Careful What You Kiss For (5 page)

The girl he’d known was gone. In her place was a woman who made a living out of taking off her clothes. The two were not the same.

“I don’t know.”

He couldn’t remember the question. “Don’t know what?”

“I don’t know where I’m going.” Her words were flat. She stared straight ahead, into the darkness.

He did the same, while using his peripheral vision to process the too-few clues she was giving him. Injured? Drugs? His gut didn’t think so, but she had a tight hold on that purse and just as tight a hold on herself. Her shoulders were drawn in, her chin defiant.

He flicked on his turn signal and made a left onto a side street. One where he knew people shuttered themselves inside their houses at night. No one would try to peer through his tinted windows or wonder why he was parked here. Even the bad guys lurked in corners, unwilling to venture into the open.

A darkened house with no streetlight offered a parking spot. He eased the truck to a stop and switched off the ignition, watching as a cat surfaced from the unkempt lawn to streak across the street.

He turned toward Tensley, resting his arm across the top of the bench seat while making sure his gun remained out of sight, safely tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He tried to sort through the questions thundering through his mind, at last landing on, “How long have you been back in town?”

She looked surprised. “I’ve been gone?”

No matter how much he wanted to think otherwise, she could be dealing with a mental issue. He fought the anguish that rushed through him, pushing it to the pit of his stomach. “For several years.”

A nod. Slow, but deliberate. “Not long. I think.”

“Back in touch with your family?”

A tip of her head as she appeared to consider this. “I would hope so.” Her mouth pulled tight.

Several seconds, or maybe hours, passed before Max spoke again. This time, his voice scraped across the edges of his throat. “I tried, you know. The whole thing with Rhonda. I tried to tell them it was my fault.”

Even in the darkness, he felt himself being pulled into the heart-stopping stillness of her gaze, just like the mesmerized punk kid he’d once been.

She searched his face, questioning. “You tried to tell them?”

That fast, he felt eighteen again, a mess of pent-up anger, frustration and insecurity on the inside, while maintaining a cool, arrogant façade on the outside. The only times the mask had slipped had been with Tensley. “Hell yes, I did. And when the cops wouldn’t listen I went to your arraignment, figuring I’d get it cleared up then. But you screwed everything up by taking off.”

She leaned closer. “Let me get this straight.
I
screwed everything up.”

“That’s what I said.” But it hadn’t come out right.

“It
was
you all over Rhonda, right? Practically swallowing her face with your mouth, grabbing her ass, grinding up against her. The day after you told me — ” He watched her gulp air as naked pain stood out in her eyes. She hated him. “Told me — ”

That I loved you.
“Yeah.”

“Perfect. I just wanted us to be clear on how it was that
I
screwed everything up.”

“You did not have to hit her.”

“Apparently I did.”

“You could have hit me instead.”

She appeared to consider that. “True.”

He turned away. “Or better yet, hit no one and gone off to college like you were supposed to.” A sideways glance told him that one took her aback for a minute. Oh hell, why couldn’t he just shut up?

Enough talking.
Max turned the key in the ignition and jammed the truck into drive, peeling out of the spot on the quiet street. “Tell me where you live.”

No answer, but when he glanced over, he saw her open her purse and pull out a wallet. She bent her head and her hair fell forward, obscuring his view of what she was looking at.

She stashed her wallet back in her purse and gave him an address. Then she turned away to stare out the window.

Clearly, this wasn’t the time to tell her what was really on his mind. That would have to wait. But not for long. He didn’t have a lot of time.

• • •

Tensley breathed a sigh of relief when Max’s truck pulled up before a fairly new apartment building in a decent part of town. Before she thought about it, she blurted what had been terrifying her into silence on the ride. “Thank God. That Tawny woman said I was behind on my house rent.” She bit her lip. He’d think she was even crazier than he already did.

“Your house rent.”

She ventured a look at him. “I thought, you know, maybe I shared a crappy house with her.”
Don’t laugh.

