He holds out his hand. I take it and he squeezes more than shakes. “Blaire is something, huh? Had you heard her read before?”
“No, I hadn’t, and yes, she is.”
Blaire stands. “We’ve got to go,” she says, grabbing her bag from under the table. She starts toward the door and flips a wave behind her. “See you next month, Craig.”
I follow but her progress is slow. Everyone wants a piece of her. They’ve all got a hug or a pat on the back for her, and she seems to know them all by name. I stand to the side, preferring that she doesn’t try to introduce me to any more of them and, finally, we make our escape.
Compared to the steamy bar, it’s cold when we step outside onto the walk.
“It’s freezing out here,” she says, wrapping her scarf around her neck, then hugging herself. “You want to get some coffee or something?”
Every fiber in my body wants to wrap itself around her and warm her from the inside out. “Coffee sounds great.”
“The Bean is just up the street. If they’re still open…”
I take her elbow and we walk in the direction she indicated. “How long have you been performing your poetry?”
“About two years.”
“You were really…incredible.” I keep struggling for a word that truly captures what I’m trying to say and falling miserably short. “I’d love to hear more of your work.”
She wraps her fingers around mine, where they rest lightly on her arm, and smiles. “I’m here every fourth Friday of the month.” She presses closer. “Or I could give you a private reading anytime you want.”
Her breast is against my arm, doing things to totally unrelated parts of my body. “That would be…” I look at her and her eyes flash a message into mine. My groin hears it, loud and clear.
She turns toward the storefront we’re passing. “Damn.”
I glance past her and see we’re at The Bean. It’s dark inside. “No big thing.” I look back toward Tino’s and see we’re near my car, just on the other side of the street. “Where are you parked?”
“About a block past Tino’s and around the corner to the left, on Fifth.”
“It’s cold. My car’s right there,” I say, pointing at my black Charger. “Let me give you a lift back.”
“Okay,” she says, stepping into the deserted street.
I click the doors as we cross and she slides into my passenger seat without any hesitation. I might not be an ax murderer, but I’m no less dangerous.
I crank the engine and my latest obsession song pours from the speakers.
“Arctic Monkeys,” she says, nodding along to the heavy percussion. “Nice.”
I turn down the volume. “Sorry.”
She tosses me a wicked smile and cranks the stereo back up.
I adjust the heat and swallow when the song betrays me by telling her I’ve dreamt about her nearly every night this week, and asks how many secrets she can keep. I pull onto the road and head back toward the bar. “Just tell me when.”
She points out the windshield. “At that stop sign, take a left. I’m just a few cars up.” I do as I’m told and she points to a silver Mini. “That’s me.”
“Sweet ride,” I say with a nod.
“My dad bought it but he didn’t like it, so he gave it to me so he wouldn’t have to drive me back and forth to school. Saves him having to pretend we know each other.”
I pull into a spot across the street from her car and cut the engine. “You’re not close?” I ask, turning in my seat to face her.
She shrugs. “I’ve never really met him, even though we’ve lived in the same house all my life.”
I try to read her expression, but all I’m finding there is indifference. Either she’s great at stuffing down her emotions or she truly doesn’t care. Either way, she’s better at dealing with family shit than I am. “That’s tough.”
“Not really. Growing up is a hell of a lot easier when you’ve got parents that are just phoning it in. I never had to deal with any of the shit my friends did. No groundings. No curfew. I can order a pizza and eat in my room because no one’s at the dinner table anyway. I can fuck in my own bed without anyone caring. I do what I want, when I want.”
My heart’s suddenly pounding in my chest with the image of her fucking. But she must have her head on pretty straight to have made it twenty years in the world on her own compass without landing in jail. “So, I take it you still live at home?”
She nods.
It’s not unusual. Sierra State, like most of the California State schools, is predominantly a commuter campus.