Swap Out (21 page)

I scoff.

“How many came back, huh?” she asks, and I get up from the floor and head to the closet. I grab a pair of jeans, hastily pulling them on under my towel. I yank off the cloth and fling it angrily on the floor, my back to her when she says, “How many people, Luca? How many did you save?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I mumble, zipping up my jeans and hooking through the button, hearing the mattress squeak like she pushed off it with her hand when she stood up.

And I’m waiting for the attack, for her to grab my arm and whip me around to scream in my face something about how I’m being hypocritical. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit after that ridiculous speech I gave her at that cliff on the side of the road. But when her touch lands, my brow furrows.

She’s soft, gentle: her hands settling on my shoulders, her forehead resting against my spine. She takes a deep breath, then shocks the hell out of me.

Her fingertips slip under the chain resting on the back of my neck and without a word, she slips it over my head and pulls it away. I turn and face her, seeing her drape it around her own neck and dropping it inside her shirt. My eyes widen in confusion and her head tilts as she cups my face in her palms, her thumbs tender as she sweeps them over my cheekbones.

“Do you know why I love your IDs so much?” she asks quietly, and when I don’t respond, she smiles. “It’s because they remind me to not give up. To keep going, no matter how bad it gets. You went through hell, and you made it out the other side. And I can’t imagine the pain…” she trails off, her smile dimming. “But you’ve carried it long enough.”

I swallow, trying to get used to the absence of metal against my chest. I try to reconcile the idea that it’s pressing against Zoe’s. I almost want to rip the damn thing off her neck before the demons they hold seep into her. She doesn’t need mine on top of her own.

But I can’t deny something happened when she took them off me. Something so small, so simple, and I
felt
it.

She stretches up and lightly kisses me, her lips more and more loving as they linger.

“I know tonight was…” she whispers, “and I don’t want to leave you, but I have to go home. Tori is getting here really early in the morning and if you decide you’d rather skip out on doing the whole intro thing I under—”

“No,” I say and shake my head, my palms sliding down her arms. “I’ll meet her. It’s important to you.”

She smiles softly, her cheeks dusting pink. “Do you think we can we leave the gun
here
?”

I wince and hug my arms around her neck, taking a deep breath. I’m probably going to have nightmares about that for months.

“Do you want me to come home with you?” I ask, dropping a kiss to her hair, and she smoothes her palms down my back before she tilts her head up to look at me.

“Up to you. You probably miss your apartment and all your guy-alone-time seeing as I’ve been holding you hostage so much lately.”

“Oh yeah. I really miss it,” I deadpan and she giggles, then taps her lips with one finger.

I bend my mouth to hers, hundreds of apologies and a dozen thank yous bleeding from my lips. She takes them all, then tickles her fingertips in a circle over my ribs and I grin into her smile.

“Stop it,” I breathe and she faintly shakes her head, then jumps with a gasp.

I stiffen and search the room, senses still on high alert, and she laughs apologetically as she jostles me back into paying attention to her.

“I’m sorry. I just remembered I have something for you. And you’re gonna like it.”

“Is it lace?” I drawl with a wink, and she rolls her eyes before bending to hook her fingers into her high heels, then walks out of my room. I wrinkle my nose as I follow, not ready for her to go yet.

By the time I enter the living room she already has her shoes on, a hand digging through her purse before she turns and underhand-tosses something at me.

“Heads up,” she says and my fists closes easily around the object, and when my fingers uncurl, my eyebrow arches. She daintily snorts and slings her purse on her shoulder, saying, “No, that doesn’t go to a brand new Maserati waiting outside. It’s more like a sign of good faith that you’re not going to sneak in and steal all my stuff in the middle of the night.”

I slide the key ring into my pocket, utterly speechless that she just gave me a key to her house. That’s like…

She gives me one last smile before turning and walking towards the door, but when she opens it I take a hasty step forward.

