Velvet (7 page)

“How are you feeling?” he asked, handing me a mug.

“Warmer,” I admitted, tucking my feet underneath me on the bed. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.” He sat in his desk chair.

“Hmm,” I mumbled, then took a sip of hot chocolate. “This is yummy.”

He smiled. “Secret family recipe.”

“Did you try the punch?”

“No.”

I looked at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t thirsty.”

“I was,” I told him, as if he didn’t know. “I just wanted punch, not happy punch, but all they had was happy punch. And then the grail. And then more punch.” I looked at him. “I was really thirsty.” I took a sip of hot chocolate. “This is yummy.”

“Thank you.”

“Adrian.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you nice to me?”

He smiled at me kind of funny. “Figured it was better than being mean.”

I absorbed this, took a sip of hot chocolate, then stated again, “Adrian.”

He smiled again. “Yes?”

“I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

He was merely a shadow sitting back in his chair. The smile slipped off his face and he didn’t respond for a long time.

“What secret?” he asked finally.

“That you’re…” I waved my hand around. “
Y’know
.”

He raised a brow. “Pretend that I don’t.”

I scrubbed my hand across my face, already regretting blurting this out. “That you don’t like girls. I won’t tell anyone.”

The blank look on his face seemed, for a moment, to be frozen in place. Then, very carefully, he leaned forward. “You won’t tell anyone that I don’t like girls?”

I nodded vigorously. I would take his secret to the grave. Especially if he kept giving me hot chocolate.

“Why do you think I don’t like girls?”

I made an incredibly unattractive
pbbbbt
sound with my lips. “’Cuz you wear
sweaters
. Your shoes cost more than my laptop. You’ve never gone on a date even
once
.”

Adrian stared at me. “So you think I’m—”

“Gay,” I interrupted very matter-of-factly. “My gay best friend. Except not, because I don’t have a best friend, and if I did, I think Trish would probably be it. You’re my gay study buddy. Except not really, because school is meh.”

Adrian dropped his head in his hands, and for a half a second, I thought he was crying. But then he looked up at me and he was smiling.

“You are a funny girl, Caitlin Holte. And you should probably get some sleep.”

I blinked at him and shivered. He frowned. “Are you still cold?”

“Kind of,” I said, head lolling to the side. I was too tired to un-loll it. “I can’t really feel my toes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, standing.

I blinked up at him. “You gave me pajamas.”

“Here.” He pulled me up and tossed back the sheet and blanket before setting me down again, swinging my legs onto the bed and tucking me in like I was a toddler. It felt wonderful.

“I’m stealing your bed,” I mumbled sleepily.

“That’s okay,” he murmured.

“No, it’s not.” With my last bit of energy, I grabbed hold of his shirt. “It’s your bed. Come here, to sleep.”

I expected him to say no. He probably found me repulsive.

But he pulled back the covers and crawled in next to me. “All right.”

I turned on my side, pressed my nose into his rib cage, and fell asleep.

5

IT’S MY PARTY, I CAN CRY IF I WANT TO

I was warm. That was all that mattered.

I was warm and comfortable and sleepy. So when the soft
Caitlin
floated past my ear again, I wanted to ignore it, to snuggle into whoever it was that was next to me and fall back into the delicious dream I’d been rudely awakened from. But someone whispered my name again, and the stubborn part of my brain felt obliged to respond.

“Hmm?” I mumbled.

“So you
are
alive,” the voice said. It sounded an awful lot like Adrian. Which was silly, why would Adrian be in my bedroom? Ridiculous. I was definitely still asleep.

“What are you smiling for?” he asked as I wriggled my head under his chin.

“You smell good,” I mumbled into his collarbone. After all, it didn’t matter what you told people in dreams. In dreams, if nowhere else, you should be honest. I pressed my cold nose against his warm neck and wrapped my dream-arm around Dream-Adrian’s waist.

“Caitlin, you need to wake up now. It’s four thirty.”

