Headstrong (22 page)

“Spiders are fine.”

“Okay, I give.”

“I’m not afraid of much. Not silly stuff, I mean. I’m afraid of childbirth now, thanks to Annie.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” Libby paused to squint at the map. “What are you
afraid
of, though? There must be something.”

Colin swallowed. “I’m
terrified
of driving. Not riding in a car obviously, just driving one. It gives me panic attacks.”

Libby nodded thoughtfully for a moment. “That’s so weird. Given how fast you whip around between them all day.”

“Yeah.” Just talking about this made his throat constrict.

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t even know
how
to drive.”

“Really? I thought you just didn’t do the whole left-hand-lane thing.”

She shook her head. “Nope. I was sort of… I was supposed to take Driver’s Ed when I was sixteen, but something came up and I never got around to it. And you don’t need a car in Boston, anyway.”

“Well, good to know I’m not the only one.” And it was.

Colin stopped to pull his jacket out of his bag. Darkness was descending fast. There was a moon out somewhere, blocked by the canopy. “You have a torch, eh? We’re almost out of daylight.”

“I have two, but I don’t want to use the white one. I’m hoping to spot my kiwi.”

“What does that leave us with, then?”

“One with a red bulb. I hope you aren’t scared of the dark as well.”

“Nope. Lead the way, Captain.”

Libby rummaged in her bag and pulled out a flashlight. She switched it on and trained a red beam on the ground in front of them. It was intense but had no range. If she’d been wearing her usual sneakers with their white laces and toes, Colin might have stood a chance at following her with some kind of ease, but this…

“You
really
need to see this kiwi?”

“Shhh. The hunt is on.”

Colin switched to a whisper. “There’s a one-legged one in Wellington Zoo you can see any old time.”

“I hate zoos,” Libby whispered back, closing the topic.

They wandered along the packed dirt trails. Colin smiled each time Libby snapped to attention at the smallest sound from the undergrowth, training her flashlight into the foliage and emitting tiny, desperate noises.

Before long, he could barely make out the lanky shape of her body in front of him, though her proximity made his heart swell. If this had happened before the shit had hit the proverbial fan, the fact that his brother could have managed to lay claim to this woman—when he didn’t even seem to
like
her all that much—would have felt infuriatingly unfair. But it was six years on from that horrible, life-altering night, and Colin had long since given up on the logic and mercy of the universe.

A half hour passed with no confirmed kiwi sightings but a hell of a lot of tripping and cursing, yet it was the most rewarding time Colin had spent the entire week. It was, after all, the only fumbling around in the dark he’d likely ever get accomplished with Libby, and that would just have to suffice.

She seemed to sense that navigation was getting unreasonable at the exact moment Colin did. She stopped short and he bumped into her.

“Ow, sorry. Didn’t know how close you were,” she whispered.

“I think we need to give up and use the regular torch. I don’t want to wander off and get lost in here all night.” Actually, if it involved
both
of them getting lost all night
together
in the pitch-black woods, Colin wouldn’t mind one bit.

“Here.” Libby reached back and groped at his elbow and arm, feeling her way down to his hand. She took it in her own. “Is this too…cheesy?”

“No, it’s fine.” Christ, it was so much better than fine. It shouldn’t have been, but that couldn’t be helped. “Whatever keeps me from falling into a ditch and getting devoured by feral fantails.”

“I’m more concerned about spotting my kiwi, but you can imagine whatever altruistic motives you like.”

Colin had plenty of his own far-from-altruistic motives for wanting this. He’d been aching to acquaint himself with the nuances of Libby’s hands for weeks now…from her skinny, bony fingers to her stubby, neglected nails. He wanted to know these hands as well as he did his own. In less respectable moments, he’d imagined her hands in place of his. He’d imagined a thousand things about her—her skin, her mouth, her smell, her taste, the way she might sound as his tongue brought her to—

“Hear that?”