“Zoe…”

She pauses and looks back at me, then faintly nods. “I know.”

Zoe was right, this isn’t a test. This is an interrogation.

Tori, Zoe’s bubbly college roommate, is a freaking shark in a pink cardigan and Zoe is offering me up like a fresh kill.

Nice to meet you, I’m Luca Roark: chum bucket.

I ended up spending the night at Zoe’s when she called me at 2
a.m.
in a breathless panic, and she never said what happened because she was already asleep again by the time I got there, but I blame our bedside walk down nightmare lane. Before the sun even rose, I left her with a kiss and a promise to be back with dinner, spending the day outside so the girls could have their time together. And besides escaping Giggle-Fest: Moab Edition I figured I could work through some shit while charging hills and gravelly paths on my mountain bike. I don’t know if I solved anything except a flat tire, but I feel a little better. Or at least,
did
.

I had barely crossed over the threshold with three bags of food from the Broken Oar before Tori was on me, asking me as I served out the Ceviche appetizer what I do for Zoe job wise and why I applied to work for her best friend. I answered my way through warm up round as I upped the Scoville units on Zoe’s Buffalo Burger with some chipotle peppers, but Tori did pause for about thirty seconds when I handed her the plate of Rib Eye Cap Steak: a mouthwatering assortment of sliced spinalis laid over mushroom risotto and topped with lump crab butter, accompanied by garlic mashed potatoes and fresh veggies.

She blushed and carried it into the dining room, and Zoe’s eyes bulged as she whispered I didn’t have to do that, we could have just ordered pizza or something. She knows as well as I do what I paid for that entrée, but it was done. And okay, maybe I was trying to win a few points because I’m not a complete idiot.

In all honesty, I was more excited about having Zoe try out the bison because it’s leaner than chicken but tastes like beef, and she’s been red meat all the way; pork or anything from a pink animal with a curly-cue tail is strictly gag-worthy, she’ll only pick at chicken and turkey and I won’t let her anywhere near fish. She’s been constantly complaining that she thinks she’s gaining weight because of this. If she’s gained anything, it’s like an ounce, but she doesn’t listen to me. Except for when it comes to food because I’ve got her cravings figured out better than she does.

Case in point: when we went and joined Tori at the dining room table, Zoe immediately went ballistic over her burger. She couldn’t stop smiling and insisting I try it because it was apparently the best thing on earth, and my ego now needs its own room. Plus when she pulled my mouth to hers and kissed me with a softly whispered, “Thank you,” her lips were spicy and I will never get enough of that.

I
also
never got enough of my Stuffed Portabella Mushroom because I was too busy getting hammered with questions about being in the military and why I chose the Air Force if I didn’t want to be a pilot. You know, instead of being something really super-duper awesome like a Navy SEAL or a Marine because, um, hello? That’s what women really love and
that’s
why they make endless movies and romance novels about them. Mm-hmm. But when Tori then asked why I was no longer in the military, my eyes darted to Zoe, fork just hovering in midair.

She winked at me, then said it was classified.

I found her hand under the table and squeezed it tight, and Zoe blushed like crazy but Tori didn’t seem to notice. Because she simply shrugged and then dove right into asking if I really knew how to read palms, and I assured her I did; instantly feeling better because apparently Zoe’s been gossiping about me to her bestie. And not just about the arguments. It’s the good stuff too and that’s like the gold-plated stamp of approval in my book.

And maybe it was a little childish, but Tori just wouldn’t stop badgering me about every detail of my life I don’t think even Scott knows and Zoe certainly doesn’t, and since my entire existence was being pulled out of the closet and laid on the table cloth, I figured we should share equal disclosure. So when Zoe told me I should do a reading on Tori, I did. Then asked her how long she’d been seeing the woman she’s sleeping with. Two feminine gasps and a smirk from me, then a fifteen minute break on my autobiography while Zoe cheerfully peppered Tori for details.

