Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (14 page)

I don’t think he was trying to turn me on, but he did anyway. I threw a crayon at him. “Jerk.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“Because I know Paisley?”

“Yeah!”

“How does that make me a jerk?”

“It just does.” I folded my arms and pouted.

“I’ve never taken Paisley coloring before. Does that make you feel better?”

Amazingly, it did. “I’m sure she doesn’t have time to color between her twenty-four-seven workouts.”

“That is truer than you realize.” He unclasped his hands and rested his muscled, tattooed forearms on the table top. “Wanna do another drawing?”

“Yeah!”

“Let me grab you another soda. Same thing?”

“Yes. Please!”

We finished our second drawing. It was as much fun as the first. After, we walked up the road to his house.

We stood in his driveway, near my VW. I had been with him for a long time today. I’m sure he had plans. With Paisley, or another one of the supermodels he knew intimately. But I was reluctant to leave.

"You hungry?”

“A little.”

“Want me to make you a snack?”

“Sure!”

We went inside to the kitchen. “Take a seat. This will take a few minutes. Want something to drink?”

“I’m good.”

He proceeded to pull out a food processor and various ingredients. He whipped them up in the food processor one by one. Then he opened a can of garbanzo beans, and whipped them in. When it was finished, he scraped everything into a small bowl, and placed the bowl on a plate with triangles of flat bread. “You like hummus?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had it.”

“You will in a second.” He dipped a piece of bread into the hummus and handed it to me.

I took a bite. “Yum, that’s really good! What kind of bread is this?”

“Pita bread. Have as much as you want.” He grabbed a plate out of the refrigerator and peeled the plastic wrap off. “Dolma?”

I stared at the plate. They looked like a bunch of green poodle turds, or something the cat vomited up. I grimaced. “Uh, no thanks?”

“You’ve never had one, have you?”

“No, and I’m not about to start.”

He popped one in his mouth and chewed with obvious pleasure.

I almost gagged, but didn’t want to be rude.

“They’re really good.”

“Whatever you say.”

He held one up to me. “Try it. You’ll like it.”

“Do you have a stomach pump handy?”

He chuckled. “It’s good.”

I looked at him doubtfully.

“Try it. I promise it’s good.”

“Promise?”

“I’m not lying, try it.”

I leaned forward to take a bite. Was he feeding me? Normally I would consider that the height of romance. But he held a green monkey turd in my face. I sniffed experimentally. Was that olive oil? It made me think of international drug mules swallowing balls of hash wrapped in plastic, coated in olive oil for easier swallowing. And pooping them out afterward. I almost hurled up my hummus.

He laughed. “It’s grape leaves filled with meat and rice and spices. It’s good, seriously.”

“I need a glass of water first. For a chaser.”

“Let me get you one.” He filled one at the tap and set it down on the table. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I gulped and cleared my throat. He held one of the green turds again for me to bite. I winced as I gingerly touched my teeth to it. I was afraid to put my lips on it. I tried not to inhale, afraid of what I’d smell. When I bit down, he pulled the remaining half away. I chewed. “Hey! This is really good! A little slimy, but good.”

“See?” He popped another one in his mouth.

“Did you make these too?”

“Yup. Family recipe.”

“You’re quite the chef.”

“That’s what the ladies tell me,” he taunted.

“You mean like Paisley?”

“I’ve never cooked for Paisley.”

“Really?” I was surprised.

“We could never seem to find the time for cooking. In the kitchen anyway.” His lids lowered as he mentally reminisced.
 

I shouldn’t have asked.

“Paisley’s wild.” He chuckled to himself. “She’s a good girl, but wild. Sort of a tornado. In a good way.”
 

I pictured myself smashing a dolma thing into his face. Give him a dolma tornado. Since they weren’t made of pooh after all, I don’t think it would’ve bothered him. But I didn’t want to start a food fight.

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous.” He grinned.

“I’m not jealous!”

“Your frown says you are.”

“I’m so not frowning!”

“Want me to get a mirror?”

“Eat another dolma.” I picked one up and really did shove it at his mouth. He happily opened up to eat it.
 