“
Nurrr.
”

“Come on, Caitlin, up,” he murmured. His hair tickled my face and I scrunched up my nose. Burrowing closer to the source of heat, I realized that my shirt was sliding off one shoulder—which was weird, because my pajama shirt wasn’t large enough to slide off my shoulder. I reached up and felt the fabric at my neck and realized that it wasn’t the heavy cotton I was used to; it was cashmere. I sure as hell didn’t own any cashmere. In fact, I only knew one person who did.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

It was dark at first, and I wasn’t completely sure where I was. Then the hazy form of Adrian’s face materialized above me. I was huddled, leechlike, along the right side of his body.

I blinked.

“You all right?” he asked after a moment.

I blinked again. He was still there.

And I still had my arm wrapped around his waist and my leg hooked around his knee.

Oh dear God.

“How do you feel?” Adrian tried again, starting to look concerned.

Stupid
.

“Fine,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse and froggy as I disentangled my limbs from his until we could both sit up.

“We need to get you back to Trish’s,” he said, scooting away, dragging his legs over the edge of the bed, walking to his desk, and …

 … taking off his clothes?

I watched, absolutely fascinated, as he tossed the pirate shirt onto the back of his chair and pulled on a black sweater that clung to his body like Saran Wrap. He swiped a hand through his hair and scanned the floor, looking for something.

Maybe I
was
still dreaming.

I wanted to ask what time it was, why I was here, why I needed to go back to Trish’s, why, why, why, what, where, when, how? but my tongue was all sloppy and I couldn’t form any coherent thoughts.

He looked for something in a drawer, found whatever it was, and took off his pirate pants.

Ohmygodhetookoffhispiratepants.

He was dressed in nothing but a sweater and tight, black boxer briefs. Even in the dim moonlight, I could see that Adrian wasn’t just in shape; he was
built
. Decathlete built. FIFA World Cup soccer champion built. Not bulky, really, but solid. Just muscles for days, lean and beautifully arranged. I was staring, and I didn’t care.

I must be dreaming. Not only had
I
been mostly naked in Adrian de la Mara’s room,
Adrian
had been mostly naked in Adrian’s room. I mean, that made sense, since it was his room, but I was there, and
what the hell was happening?

“I don’t have any boots your size,” he said, turning to face me once more, “but I stole these from my aunt. They’re probably a couple sizes too big, but it’s all I have.”

He held up a pair of sandals, but I wasn’t really looking at them, not when the image of his mostly naked body was burned into my retinas like a film negative.

“You’re not really awake yet, are you?” he asked.

I blinked at him.

He stared at me and said, “Hmm,” in a low, rumbly sort of way.

I blinked again, pinching my eyes shut and then opening them wide. The room came in to a bit clearer focus. Slowly, I sat up; the wide neck of his sweater slipping off my shoulder again.

“Adrian,” I said, overpronouncing his name.

“Yes?”

“Your house.”

“Yes.”

“Your room.”

“Yes.”

I looked down at myself. I was practically swimming in the clothes I wore.

“Your pajamas?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Time?”

“Four thirty.”

“A.M.?”

“Yes.”

I touched a hand to my head. “Jungle Juice?”

Adrian tried to suppress another smile. “Yes.”

“Ah,” I said, as if that one word summed up everything that had happened over the past five hours. A moment passed as we stared at each other. “I don’t really know what to say right now.”

“How about I go grab you something to eat while you think about it?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

He left and I was grateful I had a moment to pull myself together.

How stupid did I feel?
You got drunk
, I told myself.
You got drunk and Adrian had to drag you all the way to his house so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself. And then you
cuddled
with him.

I scrambled out of bed, which was a bad idea because dizziness and gravity conspired against me, so I lay still until the world stopped spinning. I’d just managed to sit up again when Adrian opened the door.

“I’m not sure what your stomach can handle, so I made you a slice of cinnamon bread. Does that sound okay?”

He’d taken me home and put me to bed and made me toast. Thank God it was dark, I felt like I was blushing red and pasty white all at the same time. He handed me the plate and I took a bite. It was good. Lots of butter.

We stared at each other while I ate. When I was finished, he set my plate down on his desk and picked up a coat, slinging it over my shoulders and messing with the collar until it lay right.

“There,” he said. “Why don’t you call Trish and tell her we’re coming?”