Honestly, I’ve been here for just over an hour and I’m drained. All I want to do is grab Zoe and lock ourselves in her bedroom so I can go to sleep next to her. Our entire expanse of weekly daytime hours are filled with distance to make sure the crew doesn’t start to suspect something is going on between us, because Zoe thinks they will respect her less. Whatever. But that means our nights and weekends are
mine
. I can finally touch her, kiss her after twelve hours of keeping my hands to myself. I can talk to her without watching for listening ears. We can just be us.

But Tori is stealing my “us time” and I’m trying not to get grumpy about it because it’s only for tonight. “Trying” being the operative word.

So it takes a little more effort than normal not to roll my eyes when she looks at me from across the table, asking, “So, Luca, where are you from? Did you grow up in Moab or are you from somewhere more exotic like Kentucky or Alabama? I think I heard a hidden twang in there…”

I take a drink of water, then clear my throat. “Actually, I was born in Chicago.”

Zoe’s eyes widen, a smile pulling at her lips as she rests her chin in her palm. “You never told me that.”

I smirk. “You didn’t ask.”

“Is your family still there? Any brothers or sisters? How about a crazy uncle?” Tori says, and Zoe’s smile dims a bit.

So…not sharing
everything
with her bestie, then.

“Tori,” she says and clears her throat. “Let’s talk about something else.”

I jerk my chin at Zoe. “It’s okay.”

“No, Luca, you don’t have—”

“I’m the product of a group home,” I say bluntly, and Tori’s brow furrows. I smile comfortingly, my voice more teasing when I explain, “That’s politically correct for ‘orphanage.’”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes darting to Zoe’s. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. I wasn’t a great candidate for adoption because I was born addicted to heroin and that causes just…all sorts of problems,” I say with a chuckle. “First they have to detox you and even if you escaped the birth defects, later on you still have issues with developmental delays, learning disabilities, behavioral problems—serial recklessness, in my case—and it’s actually quite impressive I can tie my shoes seeing as how I didn’t learn to speak until I was like five or something. Officially,” I say and smile at Zoe, “I am a fully functioning, recovered addict with a shocking lack of emotional stunted-ness and a surprisingly large vocabulary. Although, I am quite fond of Velcro.”

Both Tori and Zoe burst into shocked laughter, and they each cover their mouths with their hands like don’t know whether it’s all right or not to be laughing.

I reach over and pull away one of Zoe’s hands, bringing it up to my mouth and pressing a kiss against her knuckles while she blushes.

“Luca’s a miracle,” she says softly, totally beaming, and I wink at her. “Especially considering…he claims he used to be in a cult.”

I gasp mockingly. “That was a secret!”

She shrugs coyly.

“Oh come on,” Tori drawls. “You have to tell me about that.”

I playfully narrow my eyes at Zoe, lacing my fingers through hers, then look to Tori. “When I was around ten, I went to live with this foster family. They’d been taking in kids for a few years and had the hang of it; she was a stay at home mom, he was a pastor, they had a big house and a few other kids and it…it was pretty cool.”

“Uh-huh,” Tori says, practically foaming at the mouth, but when I check on Zoe she looks like she’d rather the story stop there. I tighten my grip on her hand, moving it a little closer to my body.

“So one day—we’ll just call him Pastor Bob—Pastor Bob comes home and sits us all down at the table and says we’re moving to a better place. Me and the other kids? We’re stoked, just beside ourselves because Chicago sucks unless you’re into dirty snow and traffic. So I’m sitting there thinking we’re moving to Florida or California, dreaming of beaches and girls in bikinis… Turns out he meant a
field
.”

“Oh no!” Tori laughs.

“Oh yeah. Plus, it wasn’t just us. Like half of his congregation got together and decided they were pulling out of the 20
th
century and away we went. No electricity, no phones, we’re living in this mass compound of Amish style houses and wearing these weird suits and long underwear, and all we did, all day long, was have church. Pray for our sins and deliver us from Gameboy.”

