I probably packed one of Sammi’s books by mistake, I thought, pulling back the front cover. But there at the top, printed in his own neat, all-caps handwriting, was the name Andrew Wallace.
Why would I have Andrew’s copy of Walden? I’d given away my own copy as soon as I’d finished the survey course requiring it. I was flipping through the book, trying to decide what to do with it, when something stuck between two pages caught my eye. It was a flower. A dried, pressed flower. My best guess was that it was some kind of tropical bloom, maybe an orchid. It had beautiful, pale pink petals, a shade darker in the middle.
Huh. I hadn’t known Andrew liked tropical flowers. Maybe there were several things I hadn’t known about Andrew…
“What’s that?”
I slammed the book shut and whirled around, my heart hammering in my throat. Marc leaned against the door frame, duffel bag in hand.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” He shook his head, clucking his tongue in mock disappointment. “What is it about women and luggage? You don’t have to bring everything you own, and it shouldn’t take this long to throw some clothes into a bag. In fact, if it will save you any time, just leave the underwear out all together. Here, let me help.” He dropped his bag on the carpet and leaned down to pick up a bra I’d dropped. “Now, see what I mean? You’re just wasting time packing stuff like this.” He tossed the bra over his shoulder and shoved a T-shirt into the bag.
I laughed, Andrew’s flower already forgotten. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He smiled. “But you can’t take that either.” He plucked the thin volume from my hand, stacking it with the others on my shelf. “You won’t have time for reading. You won’t even have time for sleeping if I have my way.” He headed for the door, then turned back, as if something else had occurred to him. “Don’t forget your ID.”
I frowned, as his reminder led me to another thought. “Hey, Marc?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me why you really had my wallet that day in Mississippi.”
Marc blushed, just as he had the first time I’d asked, and I was intrigued.
“Come on,” I begged, brushing his lips with a kiss as I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Spit it out.”
He sighed, his face still red. “I took your wallet because your shirt wouldn’t fit in my pocket.”
“What?”
“Promise you won’t laugh?” he asked, and I nodded. “That first day you were gone, I couldn’t think straight. All I could do was yell and hit things.”
I nodded again, thinking of poor Jace.
“Later, I found your shirt on the floor in the hall. I carried it with me all day because it smelled like you. But when your dad put me in with the search party, I needed something smaller. I came in here, and your wallet was lying on the dresser. So I took it.” He looked up at me, searching my face for scorn or amusement, but there was none to find.
“Because it smelled like me?” I asked.
“Yeah. I know it’s stupid, but…”
“Yeah, it is stupid,” I said. His eyes widened and his jaw tightened, disappointment filling his face. “Thank you for being stupid for me.” I stood on my toes to kiss him, and when I pulled away I met his eyes, preparing to eat my words. “I love you, Marc. You’re a huge pain in my ass, but I love you.”He smiled. “You said it.”
“I believe the proper response is ‘I love you, too.’”
He laughed, and shook me gently by the shoulders. “Yeah, but you already know that. And you said it.” He glanced around the empty room, then jumped up and ran into the hall, leaving me staring after him in wonder. “Where the hell is everybody?” he asked from somewhere to the left of my doorway. His footsteps came closer, and he passed by my room on his way to the other side of the house, searching for witnesses. “She finally says it, and there’s no one here to hear her.”
“I heard her,” Jace called from Ethan’s room, where he was recovering.
“Ah-ha!” Marc jumped back in front of the door with a thud, and I shook with laughter. “There’s a witness. You can’t deny it now. You’re caught.”
“All right.” I couldn’t control my grin. “You got me. I’m caught.” So long as you don’t say the M word, I thought. But there was no reason to warn him. Five lonely years had taught him a lesson.
He swaggered toward me and kissed me again. It was a good kiss, the kind where, in the movies, the girl always raises her foot. I didn’t do that, of course, because I wasn’t stupid in love. Not yet anyway. But it was a damn fine kiss.
“So what are you going to do with me, now that you’ve caught me?” I asked, looking up into his eyes.
He grinned. “Put you to work.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s it?”
He nodded. “Come on, woman! Duty calls.”
Yes, duty called, and apparently it had my home number. For the first time in my life, I was answering to someone other than myself, and for the most part, the workaday world sucked. Fortunately, my new responsibility came with one awesome perk: all the ass I could kick.
What self-respecting girl could say no to that?
: 978-1-4268-5395-1
STRAY
© 2007 by Rachel Vincent.
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