Uncharted (Unexpected Book 3) (10 page)

Jacob tosses his head back, releasing one of those hysterical laughs that he swears have nothing to do with laughing at me, and everything to do with the amusing things I say. All the same.

“The box said ‘Best Italian Four Cheese Lasagna,’ Twinkle,” he corrects me. I roll my eyes as I twist my lips, feigning anger. “I can’t compete with your heating skills, and the way you toss the salad with the handmade Kraft Italian dressing. Unique.”

After I volunteered to prepare his favorite food—“anything that involves pasta”—we headed to the supermarket and I bought the stuff we have at home in the freezer and the fridge. He laughed all the way from the supermarket until he finished half of the family-sized dish. Matthew ate the other half. Well, I ate a piece of that thing too, but they both scarfed the rest along with most of the salad. Plus an entire cheesecake.

I cock my head to the side, narrow my eyes, and evoke a feral tone of voice. “Excuse me if my parents don’t cook as much as yours do.” I look around, lift my hands with open palms while pointing at the used cartons, dirty dishes, and other debris that’s piled in the kitchen as well as the rest of the house. “But my house is cleaner than this messy place. We sanitize the house twice a week.”

We do, with all the cleaners Mom
borrows
from the hospital—another way she makes sure the germs stay out of the house. She’s not a germophobe; disinfecting every corner of the house is just another preventive measure to help my sister stay alive. Preventive measures that include no hugging, kissing, borrowing personal items, food-sharing, drink-sharing, and shoes always remaining outside the house—in the garage.

“A little trash doesn’t harm anyone, Twink.” His serious face turns rapidly into that playful smirk he likes to wear. “We’ll clean tomorrow—soon. The next time you visit, I promise to have a clean house. You’ll convince your mother to let you out, right?”

“Mom!” I screech. “She’s going to kill me.”

If Mom learns about my week with Jace—no, if she sees him—she’ll quarantine me, declaring me a biohazard. The amounts of mud I piled in my clothes and under my nails while hiking in the rain, skinny-dipping, and sharing nachos without pumping sanitizer while bowling—all violations to her hygienic codes. I’m a rebel. Well, I was at least for a week.

“I don’t want you to go, Twinkle.” Jacob and I slide down the wall and sit on his floor to eat breakfast. “Promise that you’ll come back to me when your sister gets better.”

As I’m about to promise him, he jumps out of his skin, screaming, “Your number! I need your number.” He places his plate on the floor and disappears. “Fuck, it’s out of battery. Write it down.” He starts looking for something, and comes back with a crumpled receipt and a pen.

Pria W
♥
425-539-3136

I hand it over and he kisses it, then disappears and returns again, sliding himself down onto the floor.

This has been the best weekend of my entire life. I can’t say I’m in love, but I do want to spend more time with him. Cozying up against him while we’re sleeping or talking nonsense. Walking around the city playing tourists, faking that we don’t speak English. Getting tattoos— mine is in a place no one will ever see.

“You’ll think of me once in a while?” he asks between bites.

“Of course, I will. You said you’ll wait.” I kiss him on the cheek. “In the meantime, you can call me when you’re free. I know I’ll be free to chat, as long as I don’t go over my minutes.”

Damn pay-as-you-go phones.

“Online classes, remember. Try those.” I nod and smile at his suggestion. “You’ll finish school faster.”

For that, I would require money that we use for Maeve’s medicines. If I were smarter, I’d have gotten a scholarship, but I’m average. The only reason I skipped a grade was because Mom had me study during the summer, every day, and without breaks. Any child can skip as many as four grades by the time they reach high school. That’s a secret I don’t tell anyone, as I like that people thinking I’m a genius.

“About my parents—”

I take his lips, kissing him deeply, letting him know I trust him and that he should trust me.

“Really, no one, please.”

I also found out that not only is Jace the son of Chris Decker, but his other father is none other than the famous actor, Gabe Colt. The two men have been together since the late ’80s and have a set of triplets. A secret only a few know, and one I swore to take with me and never share with anyone. Not even with my sister.

“About me?”