This took me off guard, and I pulled my hand back, but he leaned forward. He closed his mouth around the dolma and his lips slid over my fingers. I felt at least 1,000 volts of electricity shoot up my arm. My heart raced and my breath caught.

“Mmm, tasty.” he murmured.

Was he referring to the dolma, or my fingers? Based on his wicked grin, I’d go with fingers. I needed to change the subject before he licked my fingers, or any other body parts of mine, again. “So, Christos. Are you a student at SDU?”

He sat back in his chair, munching on his treat. He held up a finger while he chewed. When he finished, he spoke. He was so well-mannered. “Yeah. Graduate. Fine art.”

“You’re a graduate student? How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Did you go to SDU for undergrad?”

“Yeah. Sort of a family thing. My dad went, and my grandfather has taught classes there.”

“Is that how your grandfather knows Professor Childress?”

“Yup.” He popped another dolma in his mouth. How much could this guy eat?

I waited for more of the story about the connection between Professor Childress and Spiridon Manos, but I wasn’t getting any.

I dipped a slice of pita into the hummus. It was yummilicious.

I watched a grin spread on Christos’ face. He stared at my lips and licked his.

“What?” My cheeks broiled.

“May I?” He spoke softly, yet I felt his deep voice vibrate my chest. He leaned forward, licking his lips again.

“May you what?” I was suddenly scared and thrilled. We sat at the corner of the table, so his face was less than a foot from mine. His eyes devoured me. They darted between mine and my lips.
 

I froze. OMG! Was he going to kiss me?
 

He reached up with a gentle hand and caressed his thumb across my lips. Oh gawd, I was about to slide out of my chair onto the floor.

“Hummus.” He showed me a streak of hummus on his thumb. Then he licked it off, savoring the taste.
 

I think my heart turned to mushy hummus while watching his tongue glide over his thumb like that. Why couldn’t he have licked the hummus directly off my lips, instead of his thumb? Shudder.

Christos stood up, put the remaining dolmas in the fridge, and rinsed our dishes in the sink.

How did he manage to make his every move so entirely sexy? Even his politeness? He was the sexy expert. A regular sexpert. I scoffed internally.

“I should probably get back to work,” he said.

“Work?”

“In my studio. I’ve got some paintings I’m working on.”

“I’d totally love to see them!”

“Next time.”

Next time? I liked the sound of that. “I’m sorry, I’m being selfish. I’m sure you’ve got lots of important things to do.”

“Come by next weekend, same time, and maybe I’ll show you.” He smiled.

“It’s a date! Er, I mean plan.” How desperate did that sound? Stupid.
 

He smiled at me with his totally confident grin.
 

He walked me out to my car. I almost told him I had a great time, but that would’ve sounded too much like date talk again.

He opened my car door for me and held it. I was about to get in, then stopped. I turned to face him. Screw it. I was going to say it. “I had a really great time today.”

He smiled that mile-wide smile. “Good. Art should be fun.”
 

He was so close to me, I was grateful the open car door stood between us. Otherwise I think I would’ve fallen all over him like a thirsty vampire. He made it hard for a girl to maintain her decorum. I needed to think of something witty to say to break the tension. “Yeah.” D’oh! That was all I had?

Was he leaning closer to me? Was he about to send me a kiss, special delivery? I leaned back. Did he lean more? No, I think the Earth tilted, thrusting me in his direction.

Then the planet did collapse and everything crumbled beneath my feet. My heart raced and IT came crashing back around me.

Emo. Goth. Witch. Sorceress.

Bitch. Slut. Whore.
 

Suicide Watch.

It was a moment like this one that had started everything in motion two years earlier. The disaster, the tragedy, the pain.

Tease.

Christos’ face tightened with concern. “Are you okay? You went white just now.”

Taylor.

I nodded my head, but my throat locked and I couldn’t speak.

“Do you need to sit down inside for a minute?”

I shook my head and cleared my throat. “I need to go.” I grimaced up at him apologetically.

“You’re sure? Are you okay to drive?”

“Yes,” I croaked. I sat down in the car and pulled on the door. He released it. “Sorry,” I whispered.

He stood with hands low on his hips, watching me back out of the driveway. Confusion knotted his features.

