Now the ground tilted. Why did anyone ever say drinking was fun? This was actually quite nauseating. “Yes. Perhaps we should.”
Whittaker led me over to a thick log that had fallen sometime in the past century and was now overgrown with moss and vines. He lowered me down slowly until I was steadily seated, and only then did he let me go. I braced one hand on the cold, rough wood to keep from falling over and shook my hair back. Whittaker smiled as he sat next to me, studying my face.
“Noelle didn't lie. You really are quite beautiful,” he said. “You have a classic look about you. Like Grace Kelly.”
“Grace who?” I asked.
Whittaker's smile widened slightly. “She was an actress. And a princess. Actually, it was quite an incredible story. She started out as a poor farm girl, then became hugely famous in Hollywood, married a European prince--”
“Sounds good to me,” I said blearily, lifting my beer bottle in a toast.
“Then died in a fiery car crash,” Whittaker finished.
“Oh.” Nice. Thanks a lot.
Whittaker suddenly flushed and looked away, taking a drink from his flask. “Would you like some?” he asked.
Somewhere in my brain I knew it probably wasn't a good idea
16
to drink anything else, but I also knew that Kiran mixed some kind of juice into her special concoction. And somewhere else in my brain, something decided that it might be a good idea to consume juice. Since it had vitamins and all.
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
I placed my nearly empty beer bottle down on the ground and almost fell over. My palm hit the dirt and I pushed myself back up, trying to cover, but my equilibrium was shot. When I reached for the flask, I tipped over into Whittaker's arms. My eyes closed in embarrassment and the ground shifted. Great. Now my brain was totally misfiring.
“Sorry,” I said.
“That's all right,” he replied. “Here. Let me help.”
He placed one of his solid arms around me and I instantly felt more secure, less wobbly. I managed to get the top off the flask and took a long drink. Mmmmm. The Hayes Special was yummy. And Whittaker was so warm. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment, and tipped the flask back. Once again the ground shifted. I jerked and the liquid went down the wrong pipe. All airways closed off and I choked, spitting alcohol everywhere.
“Are you all right?” Whittaker asked.
“Fine! Fine!” I choked, doubling over. Whittaker fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I coughed into it and wiped my face. The handkerchief was soft, smelled of musk, and had his initials embroidered into it. Old school all the way.
17
No one I knew even owned handkerchiefs, but somehow I was not surprised.
“I'm so sorry,” I said, finally catching my breath. I tried to hand the handkerchief back to him, but he closed his hand over mine, which closed over the cloth.
“Keep it. It's yours,” he said.
I flushed. “You must think I'm a total loser,” I said.
“Quite the contrary,” he said, looking into my eyes. “I think you're extraordinary.”
And then he was kissing me. Okay. Not good! I was not supposed to be kissing Walt Whittaker. I was supposed to be kissing Thomas. Thomas, my boyfriend. Thomas, the perfectly gorgeous guy who had taken my virginity. If only he were here. If only I knew where the hell he was.
Thoughts of Thomas flooded my mind. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas. Thomas's lips, Thomas's hands, Thomas's fingers, Thomas's tongue . ..
And suddenly, I was kissing him. His sweet, warm mouth-, his strong, lean arms. Even with everything we had gone through in the past few days, I missed his touch. That was the one thing with Thomas th
at was never wrong.
Half delirious, I slipped my hands around Whit's thick neck. The second I did he got confident. His mouth moved over mine in a rough, unpracticed, awkward back-?and-?forth motion, so fast it was as if he was trying to create fire with our lips.