“No one will know your impure thoughts, Twinkle. They’re safe with me, you crazy girl.” He laughs at me because according to him, everything I confessed is harmless and stupid. Even his evil sister causes more havoc than what my thoughts would. “I agree with Maeve. You have to live a little more and stop trying to live according to your mother’s demands. That includes leaving your house when I call you and spending some time with me. Plus, only I know that you love it when I talk dirty. It makes you horny. And I also know you’re a fast learner.”

He gives me a smirk. On Saturday we practiced oral sex. Jacob thinks I’m great at taking care of his friend with my mouth. He takes the breakfast dishes to the kitchen and helps me stand up from the floor. He nibbles my lips while he hugs my waist. I knit my fingers around his long hair. By now our tongues know how to twirl around in a slow dance, the same rhythm as our bodies do as they press against each other, molding into one another, ready to fuse.

This is our last day together, at least until we find a way to meet again. The overwhelming desire dissipates the instant I remember I have to head home. My consolation is this past week— the time I spent with this boy who has made me feel beautiful and unique. A free vacation to Fantasyland where I did things I never dared to before, including making love.

If my mother knew, she’d call me a whore.

“Twinkle, we agreed, once we’re making music, we forget about the outside world,” he mutters against my mouth. “Now, give me back that smile and come with me to bed. We’re making love one more time before you leave me waiting for you.”

“You’ll wait?” I’m skeptical. He’s a gorgeous, hormonal teenager, with a big heart who plans to play music.

“Of course, I will, Twink. I have a girlfriend,” Jacob murmurs in my ear. “The distance is relative. The sky will bring us together every night, no matter how far away we are from each other. The guitar pick I gave you is special. When you touch it, it’ll be like you’re touching me.”

“This is insane and illogical.” I fight the tears. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Smile!” he orders, and kisses me again.

“Now that we have that under control, let’s head to bed. I can’t get enough of you and you’re about to leave me.” He kisses me deeply while we stumble toward his room. “Every love song I write will be for you, Twinkle. When you hear me sing, I’ll be singing to you. Only you.”

“You said not to leave any loose ends, Mommy.” I smile sweetly at her and hand over the receipt for the books I returned. Partially ripped, because it had the stamped date and time—a week ago. “I’m settling everything because I’d hate to lose any money or have to leave Mae if I had to head back to campus. Tell me how I could help, please?”

Groveling and kissing her toes are one of my gifts, according to Maeve. My sister never gets into trouble because she’s sick and can do no harm—unlike me, who can’t do anything right, according to our ‘Mother Dearest’. That’s Maeve’s nickname for Mom.

“Take a shower and make sure you’re not carrying any germs,” she orders. “Then come to the kitchen to carry Maeve’s lunch to her room. She wants to speak with you.”

Then I hear her scream at Dad, “Fred, place those bags in the garage. She has to go through them and disinfect everything. Can’t you do anything right?”

I chuckle. That’s not love. Anything but love.

That’s Mom. She has to control everything. Tuning them out, I head to where she sent me, even though I’m clean. I bathed only an hour ago—with Jacob. His idea of saving energy and water. God, I had sex. Not only sex—we made love several times and we barely know each other. All reason and caution flew out the window.

Rushing through the motions, I shower, dress, throw my clothes inside the washing machine, along with all pending laundry I brought from the dorm, and head to the kitchen. As I approach, Mom starts arranging the tray of food for Maeve.

“There’s a new box of face masks outside her room, along with disposable gloves.” Mom hands me the tray as she gives me instructions. “Don’t forget to administer all her medications according to the log and make sure she takes naps.”

“Yes, Mommy.”
Dearest.

“Your father left for work, but he should arrive around six. There’s some pasta in the freezer. You know what to do.”

I actually do. It’s one of those amazing qualities I learned from her that didn’t impress the guy I date. Am I
dating
him? Well, that’s if he calls. He’s not going to call, is he?

Every second that passes my heart slows down, the adrenaline that pumped through my veins over the weekend washes away, and the lust goggles disappear. My entire weekend was a three-day one-night stand. No, be reasonable. Cheesy boy had lame lines that players don’t know or use—do they? Does the entire week prior, when we weren’t sleeping together, count for anything?

“Your heartbeat is my new lullaby. The rhythm that my heart will beat to,”
he whispered last night as we held on to each other.
“Every melody I create will carry your special tune.”