Her excited whisper cut short Colin’s prurient wish list. She swiveled the beam into the undergrowth and yanked his hand. He crouched beside her, peering into the darkness, the red light trained on a small body. A ridiculous little hairy-looking body, bulb-shaped, with that long, comical beak. Oblivious to them, the kiwi poked its sensitive probe into the leaves and dirt, searching for bugs. Colin heard Libby squeak out a noise of delight beside him. Her hand squeezed his, and he beamed a telepathic thank-you to the bird.

After a couple minutes, Libby was sated and they stood.

“Oh, so awesome,” she sighed with satisfaction.

Colin had to agree. He heard the backpack unzipping, and the white beam of the other flashlight came on. “Thank God,” he said, though he suddenly missed the surreal intimacy of the dark.

Mission accomplished, Libby led them through the trails, no hand-holding necessary, until they spotted the subject of the expedition—blue stars, a curtain of them, glowing in the woods like dangling strings of Christmas lights.

“Wow, that’s a big group,” Colin said.

“Yep, but it’s about to get a little bit smaller.” Libby flipped off the beam. Before she started her collection, they paused to admire the scene. The illuminated blue beads hung from tree branches, eerie. Seeing them through Libby’s eyes was like having the experience filtered through a child. She was right—Colin took these sorts of things for granted.

“Who knew worm shit could be so beautiful,” he murmured, earning himself another sharp elbow in the side.

“They’re not worms, and it’s not shit.”

He could tell from her voice that she was smiling. “I know. It’s gnat larva spit. Look how hungry that one is.” He pointed uselessly in the dark at an especially bright strand.

“Wow.” Libby was mesmerized enough to ignore his teasing. Her hand nudged his shoulder, inviting him to share her reverence. He did, though the glowworms had very little to do with it. He swallowed and attempted to pat her back as an admittance of his awe, finding her pack in his way. Instead he gave the nape of her neck a gentle squeeze. It felt intensely, irrationally intimate, with her mane of hair pulled away, the exposed skin insanely soft. She offered him no acknowledgment, just continued to stare ahead.

The next few minutes passed quickly, and any conversation that took place evaporated like steam from Colin’s overheated brain. He was too busy processing the tiny moment of contact they’d shared to leave room in his head for anything else.

Libby had him hold the flashlight and hand her the bottles. She uncapped them one at a time, catching the lowest glob of glowing material from a strand and raising it until she had the entire string captured, along with the unassuming little larva it hung from. She did this twelve times, zipped the bag, took the flashlight from Colin and announced—

“Good work. You’re officially in my research paper’s acknowledgements list.”

“I’d prefer a name-drop in your Nobel acceptance speech.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll say you were ‘indispensible in my nocturnal specimen collection’.”

“Wow, sounds seedy. Ta.”

Libby’s voice went breathy, an overwrought Oscar winner at the podium. “
And a very special thanks to Colin Nolan, who taught me that there’s nothing more exciting than coming upon a hungry Kiwi in the dark.
”

“That was a capital K, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know. Come on, Tiger. Let’s go catch our ride.”

Colin glanced to his left across the backseat of the taxi, watching the passing streetlights wash over Libby’s face, propped against the window, placid with sleep. It was odd to see her so serene. Odd and intimate.

Staring out his own window, he recalled the strange incident from earlier that day. The incident itself hadn’t been strange, but his reaction had been.

During one of his deliveries downtown, Colin had run into a woman he hadn’t seen in a few months—Jessie. Someone he’d known quite well, if briefly. Someone he liked.

“Colin! It’s great to see you. You look good.” Eyes he’d shared any number of conspiratorial glances with had scanned him with a certain breed of approval.

He’d returned her smile. “You’re one to talk.”

“Where have you been hiding yourself?”

“No place. I’m where I always am. I assumed you just hadn’t been looking to find me.” He’d flirted, yes, but his heart hadn’t been in it. For a couple of minutes they’d chatted, but Colin’s efforts to match the expectant tone of Jessie’s rapport were failures.

“I still think about you sometimes,” she’d said eventually, nervously, and Colin had remembered how, up until recently, he’d thought of her too. How until recently he’d hoped he might run into her again, just as he had that morning, and maybe arrange something. Another night like the handful they’d shared six months ago, before his inevitable refusal to make things serious had erected a sad but predictable wall between them. Yes, he’d have liked another night with this woman, if she’d been okay with that one caveat. He
would
have, if this had been three weeks ago.

