Harkham's Case (Harkam's #1) (10 page)

His chest constricted, and his jaw tightened as his teeth clamped shut, but . . . the numbers. Where were they?

He couldn’t find them.

Instead of panicking, he started singing a song he heard once about stars bursting in the sky because a woman was too beautiful to look at.

That was Mari.

His
Mari. She was his bursting star. She scattered the numbers and banished them.

A plume of smoke wafted behind a red Jeep, and he hoped it was her.

He raced over in that direction, and when he was five feet away, he could smell her trail. She smelled like California sunshine after a good soaking rain on the beach.

It was all he could do to not start singing songs about waves and maybe surfing.

He circled around to the back of the Jeep, and there she was. And oh
Gawwwwd
! She was sweater-less, all tank-topness, and round in good places.

He sidled up to her, ignoring the smell of the smoke. His hips were polite and angled away from her, since he was sore already.

“Friends offer a ride home,” he hinted.

“Friends also tell the fat girl to stop smoking—it’s not going to help with her problems.” She chuckled, but it was low and dark sounding as the corner of her lips poked up. Her shoulders slumped.

“It’s not my job to tell you what to put in your body. I hope you’ll tell me to eat as much junk food at school as I can and to drink soda when nobody’s looking, because friends want each other to be happy. Those things make me happy. And donuts. I love donuts, but those are strictly forbidden. Why can’t I have a goddamn donut? The Boston creamy kind? Those are like a heart of goodness in the middle.” His own creamy heart raced and pounded in his ears. Man, was his breathing erratic and fierce. It was wonderful to tell her these deep dark secrets he hid from people and to curse, too.

“Donuts are pretty awesome. I love a good Boston cream, too. Come on. I’ll give you a lift, and you can tell me what else makes you happy.” She stubbed out her cigarette on the asphalt and then grabbed his hand.

He pulled on hers to stop her. His heart squeezed so tight his knees nearly buckled. “You . . . You make me so happy—happier than any beverage or sugary dessert. Because you keep me safe. You’re the reason the numbers stay away, and the reason I know I can do this. I can finally graduate this time.”

Her face remained steady and calm.

Not what he expected. He expected a look of disgust there.

She took his hand and placed it over her heart. He backed up, because the soreness was beyond bad right now, and the pressure was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

“You can do this because you’re special. You can do this because you’re amazing. It has nothing to do with me or your family. You can do this because you want it and there’s a fire inside of you that won’t let you quit. That’s what I adore about you. That’s who I wish I was. Not a quitter, or somebody that tries to cheat and take the easy way out.” She dropped his hand, but then out of nowhere, leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Sorry for the smoke smell. I hope nobody can detect it on you.” She rubbed the spot with the pad of her thumb where she’d just kissed him while cupping his jaw.

His legs instinctively carried him closer to her. And holy Jesus, that soreness doubled, but now it pulsed and his hips jutted forward. He smiled down at her, but his eyelids were half closed and went heavy. It was in direct contrast to the rest of his body—more alert than ever, even if he was moving kind of sluggish. It felt similar to when the dentist drugged him up once and his response times were hampered.

“Mari . . .”

“Hmm?” She looked over her shoulder, then back at him.

“If you kiss me, I won’t tell anybody, and nobody will know. Most of the students are gone. And I think . . . I think it will make you feel better, since you kind of have some sadness in your eyes.” His right leg shook. This was a lie. He never lied. That was unjust. But he needed this more than any hand holding—more than a donut or soda. He’d fold in half and die if she refused. Now his other leg shook. “Please . . .”

“No tongue, though, okay?” The right half of her lips quirked up, and there was some playfulness in her eyes.

The joy inside him was pounding its way into that sore spot but also doubling his heart rate as well.

“One fat, sloppy kiss coming up,” she said.

“Sloppy? But I—” His heart sunk as it continued to speed up.

There was no time for rebuttals, because her lips were on his, but it was unsatisfying because she refrained from touching him anywhere else.

With one big step, he was smooshed up against her. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her even closer.

This was much better than a handshake. Was this why his mom and dad used to hug and kiss each other all the time? This reflected those odd, unnameable feelings he had when Zach showed him that video with naked people in it. They all made sounds.

Oh no. He was making those sounds right now, and his hips were moving.

His hips were in control, not the numbers.

In his next breath, he had her up against the back of her Jeep. He pinned her with his entire body. But she hugged him back, so did this mean it was all okay?

He broke the kiss. Talking was necessary.

“It hurts, Mari. It’s really, really sore. It’s sore, and I know what I’m supposed to do to end it, but I can’t do that in front of you, and I don’t think I’ll make it ‘til I get home. Can you help me?”

“Sore here?” She placed her hand over his heart and smiled.

Was she teasing him?

“Please. It really hurts,” he begged, placing his forehead against hers and rubbing their heads together since he couldn’t rub her in the places he really wanted to.

He moved his hips up once more so she could feel where he was sore.

It twitched in his pants. She had to know.

Anyone else who saw him would know. They might even point and be disgusted with him.

“Being a teenager always hurts. It’s something you’ll get used to,” she said, then the sadness in her eyes was back.

But he wasn’t a teenager. Hadn’t been in a few years. Unlike Tara, he was old enough to consume alcohol, but chose not to.

Mari frowned.

“What’s wrong? Oh no!” He jumped back. He was hurting her. He was too strong for her frame to handle, and he forgot to be careful about harming her. Using his body weight was wrong. That’s how he hurt his mom before, and she wound up leaving because of it.

