East Rising (Naive Mistakes #2) (15 page)

"It's Alex," he said. The
word sent a javelin through my heart. And I know it was cruel,
selfish. I
know
that. And I knew it then. But the emotion came suddenly and
forcefully. I won't lie about that. At least I understood that it
was some sort of irrational anxiety and so I didn't act on it. I
don't think a person can ask for more than that. Jealousy is,
unfortunately, very often a knee-jerk kind of reaction.

"Yes, she's having another fit. I need to go
over there. They might kick her out..."

And then? Will she come here?

"Oh, sure, well, go ahead, I mean, no
problem," I said.

"You're coming with me."

"Oh, no, I have no clothes and — "

He gave me a wry look, then lifted an
eyebrow. "Oh, sure. But even if that were true, guess what's in
that closet there..."

I looked at a door I hadn't yet entered. I
got up, went into it.

When the light of the walk-in closet went
on, all I could say was, "Please fucking tell me these are not
Alexandra's clothes!"

"No. They're yours. But she did help me pick
them, for you, yesterday."

"Er, what? You — I mean,
she — picked out an
entire
wardrobe for me? In a day?"

"No, two days. Yesterday, and the day
before."

I strode in. There was
everything in there: dresses, blouses, boots — and no crappy old
brands either!
Dolce &
Gabbana
,
Louis
Vuitton
,
Gucci
,
Guess
,
Versaci
,
Prada
— "Damn! I feel like Gabrielle
Solis of
Desperate
Housewives
!"

Conall leaned up against the walk-in's
doorframe.

"And I think I'm starting to like your
friend," I added.

"She needs things to keep her busy. She was
more than happy to help. She knows how I feel about you, you
know?"

My hand paused mid-air, holding the end of a
red satin dress. I looked at Conall. "You told her?"

"I told her everything about you. She's
happy for me. I told you, she was never interested in me."

Well, it didn't look like
it when I saw her earlier today...
Damn it.
I hated myself for thinking these things. Really fucking hated
myself. But I thought them, and I don't want to lie to you about
what happened, so there. That's what I thought.

"Well, I think I need to put my insecurities
aside and get to know her," I said.

"It's your choice. I'm not asking you to do
that. She's done lots of things for me. Like I said, she needs to
keep busy. She was more than happy to help. It's not often a woman
gets to go wild in a clothing store with a credit card."

Yip, I was
so
the new Gabrielle
Solis...

He continued: "Now, had I known you were
trying to make it on your own, well, I wouldn't have splurged so
much."

I smiled, because he was right. The person I
was in New York would've jumped into this closet and swum in the
clothes like scrooge McDuck in his vault of gold...

Now, however, I felt bad
for Conall having spent so much money on me. I really
did
want to try and make
it on my own. I'd convinced my mom to let me do it for a year at
least, then college would come after. If at all... (Although I
never told her that last part.)

I sighed. "I don't know what to say," I
said, shrugging. "Thank you?"

"Leora, I can read you perfectly. When I was
lying on the bed there and you told me about how you're saving
money and getting on your own two feet I had already decided what
we could do with all these clothes, because I knew, after that,
that they'd make you uncomfortable."

Ahh, and, hence, the pause before he'd said
that what I was doing was "fucking amazing"...

"Don't tell me you're going it give it to
frickin charity..."

He laughed. "No, I'm no philanthropist!
Although, I thought maybe your friends might like them. We can
exchange them for different sizes. I don't want to take them back.
I don't like buying something in good faith and returning it."

My mouth went agape. "You mean, um, give
them to Kayla?"

"Yes, and the other one..."

I scowled. "You
know
her name! You had
your dirty little spies on me for months!"

"I do not! The guy —
one
guy! — I had in
Seaford... His only job was to ensure your security. And, of
course, to tell me who you hung out with. But no names! Just,
well... Do I really need to explain this?"

He was red as the dress in my hand — and it
was ardently red!

"No, it's fine."

"Anyway, I took a guess on Kayla. How many
girls are there with shaved hair on one side and a million earrings
in their ears whose bodies are as thin as a scarecrow?"

"Right, um, I get it. In Seaford, zero. My
other friend's name is Dani."

"Good, either way, keep
them or give the clothes to them, it's all fine with me. Throw them
in the trash if you must. They're
yours
after all."

I pulled out that red
dress. It was a one shoulder mini skirt. Very hot. Most of the back
was open. I put it against me, looked in the mirror. I thought of
the field-day the girls and I would have. It was gonna be a
friggin
parteh
!
"They'll think you're trying to buy them off. And they'll love you
for it. But, um, I think I'll keep this one. And maybe a few of
these" — I went to the
Guess
jeans — "and, well, these knee-high boots are
kinda sexy so, I'm sure you'd want me to keep them as
well."

He smiled.

Then his phone buzzed one more time, and all
the joviality left his expression.

"We need to go," he said.

This time we did drive.

"At night it's bearable to drive into
London. Just bearable," said Conall.

He put his hand on my thigh while I freaked
out about people driving on the wrong side of the road. It had been
three months and I still hadn't gotten used to it.

"I was asking you something in the bedroom,"
he said.

He was?

"I asked if you'd like to spend a weekend
away, or a few days, and you told me you had to work."

"Oh, right." My mind
drifted. I thought of a weekend away with Conall, as if nothing had
happened. Damn. This is what I wanted. This was
really
happening! After all that
pain, all that waiting... "I'd love to. I'll work something out
with my manager."

"Great, because..." He squeezed my thigh,
and you bet it sent an electric current up to the middle of my
legs. I wriggled. "I made you a promise in New York. On that
rooftop?"