“Are you seeing anyone special?” she’d asked.

He’d shaken his head with a sad smile. “Nah. You know me.”

She’d looked around them for a moment before asking, boldly, “Do you ever think about me?”

“I have. A lot,” he’d admitted. In that moment he’d almost been able to feel her hands on his body again, taste her skin.

“Would you like to hang out sometime?” The way she’d bitten her lip made her meaning plain.

“That’s a tempting offer, but I’m sort of keeping things uncomplicated at the moment.”

“I know, Col. I’m not asking for anything
complicated
.”

“Thanks…but no.” Who was this man, the one suddenly inhabiting his body? Colin didn’t
do
relationships—didn’t do exclusivity or attachment. He had nothing against the concept, he simply couldn’t go there. And he’d tried to.

When he’d started dating again after his dark period, each time he met someone he fancied he’d tried to muster that spirit. Tried to entertain the possibility until eventually it just became cruel. He’d had to admit it wasn’t an option, both to himself and to any woman of the moment who seemed keen for it. And for the last few years that was how it was. He could give someone his body and his heart for one night or a series of them, but not for keeps, and he was very up front about that little policy.

Now he couldn’t even seem to give
that
. It all belonged to the woman presently seated three feet to his left, and it served him right that she couldn’t care less. After all, wasn’t that just so bloody poetic?

Chapter Twelve

“Maybe we should be documenting
this
.” Libby studied Reece’s naked body, stretched out beside her own. They’d spent the afternoon on another photographic excursion, Reece capturing images of Libby at her most passably docile, and now it was her turn to get Reece’s cooperation.

He looked up from where his fingers were dutifully exploring her. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to use your memory. Now try and relax.”

She was—she’d been trying to relax for the past twenty minutes. Relaxation, in Libby’s mind, was not the problem. Reece was. He was
too
calm. She understood his insistence, but what she needed for this to succeed was excitement—Reece’s to be precise. Without the illusion of him wanting this, it was just clinical.

“I need you to be dirtier,” she said. “Like last time.”

He complied. Reece was nothing if not accommodating, and his performances as Libby’s seemingly eager lover were highly convincing. A perfect imitation of genuine intimacy, and as close as she could get to the real thing without risking her safety. Exactly what she was after.

Yet it still felt…off, somehow. She couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d screwed around, and how mortifyingly easy it’d been for Reece to snap back into platonic mode afterward. In her rational mind that’s what she wanted, though certain other bits of her begged to differ.

Suddenly, what was happening between them stopped feeling good. All the hardness of Reece’s body, it was just that. Hard. Impersonal. Impossible to truly get close to. Reece didn’t give himself. What he gave were body parts—talented and attractive and graciously donated body parts—but that’s all they were. She didn’t get
him
. Reece himself was not on offer. And Libby was happily giving everything of
her
self, but it was as wasted as wine poured onto a tablecloth, no glass there to catch it. The pointlessness of this endeavor slapped Libby across the face.

She sat up. “You know what?”

“What?” Reece asked, sounding poised to ponder yet another of her strange requests.

“I’m not feeling very well.”

“Physically?”

“Yeah, I think I better stop.”

“All right. Do you need anything? We’ve got bitters downstairs if it’s your stomach.”

It’s not my fucking stomach.
“Maybe…can we call it a night, here?”

Reece was already up and getting dressed. “No worries. It’s your show.”

“Great.”

“Libby?” Colin set his newspaper on the bar, watching with worry as she emerged from the stairs to charge toward the pub’s front door.

Her duffel bag was clutched in one white fist, boom box in the other. Neither of those items had left the living room floor in weeks, and it couldn’t be a good sign. Her eyes met his before she dropped her head in some gesture of horror or shame and rushed out into the night.

Colin felt his heart hammering in his chest. His fingers drummed uncertainly on the bar for a moment and then—

“Graham,” he entreated their most regular patron, seated in front of him. “Don’t let anyone steal anything for the next two minutes, and your drinks are on the house.”