Yes, he’s going to call.

“Finally, my servant has arrived.” My hooded eyes glare at my sister as I enter and she lashes me with those words. “Don’t forget to sterilize yourself before you speak in my presence.”

“Don’t make me throw the soup in your face, Maeve.”

She laughs at me. I growl at her.

“You know I’m kidding, Pree-Marie.” She touches her mouth and then points at the door.

Damn the stupid mask and the gloves. I place the tray on top of her dresser and head outside the room.

“Good.” Mom walks toward me narrowing her gaze. “I thought you had forgotten, Cypriana. Take this seriously. We can’t afford flakiness. Your sister’s life depends on our actions—don’t you forget that.”

Every single thing around us impacts my sister’s life, even the latest presidential speech. My mother was watching the news a few months ago, and when I tried to change the channel she said, “He’s talking about healthcare reform. What if what he says affects your sister’s future?”

Sometimes I pray that I leave this earth before my sister, because when my sister dies, not only will Mom crumble, but she might blame me and my flakiness for it. That should be my project: work on that flakiness she talks about. Focus on the task, organize myself, and make things happen. After all, it’s either take up a project or die of boredom.

“Say goodbye to Mae for me. She’s sleeping.” Mom doesn’t enter the room, instead she walks around me and heads to the door. “Call if there’s any change; a light fever, severe cough—”

“Mom, I got it.” I refrain from rolling my eyes, as she’s watching me while closing the door in slow motion. “I’ll call you every hour and give you a report. Bye.”

Satisfied with what I say, she closes the front door behind her and locks it.

“Oh. My. God.” My sister walks past me holding a bag of chips. “She’s driving me insane. I’m not dying. The doctor said that my lung capacity has diminished ten percent and that I should change my habits…and voila. I’m back at home with my little sister as my nanny.”

I follow my “dying” sister toward the living room while carrying a blanket with me. Mae takes the remote from the coffee table and plops herself on the couch.

“Now tell me, child, where were you over the past week?”

I take a seat next to her and snatch the remote out of her hand.

“Cypriana?” With that word she’s asking—no, demanding—I tell her. “I risked my life for you. I deserve to know if you fornicated, and with who.”

“A guy.” She crooks an eyebrow, pulls up her legs into a crisscross position, and watches me attentively. “Yes, Maeve, I lost my virginity.” We both squeal. “It was special, and he’s—” I stop, because I can’t tell her that he’s a musician, or the son of two guys, or many of the things he confided. “—dreamy, and promised to call me. I’m falling hard and fast.”

I open up to my sister and tell her everything about my week. The story transforms her face into a half-moon, the tips of her lips facing all the way to the ceiling and her eyes dancing while I tell her everything. The bookstore encounter, the coffee house, and the roof.

“Twinkle?” she lets out a wistful sigh. “So freaking cute. Was he hot?”

“I think so. More like adorable. That college sweetheart you want your parents to approve of—except, he has a mane.”

We both shake our heads. Not what Mom would approve of for either one of us. He also has a tattoo. Oh Lord, what am I going to do with my own tattoo if Mom finds out? Well, she’d have to look way too close to my pubic area. Yes, I’m safe.

“Not hot enough that women would want him to rip off their clothes and ravish them against the wall?”

I place my elbow on top of my knee, supporting my chin with my hand and pretend that I’m thinking about her question—which I’m not. My mind wanders to the moments we spent within each other’s arms, the tender moments of kissing, and the sweet lovemaking. He’s lanky and tall and not the kind of guy who
rips
you out of your clothes.

“Nope, more like cheesy, gangly, and cute. Not sure when or how I’m going to see him again.”

“We’ll figure it out, Pree.” She hugs me tight. “I’m happy that you lived a little this week. Become a rebel, go where the moment takes you and—”

“You should do that,” I stop her. “Well, no, Mom will hunt you down and blame me for my flakiness.”

“Cypriana.” I jolt at her screech. “We’re going to die at the age of eighty, alone, and without pets, because you’re becoming our mother.”

We both release a big laugh but stop the moment she starts coughing. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. I just caused that entire episode. All because of my flakiness. As Mom would say—an irresponsible daughter.