I made it about three blocks before pulling onto a side street and parking. I cried my eyes out and sobbed until I felt sharp pains in my ribs every time I coughed out more buried pain.

I don’t know how long it went on, but it was awhile. When I calmed, I checked my face in the visor mirror. I looked like a wreck. My eyes were swollen and red. That set me off crying again, I don’t know why.

When I knew I was finally finished, I drove home. It took everything I had not to dive into the freezer with salad spoons and go through all my remaining ice cream.

Instead, I crawled into bed and slept for hours. I woke up around midnight and made a sandwich. After I ate it, I took a shower. I stood under the hot water forever. I expected it to run out at some point, but it never did. Eventually, I climbed out and went to bed.

Chapter 11

The next morning, someone banged on my front door. I dragged myself out of bed and checked the peephole. It was Madison. I yanked the door open.

“What?”

“Sam! I thought you were dead!”

“Huh?” I opened the screen door and let her in. She breezed past me with a paper bag in one hand and a drink carton with two coffees in the other.

“I called you at least forty times last night. I was sure you’d been serial killed.”

My phone was on the coffee table. I picked it up. “How many texts did you send?”

“I don’t know. Five thousand?”

“At least.”

“Okay, so you’re not dead. That’s good.” She grabbed me by the arms. “Did he rape you?” She looked half serious, half joking. The perfect blend of pick-me-up. Madison always knew how to cheer me up.

“No, my virtue is intact.”

“Okay, that’s out of the way. Coffee.” She thrust the carton toward me. “Yours is the one in front.” I took it. “Doughnuts.” She thrust the sack at me.

“Apple fritters?”

“Of course. I got three. In case we wanted more than one each.”

“You’re the best, Mads.”

She sat down on the sofa. “Spill it, bitch. What the heck happened yesterday?”

I sat next to her and sipped the coffee. Totally what I needed. Tons of cream. I opened the bag and pulled out a fritter and started picking at it.

“Less eat, more talk,” Madison commanded.

“You’re never going to believe this.”

“Was he like, totally old and gross? Mentors usually are. Did he tie you up in his basement and you barely escaped with your life?”

I had noticed that Perfect Paisley, Tiffany, and Skylar had all called Christos by his middle name. Adonis. The only people who called him Christos were his grandfather and the kids at the library. Well, and Mrs. Elders, the librarian. But all of his Hot Babes in Waiting called him Adonis. It felt sort of special to call him Christos. I don’t know if he felt the same way. But I didn’t want to spoil the magic by telling other people, even Madison. It was a like a birthday wish I didn’t want to jinx. “My mentor is Adonis.”
 

Madison blinked. “Who?”

“GQ biker hottie?”

“What?”

“Blue eyes?”

She shook her head.

“Come on, Mads. You know who I’m talking about.”

“That’s not possible. Mentors are never the hottest guy in the state, if not the entire west coast.”

“Yes. Adonis.”

Her doubt finally crumbled, replaced by crazy excitement. “That’s insane!”

Madison’s enthusiasm was addictive. All of my pain from last night washed away on the irresistible tide of her optimism. “Yeah, I know, right? Freaking Adonis.”

Madison tore off a chunk of apple fritter. “What’d you guys do? I need details.”
 

I told her all about my day with him.

Madison sipped her coffee. “Geez, it sounds like you guys had a date, not a mentoring session.”

“I know.” I didn’t want to say it out loud, but if Mads did, I wasn’t going to stop her.

“Maybe you and me can double date Jake and Adonis.”

I liked the sound of that. “Have you called Jake since we saw him at the beach?”

“Yeah, totally. I’m going out with him tomorrow. We’re going to surf in the morning then take Lady to Dog Beach and throw frisbees for her.”

“Wow, you guys are moving fast!”

“We’re just hanging out. No big whoop.”

“Okay, but don’t forgot to make me your maid of honor.”

“As if,” she scoffed, “We’re not moving
that
fast.”

“Sure, Mads. Just don’t go running off to Vegas without me. I expect you to throw the bouquet directly to me. Got it? Otherwise, I’ll cut a bitch.”

Madison giggled. “I’ll make sure I hand it to you.”

“You better. I’m sharpening my switchblade right now.”