claps twice, shattering whatever was building between us. Adrian steps back and I can catch my breath.
“Whatever we’re eating, it better be damn delicious,” I say, to hide my shiver. “It’ll be the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” he promises.
It’s just one dinner. Just one measly little dinner with the sexiest man I’ve ever met, who has an uncanny ability to turn me into a sweaty mess with just one look, who is absolutely and completely not an option for me.
He’s experienced. Confident. In control. And I’m—
“Let’s do this, then,” Marie says suddenly, slipping on her shoes.
“What?” I squawk. “Now? Right this second in this universe right here?”
“No, in eighteenth century Britain.” She rolls her eyes. “My draft is due in two months, Cleo. We need to get it done.”
“Then why are you putting your shoes on? There’s a bed upstairs.” I refuse to look at Adrian. Not that my face is red. My skin is a perfectly normal flesh-colored tone. Promise.
Marie winks at me, and I’m left to wonder again which science lab this evil clone of my mild-mannered roommate has recently escaped from. “The first hookup in my book doesn’t happen in a bed, Cleo.”
I am no longer a normal flesh-colored tone. At the moment, I’m approximately ghost-colored. “No.”
“Yep,” she says. “You might want to change out of that white T-shirt.”
Never mind. This evil clone of Marie didn’t escape from a science lab.
She came straight outta hell.
~6~
ADRIAN
In this particular moment, in Marie’s beat-up Chevy driving off campus to a mysterious place that made Cleo change colors twice when Marie mentioned it, there are only two questions in my mind.
One—why am I wearing rain gear?
Two—how did I end up in the front passenger seat and not in the back next to Cleo, who’s glaring out the window like she just saw her least favorite fourth grade teacher spraying down the sidewalk?
There’s also a third question, I guess, which I say out loud. “Where the hell are we going?”
“You’ll find out,” Marie sings. I’m a little concerned, as Cleo’s roommate appears to have cracked. She was sweet when she was handing me glasses of orange juice in her kitchen and explaining the whole situation in that near-to-tears writer way, but now she’s got the manic eye-gleam of Captain Ahab when he finally spotted the whale.
Just because I’m hot as fuck and have more sex than a rabbit on steroids doesn’t mean I don’t read.
We’re heading away from Boston, into the sticks. I twist to hopefully meet Cleo’s eyes just as Marie takes a corner so hard I’m pretty sure the Chevy pops onto one wheel. My head bashes against the roof, and the top of my skull becomes flat enough to serve drinks on.
That’ll be a pretty nice party trick, actually.
Cleo lurches forward, and I look up just quick enough to see the instinctive concern in her eyes. “You okay?”
“Just fine.”
“Sorry. Marie drives like she’s trying to escape the police,” Cleo says, her natural smile brightening up her face before she remembers she’s annoyed. It’s like she reaches up to rearrange her eyebrows into a frown, that’s how forced it is. I’m getting to her. No women can resist me for long. A scientifically proven fact. Like gravity. Which it’s basically a form of.
We drive for another half hour before stopping in a public park. It’s empty, probably because it’s Thursday night and most people are in front of the TV, drinking off the workday and not on a crazy mission with your first love and her psychopathic writer roommate to simulate sex scenes in a book.
I’m not complaining, though.
Marie leads us to a big, clear manmade pond in the corner of the park, with a sandy bottom and no frogs in sight. In the center is a huge fountain, spraying a fan of water to rain down into the pond. A few pennies shimmer at the bottom.
Marie takes out a notebook and a pen. “At this
“Whatever we’re eating, it better be damn delicious,” I say, to hide my shiver. “It’ll be the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” he promises.
It’s just one dinner. Just one measly little dinner with the sexiest man I’ve ever met, who has an uncanny ability to turn me into a sweaty mess with just one look, who is absolutely and completely not an option for me.
He’s experienced. Confident. In control. And I’m—
“Let’s do this, then,” Marie says suddenly, slipping on her shoes.
“What?” I squawk. “Now? Right this second in this universe right here?”
“No, in eighteenth century Britain.” She rolls her eyes. “My draft is due in two months, Cleo. We need to get it done.”
“Then why are you putting your shoes on? There’s a bed upstairs.” I refuse to look at Adrian. Not that my face is red. My skin is a perfectly normal flesh-colored tone. Promise.
Marie winks at me, and I’m left to wonder again which science lab this evil clone of my mild-mannered roommate has recently escaped from. “The first hookup in my book doesn’t happen in a bed, Cleo.”
I am no longer a normal flesh-colored tone. At the moment, I’m approximately ghost-colored. “No.”
“Yep,” she says. “You might want to change out of that white T-shirt.”
Never mind. This evil clone of Marie didn’t escape from a science lab.
She came straight outta hell.
~6~
ADRIAN
In this particular moment, in Marie’s beat-up Chevy driving off campus to a mysterious place that made Cleo change colors twice when Marie mentioned it, there are only two questions in my mind.
One—why am I wearing rain gear?
Two—how did I end up in the front passenger seat and not in the back next to Cleo, who’s glaring out the window like she just saw her least favorite fourth grade teacher spraying down the sidewalk?
There’s also a third question, I guess, which I say out loud. “Where the hell are we going?”
“You’ll find out,” Marie sings. I’m a little concerned, as Cleo’s roommate appears to have cracked. She was sweet when she was handing me glasses of orange juice in her kitchen and explaining the whole situation in that near-to-tears writer way, but now she’s got the manic eye-gleam of Captain Ahab when he finally spotted the whale.
Just because I’m hot as fuck and have more sex than a rabbit on steroids doesn’t mean I don’t read.
We’re heading away from Boston, into the sticks. I twist to hopefully meet Cleo’s eyes just as Marie takes a corner so hard I’m pretty sure the Chevy pops onto one wheel. My head bashes against the roof, and the top of my skull becomes flat enough to serve drinks on.
That’ll be a pretty nice party trick, actually.
Cleo lurches forward, and I look up just quick enough to see the instinctive concern in her eyes. “You okay?”
“Just fine.”
“Sorry. Marie drives like she’s trying to escape the police,” Cleo says, her natural smile brightening up her face before she remembers she’s annoyed. It’s like she reaches up to rearrange her eyebrows into a frown, that’s how forced it is. I’m getting to her. No women can resist me for long. A scientifically proven fact. Like gravity. Which it’s basically a form of.
We drive for another half hour before stopping in a public park. It’s empty, probably because it’s Thursday night and most people are in front of the TV, drinking off the workday and not on a crazy mission with your first love and her psychopathic writer roommate to simulate sex scenes in a book.
I’m not complaining, though.
Marie leads us to a big, clear manmade pond in the corner of the park, with a sandy bottom and no frogs in sight. In the center is a huge fountain, spraying a fan of water to rain down into the pond. A few pennies shimmer at the bottom.
Marie takes out a notebook and a pen. “At this
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