Ahh, the rooftop.
Shew
. I exhaled. Conall
turned the car with one hand while his left massaged my thigh. I
put my own hand on his thigh.

And, yes, I remembered the promise. I
remembered it well. Only thing is, I didn't want to wait anymore. I
wanted him. I wanted him now. I wanted him in his bedroom, in his
dining room, on his pool table with him standing looking down at
me, ramming into me as I lay back on the baize. On the kitchen top.
On the lawn! His house was so perfect...

But Conall had his way. He liked things to
be just right, special. And I'd waited this long. I could wait a
little longer.

"Are we talking about the promise regarding
a certain fire in a certain cabin with no one and nothing around
but a certain two of us?" I said.

"Of course we are. I mean, if, of course,
you're ready...for me."

Ready?
I squeezed my legs, exhaled,
loudly
. Conall turned his head and
smiled. I gave him a "yeah, you know I'm hot, and you know I'm
frustrated" look.

"You have
no
fucking idea how much
you turn me on," I said.

He raised his eyebrows,
rolled his eyes back. "Oh, I have an idea. I have a
perfect
idea."

"You're such an asshole."

"Huh?"

"What?" I was suddenly confused. "What is
that line supposed to be about — about having a 'perfect' idea
about how hot you make me?"

"I meant, I have a perfect idea how much I
turn you on because every time I see you my — " He blushed.
"Goodness, I almost spoke as crassly as an American there."

"Yes...? Continue please..."

He laughed nervously. "You make me hot,
Leora. So bloody hot that I shift in my seat every time I see
you."

Oh, guys do that as well? This is one hell
of an educational friggin field trip to England I've been having
here...

"I see..." My cheeks warmed. "So, why don't
you just take me? It's not my damned age anymore, is it? Because
that's getting to be an old excuse."

He made a raspberry sound.
"Please! Not a chance. But I want it to be good. I want it to be
perfect. I want it to...
last
. Three days at
least."

Oh, my God.

"OK, stop talking. I'll handle work. You
book us a place. How's this weekend?" They way I felt now, it
couldn't be soon enough.

"It's a long way away, but I'll manage. Oh,
and I don't need to book us a place. I own one, out in the
country."

Of course you do.

Before putting his hand back on the steering
wheel, he just lightly grazed my crotch with the backs of his
fingertips, making me yearn desperately for him. I pressed my back
to the seat, stretched my legs, inhaled and held it, then
exhaled.

Fucking player.

"Did you mean what you said about my
weight?"

He frowned surprisedly. "What the hell is
wrong with your weight? You talk like you think you're fat or
something."

I felt that way. I'd let
things slip in the last six months. And it wasn't because of Conall
— not directly. Not entirely. I hadn't pigged out on ice-cream in
any way (I still didn't like the stuff.) I barely drank (although
lately I'd violated that rule quite a bit.) But I'd stopped lifting
weights, and I'd stopped counting calories with a built-in abacus
in my head. It's not that I didn't want to. It's that other things
had become more important. And it's one thing to watch your weight
— no, to be completely
obsessed
about it! — when you have everything taken care of
for you. Money, food, a cook, clothes...

It's quite another to do it
when you've taken on other responsibilities in life. Since I'd
started working, well, making the rent and saving up for a new
dress — from
H&M
or
Forever 21
or, more often, the same thrift stores I bought all my used
books from — had become priority. And I liked it. It gave me a
pride I'd never experienced while benching sixty.

So I'd gained a few pounds. Not unsightly.
But not ripped like I used to be.

Not like Alexandra...

"Well, it's that..." I hesitated. "..It's
just that weight-lifting has taken second priority for me."

He looked me over, first my
legs, then my breasts. His lips twitched, a hint of a smile.
"Leora, I'm not going to tell you how amazing you look. I hope
that, on our weekend away, I can show you. You
look...
womanly
.
You look absolutely ravishing. Delicious."

Well, if you put it
that
way!
Right, so now it was
I
who twitched my lips! And I
blushed. And I looked out the window to hide it!

"I...see," I said, my mind
wandering, thinking of a fire, and groaning, and panting. Sweaty
bodies rubbing against each other. Conall's chest-hairs grazing
against my moist breasts. And me shouting,
Oh, yes...

"Conall, you're a sick man."

"Say what?"

"You are a
sick
man. Most men
would've just pulled my pants down and stuck their..." That
sentence was going somewhere I didn't want it to. So I changed it.
"I think you get the point."

"Well, Leora, I certainly hope you don't
consider me like 'most men.'"

Oh hell fucking no.
"I don't." I rested my head on the window, felt
the car's vibration bump against it, just as it had on the train
earlier today. Street lights rushed past me. Reds, yellows, greens.
We made it into London, past Trafalgar Square and its
fountain.

"We're almost there," he said.

I put my hand on his leg, and wondered why
Alexandra had called him here.

I didn't see the Eastern-Bloc-Looking dude
outside The Ritz when we walked in. Only later, as I played back
the events of what was yet to transpire, would I remember him. And?
So what? It doesn't mean it had been him. But the mind does that,
links related things with other things so that they're all one and
the same and all bad things equal each other. Because he might've
just been some guy. But I'll never really know. What I do remember
now is his dark suit, his pocked face, and the way his eyes were
glued to my body as Conall and I walked into The Ritz's
lobby...

At the time, I paid little attention to
him.

Conall's mind was a squall, black clouds
apparent behind his eyes. He'd grown quieter as we'd gotten closer
to The Ritz. To the room he'd paid for, for the girl who'd suffered
greatly at the hands of evil men and who I, jealously and selfishly
so, was secretly starting to feel uncomfortably threatened by.