Deer in Headlights (Hearts and Arrows 1) (Good god series) (24 page)

Dita watched the trees sway in the wind as she lay on Adonis’ chest in Elysium, relaxed for the first time in days. She sighed as he wound his fingers through her hair.

Apollo had been too calm, considering that Lex and Dean were hours away from realizing they were meant for each other, and Dita had suspicions that something major was about to go down. But she was confident that once their date was done, the deal would be sealed. If she hadn’t won by then, victory would be imminent.

She was relieved that she and Adonis had come to a truce. They didn’t have much time together, so to waste it arguing was frustrating and obnoxious.

“How goes the competition?” Adonis asked, reading her mind as he stared up into the tree.

“Actually, I am unsure. I am ahead, but Apollo has something planned.”

Her face rose and fell as he sighed. “He generally does have something planned, does he not?”

She pushed herself up on an elbow, and her hair spilled across his chest. He pushed it over her shoulder with his finger, and it fell like a curtain behind her. “Yes, he generally does.” She laid her chin on his chest, and he resumed playing with her long, golden curls, running his fingers through the waves.
 

After eons of living together, Apollo knew well enough how to push her buttons. They had always ribbed each other, especially during competitions. They had too much baggage, and the stakes were too high. But she had never seen him so determined, not even during the Shakespeare competitions. Those got ugly.

“I suppose there’s nothing to do but wait,” Dita said. “I hope that their meeting tomorrow goes as well as I believe that it will. There’s little else I can do. But I will admit that I’m losing sleep over this.”

Adonis chuckled as he cupped her face in his big hand and pulled her to him. “Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

LEX TURNED AROUND AND scrutinized her reflection in Kara’s bathroom mirror again. She dipped her chin down, moving her head side to side as she finger combed her long waves. She nibbled her lip as she fiddled with her scarf, then turned to inspect her backside, clad in tight jeans that hugged her hips down the long line of her legs to her motorcycle boots.
 

Her nerves were on high as she fussed over her reflection, wondering if she’d picked out the right thing to wear, worrying over what would happen in the hours to come. Basically, she was doing the same thing she’d done for two straight days since he asked her on a date: freaking out. She hadn’t seen Dean and had barely seen Travis, having avoided band practice like the plague. All she’d done was work and hide at Kara’s, anticipating the date. The moment was finally upon her, and all she wanted to do was run in the other direction.

She pulled on Kara’s military jacket and turned toward the bed. Lex held out her arms, elbows bent, palms up, and did a little twirl. “Are you sure it’s not too casual?”
 

“You look fine.” Kara smiled a crafty smile. “I’m pretty sure you’d knock his socks off even if you wore a muumuu.”

Lex slung on her bag and took a breath, then turned to Kara, who looked at her with lively blue eyes. She grabbed Lex’s shoulders.

“You can do this, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t freak out.”

“Okay.”

“Text me if you need me to bail you out. And, Lex?”

“Yeah?”

“Try to have fun. You look like you’re about to walk the plank.”

Lex tried to smile, hoping she wasn’t going to puke. “I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Lex made her way to the coffee shop as her train of thought ran away from her. She wondered again if her outfit was okay, since she had no idea what they were doing, though she didn’t suppose they’d hit up the ballet. She shoved her hands into her pockets, her palms sweaty even in the chill, and she absently hoped she wouldn’t have to shake his hand.

You really think he’s going to shake your hand? Get a grip, Lex.
 

Her stomach flipped as she pulled open the coffee shop door, her eyes immediately finding Dean, who smiled at her from a table. She fought to keep her wits as he stood and walked to her.
 

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she answered. They waited in silence, taking each other in for a moment before Dean cleared his throat.

“Oh, I have this for you …” He reached into his bag and pulled out her notebook.

Her heart lurched as she reached for it, and when her fingers brushed his, she drew in a breath. She fumbled to put the book in her bag, stammering. “Thanks, um, so … you read it, then?”

“Every page, every word.” His voice was soft, and when she looked up at him, everything else fell away. His wide lips parted, begging a kiss, and her eyes began to close, her chin lifting as he leaned down.

She remembered herself and took a deep breath as she stepped back, willing her nerves to calm.
 

Animal magnetism, touché.
“Where to first?” she asked with a smile as she tried not to pass out, and he smiled back as he laid a hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the shop.

They fell into easy conversation as they walked to the subway, and Dean relaxed. Eye contact seemed to be the thing that threw their hormones out of control, because when he looked into her eyes, time seemed to stop. But Lex was so easy to talk to, and as they made their way to Central Park, they didn’t stop chatting, covering music and books, and she continued to surprise him. He hadn’t laughed so much in ages, but he couldn’t help himself. She surprised him, and in the best way.
 

The day was crisp and cool, the sun high and bright, though it seemed farther away than usual in the winter sky as they walked through the park. They stopped at Bethesda Fountain and sat shoulder to shoulder on a stone bench that outlined the courtyard. Dean paused to watch Lex sketch a little boy who walked the wall of the fountain with a look of concentration glued on his face, his arms out like a tightrope walker. She nailed it.
 

After a while, they wandered to the far side of the courtyard to the ornate Terrace bridge and through the wide columns of the lower passage. Lex tipped back her head to take in the beautiful tiles on the ceiling and walls that shone like gold. It always felt like walking through a portal into a fairy tale ballroom, right in the middle of Central Park.