Max rested one forearm on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh. He drew his brows together and lifted his chin, evaluating her. She felt like a bug, under his microscope. A weird bug.

“House rent is what you pay to the club,” he said. “For every night you dance there.”

She felt her jaw drop. Slowly, she closed her mouth and tried her best to look as though she knew that. “Oh. Right.”
Brilliant, Ten.

“But why would you think that meant you live somewhere else? Is this somewhere you’re staying?”

“No. I um … live here.” Possibly. “What can I say?” She touched her forehead. “Forgot for a minute.” She reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I’ll walk you to your door.”

“That’s okay,” she was quick to say. “You don’t need to do — ” His door slammed behind him. “ — that.” She had no idea which key, if any of them, on the ring she’d found in her purse would open the apartment listed on her driver’s license. She could be someone who moved a lot.

But he was already opening her door and extending his hand to help her down. Tingles shot through her at the touch of his warm skin. The teenager she’d loved had grown into a man. His voice the smallest bit deeper, his shoulders broader, the stubble of whiskers across his chin filled in, his clean-jeans-and-leather scent now blending with a woodsy cologne.

The set of his chin was just as firm, yet his face was different, as though becoming a man had filled in his edges somehow. She thought she could see a small scar close to the line of his jaw. It hadn’t been there before.

She flexed the fingers of her other hand nervously, hoping she wasn’t responsible for the scar.

When he let go of her, she slung her purse over one shoulder and gripped it tight with both hands.

Max looked like he was waiting for something. “Ready?” he asked finally, angling his head toward the building entrance.

Oh.
He was waiting for her. “Sure.”

She walked up to the entrance, as confident as a person who had no idea where she was or what she was doing could possibly be. “Okay. Thanks.” She lifted her hand in a shaky wave, not sure she trusted herself enough to look at him. If she did, she might not be able to let him go.

He stood right behind her, not moving.

“See ya,” she called, giving the door handle a yank.

It didn’t open.

“Oh. Sorry. Not thinking.” She pulled out the ring of keys, jangling them to stall for time. “You can go ahead and leave,” she suggested over her shoulder.

“Want to make sure you get in all right.”

So did she. But without him watching to wonder why she didn’t know what she was doing. She wished she could just tell him what had happened to her, but the warning from the psychic was ringing in her head, the strangely accented words bouncing off all sides of her brain until she could barely hear herself think.
Don’t tell anyone. Events would unravel most unpredictably.

As if it could get any worse. Still.

Tensley fumbled with the key ring, pulling out one that looked halfway likely. No luck. She tried another one. It didn’t fit either.

She heard his voice in her ear. “How about a keycard?”

“A … what — ?”

He pointed at a keypad to her left. Damn. She hadn’t even noticed. She plunged her hand back into her purse, rummaging around on the bottom until her fingers found a thin, flat piece of plastic. Trying her best to look as though she’d known it was there all along, she pulled it out and swiped it across the pad.

A beep and a click. The door had unlocked. She grabbed the handle before it could change its mind.

“What’s your apartment number?”

“4182.” She wasn’t sure if the rapid answer came from what she’d seen on her license or because she remembered it somewhere in the recesses of her mind.

“I’ll take you there.”

Noooo.
Suddenly her throat felt tight, as though her emotions had supersized and blocked off every functioning part of her.
Max.
She’d never see him again. The last time, it had taken her years to get over him.

Except that she hadn’t.

“Thanks again for the ride.” She couldn’t look at him. “But you need to leave now.”

His hand closed on her shoulder, turning her around. She dragged her gaze upward to meet his, hoping that every thought and feeling wasn’t on full display. When it came to him, she’d never been able to hold anything back.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“You didn’t.” She made a strangled sound. “Not the real me.”

His hands cupped her face and his head bent, but right before the “Hallelujah Chorus” erupted in song, his lips abruptly veered away to brush against her forehead, their still-familiar touch sending throbbing beads of desire and disappointment through her.