“I’m sorry. I’m
soooo
sorry. I . . . I’m heavy, and strong, and that was wrong. Don’t . . . I won’t do it again.” He wrapped his arms around his torso, refused to look at her and dropped into a crouch.

She dropped down with him and patted his back. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one that should apologize. I lost my head for a minute. It’s not fair of me to let things get out of hand like that. It’s just that you’re so . . . God! This is unfair.” She huffed, and the faint trace of smoke was residual in the air.

It made his heart tingle, because it was Mari. She was the only smoker he knew.

It meant she was special.

He tilted his chin up toward her, but kept his gaze down at her feet.

“I don’t know what you mean, but I have to know—are you mad at me?” The thought made his heart clench, and he released a whimpering groan.

“Why would I be mad at
you
? You asked me to kiss you, and I made a choice. It’s not like you tried to molest me against my will. Oh wait . . . That was
me
.” She chuckled for a second, then stopped. “Oh, never mind me and my warped sense of humor. I’ll take you home. And you can decide if we hold hands or not, okay?

He looked up, and there was sincerity in her warm gray eyes. They were like the unfamiliar desert here. Nobody ever looked at him like that—like he mattered and was worth really knowing well.

“I like you.”

“You’ve mentioned that before, but it’s good you like to be thorough and repeat important information.” She patted his back again and then stood up. She extended her hand, but then a second later changed her mind and put it at her side.

He grimaced. “Do you still like me?”

“I only kiss people I like, and I kissed you, didn’t I?”

“You did. You kissed me real good. It was better than a donut.” He stood up next to her. “But it made me more sore.”

She laughed, tipped her head back and shut her eyes. “Oh, God, Adam, what am I going to do about us? We both need some serious help.”

“You’re going to hold my hand more and kiss me again. That’s what you’re going to do about us, because that’ll make everything better. I swear.” He crossed his heart.

She laughed a little louder. “I’m sure you’re right.”

He nodded. Of course he was right. He knew the facts. Kissing her was good. Holding her hand was good.
She
was good. So, they needed to combine all three all the time, and everything would be fixed.

She walked over to the driver’s door and looked at him strangely. Was it because he was following too closely and trying to get whiffs of her hair?

“What? You wanna drive?”

He squealed. “Yes, please.” He never thought . . . It wasn’t why he was there behind her. It was an automatic response to go wherever she did and try to get closer. But this was wonderful!

She handed him the keys and asked, “You do have a license, right?”

“Yes. I’m a safe driver, and I drive the safest car possible when I can. You’ll see when I get it back. It’s nice, even though it’s an older model. I like it—my 2002 Mercedes, even if some of the silver paint is messed up on it. My father passed it down to me. I want you to be in it some time.”

She watched him slide into the driver’s seat, and knowing her eyes were on him made him smile big.

The door shut, and she walked around the front of the Jeep where he could watch her too, and then she got in on the passenger’s side. Manners would dictate he should have walked her over there, opened the door for her, helped her in and shut the door, but this damn soreness was making walking a hideous experience.

“Take yourself home,” she said, relaxing into her seat. She shut the door and then her head kind of lulled back and forth on the headrest.

“This is the best day ever!” he sang.

“The day’s not over yet.” She snorted a little and buckled herself in. “But driving is always a relief. It means getting away.”

“Getting away . . . I want to do that with you.” He sighed, started the Jeep and drove off.

There was nothing better than being in a small space like this with her. The air was permeated with her scent. His skin felt electrified in anticipation of her touch.

He drove as safely as he could, no matter how amped up he got or how fast he wanted to go. In fact, just to make sure she felt safe, he drove a little under the speed limit. He could never be too cautious with someone as precious as her in his charge while he was behind the wheel. It would be awful if he got another speeding ticket—and in Mari’s Jeep, no less—so he clenched his jaw and white-knuckled that steering wheel to keep himself from letting loose.

Mari was great at being a passenger, too, so he was a very lucky man. She set him at ease. How nice of her to do that. She didn’t grab the “death gripper” as Sam called the handle above the window. It was refreshing to see her so relaxed. Good for her. It almost looked like she was falling asleep.

“Mari . . . I don’t wanna go home yet. I was a little vague with Sam after school, and she’ll want me to explain. If I have to tell her one more time—”

“Mmm . . .” Mari smiled with her eyes closed as her head jostled back and forth. “Do you wanna come over to my house? It’s not the cleanest mansion on the planet, but we’re not slobs or anything."

“Can I sit with you on your couch?”

Her smile exploded, and she laughed a little. “Adam.” She opened her eyes. “You can do any damn thing you wish. I’m not your mother.” She swallowed, then tacked on, “Or your sister. Thank God!”

It was said quietly, and when people said things in that way, he understood it wasn’t meant for him to hear, though he was glad he did.

His hands roamed all around the steering wheel. It was something Mari touched all the time, and the interior of the vehicle smelled just like her. He took a deep whiff.

“What do you usually do after school?” she asked.

He paused. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody ever wants to listen to me. I make them uncomfortable. Zach says I’m about as predictable as monkeys in a canon. You never know where they’ll land and when they do, you don’t know if they’ll . . . Well, it’s a rude saying, so I should probably stop now.”

“If it makes you feel better . . . I like that you’re unpredictable. I also love how you say exactly what you think and feel.”

“You love that?” His voice rose and goose bumps broke out on his arms, probably on his sore spot too, because it was tingling like crazy.