Somebody Else's Sky (Something in the Way 2)

Not blue. I couldn’t do blue. It reminded me too much of endless skies, crystal-clear water, Lake’s eyes . . . “Anything but blue.”

She turned to me. “Sailboats are for like a kid’s room, huh? I’m rambling. I’m a little nervous. This is weird.”

“Yeah, it is.” I came into the room, tilting her chin up for a kiss. “Don’t worry. This part won’t be.”

She softened but took my hand. “I’m sure you’re dying to, you know, which is why I told my mom we’d do an early dinner. I figured we could come home and spend all night catching up.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Seventeen months inside, and you’re asking me to wait? You think I’m superhuman?”

She pouted playfully. “Just a few hours. I guess I could call and tell them we’ll be late, but they probably already started—”

They. Lake’s cooking. If there was something worth postponing sex for, it was that. I imagined her moving around the kitchen like she had that first day we’d met, slicing avocado a little too carelessly because she couldn’t keep her eyes off me. Telling me, an adult man seven years older than her, that I shouldn’t drink beer and operate heavy machinery.

I planted a kiss on Tiffany’s mouth. “No, don’t call. I can wait.”

“Okay. We’re supposed to be over there soon, and we should probably shower.”

By we, she meant me. I’d been sweating since I got out. No, I’d been sweating since I’d been taken in. Since I’d left that courtroom at the dead of summer, I’d been perpetually hot, inside or outside, even in winter.

Tiffany left me alone to change and clean up, which was good, because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my hands to myself otherwise. Need burned through me, a heat I’d never felt, even as I turned the water stark cold. I had to be skin to skin with someone. I wanted to see how Tiffany and I got on after we’d been circling this for so long. Even if she wanted romance, I could do that, I just had to fuck before my head exploded.

I wouldn’t be able to wait much longer.

9

Lake

I’d misjudged my measurements.

In Tiffany’s mirrored closet, I turned, inspecting the results of my afternoon. I’d taken a ruler and a pair of scissors to the corduroy skirt, but it had come out shorter than I was comfortable with. Tiffany wouldn’t think twice about exposing so much leg, and Val probably wouldn’t, either. They knew about boys, and tonight was too important to mess up.

Mom had bought me a pink bra from Nordstrom with Tiffany’s discount she’d thought was “so cute.” Well, cute wouldn’t cut it, so I put it under a skin-tight, white baby tee I’d found in the back of Tiffany’s dresser. The hem stopped where the skirt started, a sliver of skin between the two.

As the steaks marinated downstairs, I sat on the bathroom counter and slathered my tanned legs in lotion. I plucked any stray eyebrow hairs and inspected my pores. When two car doors slammed out front, I straightened. They were early. Given Tiffany’s track record for tardiness, I hadn’t expected that. But could I complain about that? I hopped down and quickly swiped on mascara. I heard voices in the foyer. Damn it. I didn’t want to miss a second, especially not watching him come into the house, see the dining table set for him, smell the steak. The only heels I had were from the Homecoming dance and barely two inches. They didn’t match my outfit, but there wasn’t time to raid my mom’s closet. I tried to buckle them on so quickly, I kept fumbling, convinced I heard Manning’s sturdy footsteps moving to the kitchen.

I got the shoes on and flew down the stairs faster than I thought possible. The heels were low, but I must not’ve completely secured the left one, because it came loose, and I stumbled on the last step, blowing into the entryway, nearly falling on my face. I took a balancing step and stopped short.

Manning stared at me from the open doorway. His gaze slid down my top to my skirt, my legs, and shoes. He paused on the unbuckled clasp, then began to make his way back up.

He was ten times bigger than I remembered, ten times at least, and how was that possible when he was already the biggest man I’d ever met? He was taller, broader, more imposing. I’d expected him to look worn and weary, but his black hair, while longer than I remembered it, was cut, and his jaw shaved clean. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his crisp, white t-shirt and paired it with blue jeans and tennis shoes, also brand-new white. His muscles didn’t overpower him, but they were real. Solid.

Manning was still looking at my body like it was a piece of chocolate cake, and I figured that was a good thing. People turned down chocolate cake all the time, but nobody ever wanted to.