I nodded and looked around. “Uh—do you happen to know where my stuff is?”

I remembered taking off my clothes. I remembered putting on Adrian’s pajamas. I did not remember what happened in-between.

“I think everything’s on the floor over there.” He pointed near the set of French doors leading out to the moonlit balcony. We both noticed at the exact same moment that I’d managed to fling my bra onto his lampshade. He quickly looked away as I slowly lowered my face into my hands.

“I’ll, um—I’ll wait outside.”

Adrian slipped out the door once more and I quickly skimmed my bra off the lamp and tugged it on under his sweater, then found the rest of my clothes in a heap on the floor and dug through the pile to look for my phone. I flipped through my contacts and found Trish’s. She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey!” she said, yelling. I could hear music in the background.

“Hey. Are you still at the party?”

“Yeah! It’s still going strong. Are you and—”

“Trish!” I whisper-yelled. I didn’t want her shouting my name and Adrian’s name in the same sentence, not while she was around people that went to our school.

“What?” she yelled above the music. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Never mind,” I told her. “Listen, I’m heading over to your house. Will you be there soon?”

“I’m leaving now,” she said.

“Are you … okay … to drive?” I asked awkwardly. We were friends, I think, but new friends. It felt weird asking.

“Mystic, unlike some people I know, I only had one drink, and that was, like, six hours ago. I’ll be fine. Thanks for worrying, though. I’ll see you soon!”

“Bye,” I said, and disconnected.

I felt my way to Adrian’s door in the darkness and let him back in.

“Ready to go?”

I nodded and shoved the sandals on my feet, following Adrian out the French doors onto the deck, then down the stairs and across the lawn to his motorcycle.

It occurred to me that I must look really weird clinging to a guy who could easily make a living as an underwear model while I wore baggy sweatpants and borrowed sandals. Of course, I’d probably looked pretty okay while I was on here in stilettos with my vampire dress riding up my thighs, but still. Life was weird. I slipped my arms around his waist as he started the engine.

It was less cold this time, but it was still Stony Creek at four thirty in the morning at the end of October. Eventually, we pulled up to Trish’s driveway and Adrian cut the engine. He pulled off his helmet and twisted to scan the road behind me.

“Trish’ll be here soon.”

A moment later, the headlights of Trish’s truck splashed golden light down the road. She pulled up next to us and rolled the passenger window down.

“Hop in,” she told me, then let her eyes wander to the other occupant of the Harley. “Morning, Adrian.”

He smiled back. “Morning, Trish.”

Trish grinned, then looked at me and frowned. “What in the hell are you wearing, Mystic?”

I was glad it was dark—she couldn’t see me blush. “Adrian let me borrow some clothes.”

Trish grinned slowly at me. “I see.”

“Well,” I announced in a higher pitch than normal. “We better be going.”

I scrambled off the bike (“fell” is more like it; Adrian had to grab hold of my arm to keep me upright) and shoved myself at the truck, pausing with the door half open.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing up once, briefly, at Adrian.

He just smiled softly, looking amused. “You’re welcome.”

I nodded at him and hopped in the truck. Trish pulled into the drive and in seconds Adrian had disappeared back into the night. After we parked, Trish let us in the front door and we tiptoed up to her room. I sank to the floor wearily.

“So,” Trish said, flopping onto her unmade bed. “You and Adrian, huh?”

Here we go. “Nothing happened.”

“Yeah. Right. Adrian looked like he wanted to beat the crap out of that guy and dragged you away on his Harley because he wanted nothing to happen.”

“He’s a good guy,” I told her a little more forcefully than necessary. “And it’s not like that. Besides,
you
told me he was gay.”

Trish snorted. “After seeing him with you the past few days, I have reversed my conclusion.”

It was my turn to snort. “I think you had too much Jungle Juice.”

Trish turned on her back, plunked her feet up against the wall, and let her head hang over the edge of the bed. “Firstly, he doesn’t let anyone within spitting distance of his bike, but he voluntarily picks you up for school. Secondly, he does his crazy superman stunt off the hayloft and who does he look at when he lands?
You.
”