“This is unreal,” Tori breathes with a grin, and Zoe clears her throat.

“So, we’ve been there for a while and it’s weird, but I’m getting the hang of it. ‘Yes, Father Mark, I will lead morning devotions for my brothers and sisters’ and ‘I will pray again for sanctity and forgiveness, Mother Mary.’”

“Oh, that’s creepy,” Tori says, wincing with a smile.

“The name thing became a big deal because they didn’t feel mine was ‘pure’ since there’s no telling who named me, whether it was a nurse in the hospital or some social worker. So they rechristened me Brother Josiah and it was a massive, head dunking in the river, seven-hour long fiasco.”

“They renamed you?” Zoe asks quietly, and I look at her and nod.

“Yep, and if you’re really insistent I
may
consider going back to Josiah, but I’d prefer to stay Luca.”

She nods, softly saying my name under her breath like it’s precious.

“So…is that it?” Tori asks. “You stayed there in the cult for however long and then went into another one? I’m sorry, I mean the military.”

“Not quite,” I tell her, trying to stay as relaxed as possible. “Things got a little dicey when on my eleventh birthday, all the elder men pulled me into this room and told me I was now a man and it was time to take my place in the community.”

“And that means…?” Tori asks, and Zoe squeezes my hand.

“It means they realized I had discovered a
fantastic
new way to spend my time, and that equaled being alone with my hand and the impure thoughts racing through the mind of a teenage boy.”

Tori bursts out in laughter.

“And since I was so eager to revel in my new maturity, apparently that ordained me ready to be married off to one of my ‘sisters.’”

Zoe sucks in a breath. “You got
married
?”

I slowly turn my head and look at her. “Zoe, do I look like I’m married?”

She rolls her eyes and takes a drink of water, then mumbles, “You also don’t look like an ex-EMT who reads palms and chases squirrels on a dare.”

Tori laughs harder, then says, “So what happened?”

I look back at her, then chuckle dryly. “Um, I ran like hell. Snuck out at night and hopped the perimeter fence, drifted for a few days until I got picked up by the cops and they dragged my ass back to Chicago and the group home.”

“That’s awesome!” Tori exclaims with a grin, but it falters when Zoe suddenly pushes away from the table and strides into the kitchen.

Yeah, that was smart.

I exhale and wave Tori off, then get up and go after Zoe.

I head into the kitchen to find her turned toward the sink, her arms hugged around herself and her face turned away so she’s nice and hidden. Like I don’t know she’s probably crying. But instead of going to stand beside her, instead of wrapping my arms around her or making her look at me, I lean my back against hers so our eyes are focused at twelve and six o’clock.

“So, I have this theory,” I say quietly. “And it’s a little crazy, but just hear me out.”

She shifts like she’s wiping at her eyes and my weight falls a little, but at least she doesn’t move away to where I stumble straight back and crack my head on the counter.

“I
think
my girlfriend may actually like me. And—shock of the century—possibly
care
about me.” I shake my head. “Insane, right?”

“I’m not your girlfriend,” she says softly, and I nod once.

“My mistake,” I tell her. “Guess I should go then, seeing as I have no purpose in being here.”

I step away, but pause and pivot without making a sound. And just like I knew she would, Zoe whips around the second my weight leaves her back, her eyes wide. Her gaze searches my face for a moment, but when I curl my index finger towards myself she rushes forward: her arms squeezed around my neck as her chest quivers against mine. My palm instantly cups the back of her neck under her hair, my other wrapping around her waist as I hold her to me and I swear I’ve been waiting to do this all day. Just sucks it’s not under better circumstances.

Thanks a lot, Tori.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that story before?” Zoe asks, and I exhale.

“Because it’s not the kind of story you would think is funny.” I slightly turn my head, then breathe, “I promise I’m okay, Zoe. No harm done.”