They stopped to watch a street performer, dressed as if from some ancient time, dreadlocks piled high on his head and a red feather plume flying proudly from the top. His jewelry was made of chains and wound across his naked chest to his back. A silver cuff wrapped around his bicep, and his ankles were clad in bells that chimed as he danced. His beautiful face held his violin in place as he sang a haunting prayer with the weight of ages pouring out of him. A large crowd gathered, everyone silent, experiencing his pain, his joy, his madness with him as he moved, possessed, around the circle.
 

Lex leaned into Dean, and he wrapped his arm around her, the two so absorbed in his song that it seemed their natural state.

When they pulled themselves out of the wild, hypnotic performance, they headed to the Met with street dogs in hand, eating and talking. As they walked up the steps of the museum, Lex’s hands were shoved in her pockets. She was afraid that if she took them out she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from holding his arm, or hand, or worse.

They walked up to the door, and Dean ran his hand through his hair again. Looking down at her so much, it wouldn’t stay put. They waited in line and bought her ticket, and he pulled his pass out of his pocket as they walked up to the attendant.

“Hey, Lou.” Dean smiled at Lou, who raised an eyebrow as he looked at Dean, then at Lex, then back at Dean again.
 

“Hey there, son. And how are you, Miss?” Lou took her ticket, tore it, and handed her the stub.
 

“Good, thank you,” Lex wondered just how often Dean came to the museum. Apparently it was pretty often, and she figured it was safe to assume by Lou’s reaction that he generally came alone.

“You kids enjoy yourselves, now.” Lou tipped his hat over his shoulder as they walked away.
 

“This is one of my favorite places in all of the city,” Dean said as they climbed the stairs to the exhibits.

She looked over at him as he stared at his worn combat boots, avoiding her eyes. Even though his hair was cropped on the sides, the top was a little long and always mussed. The collar of his black leather jacket was slightly flipped, and his army green thermal stretched tight across his chest.
 

“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid,” he said, not sure why he wanted to divulge anything about his life, but he did. “My home life wasn’t … well, I guess you could say it wasn’t stable, so when I needed to get away I’d come here, or go to Central Park, or the library. But the Met was where I came most often. I used to spend hours walking through the exhibits and writing. I skimmed out of my mom’s wallet for months to get my first membership.”

She didn’t answer, and he had to steal a glance at her, worrying over her reaction, but when his eyes met hers, they were soft and open. It wasn’t pity that he found there, but compassion. They paused at the top of the stairs, and she dropped her hands. He reached for one, and they wound their fingers together.

“Come on,” he said, “let me show you my favorite exhibit.”

They stopped in a room filled with heavy silence, and she complied with it as she moved around the works displayed there. Dean sat down on a bench in the center of the room and watched her take it all in.
 

The first painting Lex came to was of three sisters in white dresses who sat on a sofa. One sister sat with an opulent wrap of tulle around her shoulders and pearls around her neck, her posture perfect as she perched on the back of the couch, looking toward an unseen window. Another sister sat to the left on the sofa, leaning forward, not looking at the artist either, with her palm gently open in her lap, the satin of her dress shining. But the sister that caught Lex’s eye was the sister in between, the only of the three who looked at the artist. Her slender figure leaned back, curved into the sofa with her arms open, hanging on the back in seductive invitation, pushing the boundaries of propriety in comparison to the poise of her sisters. The use of light against all of the white fabrics in so many varying textures illuminated the painting in a way that was so real it was almost impossible.

She smiled as she came to another painting, one of a woman in an impeccably detailed black dress, hand on hip, rose in hand. Her face, set in an expression of pure boredom, was juxtaposed to the poise of her elegant hand holding the flower. It looked like she thought the artist was only painting her hand and the rose, but instead he painted all of her, maybe just to spite her.

Another painting struck her: a woman with lily-white skin, stark against the low cut of her dark gown and dark hair, her long nose proud and elegant, a high contrast to the brown wall behind her. She was the epitome of quiet sexuality and power.

And then Lex came to one that she couldn’t move herself away from of a woman with dark hair and soft, sad eyes. One hand rested on the hip of her black dress, the other on a table with a peach rose laying a few inches away from her poised fingers. Lex leaned forward, seeing every stroke, every layer that made up the whole. Her fingers itched to run across the woman’s face, to feel the marks of the brush that told the story of her sadness.

After a while, she turned and took a seat next to Dean on the bench. She took a heavy breath.
 

“I can see how this place would be an escape for you.”

Dean nodded. “You stopped in front of my favorite painting.” His hands were clasped, hanging between his thighs. “As a kid, I was pretty much on my own. That painting … there’s something about it that always called me here.”
 

On his own?
Questions rolled through her mind, and she thought carefully about whether or not she should ask, not wanting to push him to tell her anything he wasn’t ready to, but sensing that he wanted to tell her.

 
She paused before asking, “Why were you on your own?”

“As long as I can remember, there were men around. Sometimes my mom would leave me for days with nothing but a stack of peanut butter sandwiches in the fridge and the TV to keep me company. When she wasn’t with them, she was at work. We weren’t very close.” He stared at the painting of the woman in her black dress, looking through it as he spoke.

Lex’s heart was a rock in her chest. “You were just a boy.”

Dean nodded. “I took care of myself, and she took care of herself. She died when I was sixteen.”

His life made hers look charmed. “Dean, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugged. “Things got better after that. I moved in with Roe. He and I … well, we’ve been friends for a very long time.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. I’ve always been close with my mother, but my dad left when I was a kid. My mom, she’s a little crazy.” Lex chuckled, the sound wrong in her ears in such a somber place, in such a somber conversation. “When he left, the life went out of her, like all of the color left her world, and she was left with only gray. She can’t move on, like she’s been waiting all this time for him to come home. I don’t ever want to hurt like that.”