“If you need anything,” he said, “call me.” She was vaguely aware of him tucking something into her hand, beneath the keys.

Then he began walking away. She couldn’t let him. She
couldn’t.
If he knew how long she’d literally ached for his touch, his kiss … how she’d punched holes in the damn Tupperware and dragged out his memory to invent fantasy after fantasy of seeing him again. “Max!”

He hesitated.

“I — ” What could she say? “I — ”

Something she couldn’t read crossed his face. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

The hell he did. How could he know what she was going to say when she didn’t know herself? “For the record, you’re the one who screwed up, and screwed up bad, by cheating on me. Hope it was worth it.”

Here’s where he was supposed to beg for understanding, tell her what a huge mistake he’d made. She’d see the pain in his eyes, know that he’d spent years beating himself up for what he’d done and how he’d sullied something truly beautiful, something neither one of them would see again. She’d forgive him. Maybe. Then allow that maybe she shouldn’t have punched the Skank.

Instead Max simply said, “It was.” Then he left.

And Tensley, once the words hit her with full force, retreated inside the door to the apartment building so that Max wouldn’t see her crumble to the floor, the Tupperware container melting into a virtual pool of burning, melting plastic.

Tensley had a cat.

She knew she had a cat because the minute she turned the key in the lock of the apartment door, she heard an annoyed meow. After a small hesitation, because it felt so weird to be letting herself into a place she thought she might live in only because of what her driver’s license said, she’d ducked inside and closed the door behind her, flattening herself against it.

Then she’d felt brave enough to flick on the light switch. She didn’t want to think about how she knew exactly where it would be in the darkness.

The cat sat directly in front of her, a few feet away, swishing its tail in a wide swath across the wooden floor. Its face was half gray, half white, right down the middle.

Tensley felt like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew.

“Hello?” she ventured.

She’d never had a cat because 1) A cat required attention. Regular feedings. Litter box cleanup. Her schedule had always been too crazy for that kind of commitment. And, 2) She was allergic to cats. Not in the “I-can’t-breathe” kind of way, but in the sneezing, watery eyes kind of way.

A long, slow blink of gray eyes.
Swish
went the tail.

“If you could just — let me through.”

No response.

Tensley scooted around the animal with a small get-away flick of her fingers. Big mistake. The cat stomped away, shaking each paw with disdain one by one, as if it had stepped in something disgusting.

Judgment. From a cat. “The attitude,” she called after the animal. “It’s not working for you.”

Except that it was.

Tensley cautiously stepped ahead. Any minute now, there would be lights and sirens, handcuffs. Someone shouting that she was a burglar, with a key. The cat pointing a paw straight at her, identifying her to the police.

But she heard nothing.

She turned on a lamp and when soft light flooded the room, saw that she was in a cozy, small living room. The walls were painted a sunny yellow, accentuated by a sofa in a bright floral print. A large, plump chair sat across from the sofa, a pile of books on its seat cushion. A cheerful rug held an intricately carved chest that apparently served as a coffee table, with magazines scattered across its top, as well as candles in different colors and sizes.

The overall effect was comfortable, rumpled and inviting. Before she even thought about it, Tensley crossed the room to scoop up the pile of books from the chair and drop onto its seat cushion. She moved the books to the chest and leaned back against the chair with a sigh, closing her eyes.

Interesting. The seat cushion fit her exactly, the stuffing settling in against her thighs as though it had been expecting her. Must be her chair of choice. Was it possible to have two completely different lives?

Tensley opened her eyes and reached over to pick up the top book in the pile. Its title surprised her.
The Scarlet Letter.
One of her books from high school. She ran a finger down the cover, reveling in its familiarity, the connection to her past. She hadn’t seen this book in years. For a moment, she clutched it to her chest and then set it down in her lap. It opened to a page that had obviously been read many times.

Something soft brushed up against her leg. “Not now, Gemini,” she whispered, eyes still on the book.