”

The second I finished my salad, Mick moved
directly to the main course: grilled cheese. Carefully, I pried the
wax paper from the slightly soggy sandwich—which he had cut on the
diagonals—and took a bite.

“Mmm…” I hummed, letting the rich, buttery
bread and smooth cheese dissolve on my tongue. “This tastes
different. What’s in it?”

“Oh, it’s probably the cheese. Instead of
American, I used cheddar. It’s much more flavorful.”

“I’m a fan. Good idea,” I complimented. The
cheddar was definitely better.

Out of nowhere, Mick suddenly tensed up. “Are
you having a happy birthday so far?” he asked expectantly.