“Derek!”
He catches himself instead of splatting at my feet. He hooks in again and focuses down until he finds me. He reads the flipped out terror expression on my face from all the way up there. “Maybe you shouldn’t watch.”
I go looking for Sarah, but she and Blake have disappeared.
I could go back and do the same route I went through with Derek, but what a drag doing it by myself. Aren’t I spoiled? All of a sudden, I don’t want to ever do anything by myself again. It’s him or nothing. That makes me sad. Tomorrow morning I’m on a plane, flying away from Derek. He’ll be home in two weeks, and then we’ll squeeze every minute together we can into our lives, but it won’t ever be like this again. How can he waste a minute?
The duet we sang together last night keeps running through my head. I hum the chorus as I wander through the trees. . . . Our love is so true . . . won’t take a step. . . . Thank God, you came. . . . It’s you. It’s you. As long as there isn’t a giant tree to swing from.
I make up my own verse, get lost in the trees as I work out the lines. Finally get it to say what I can’t. I sing first.I want you near, all night, all day.
I need to believe the things you say
You say it’s me—
But how can that be true?
I imagine him singing back to me.There’s no one else, I’ ll be so true.
Trust me babe, and I’ ll love you.
I get stuck on his last line. By the time I find the wood building where all the courses start, Derek’s already there—waiting for me, chugging a giant bottle of tepid Evian.
“How did you finish so fast?” How many more times did he unhook to pass somebody? “You’re a maniac.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Gotta get that adrenaline any way you can.”
“You scared the heck out of me.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Not particularly pleasant—for me.”
He clears his throat and takes a swig of his water. “Probably a good thing you won’t be around for the next couple of weeks.” He’s sweating, pulls off his hockey jersey. His T-shirt underneath rides up and exposes a Band-Aid on his lower stomach on his right side.
“I thought you were touring.” I walk over to him, run my hand over his stomach, find the Band-Aid. “What did you do to yourself?”
“Mosquito bite. Look at this one on my arm.” He holds up his arm. “I swell way up.” There is a nasty, swollen, scratched bite on his arm.
“You’re not supposed to scratch at it. Do you have another Band-Aid?” The spot on his stomach wasn’t red like this mess on his arm.
He slips one out of his pocket. I dump some water on his arm, pat it dry with a tissue, and plaster the Band-Aid on it.
“Now that itches like crazy.”
“Stop trying to distract me. Why did you say that about me not being around?”
“We’re not going to be hanging out in museums. Did you know there are glaciers in the Alps you can ski on all summer?”
Shoot. I need to call my mom and see if she’ll buy me a new ticket home. He’ll kill himself.
My face must look desperate. It gets to him. “I’m sorry, Beth.” His eyes fill with a pain I don’t understand. “I shouldn’t have forced myself on you like this.” He makes it sound like tomorrow will be good-bye. “It’s not fair.”
“Don’t say that.” Now I’m scared. “I’d still be crying on that bench by the lake if it weren’t for you. Force yourself? You rescued me.”
“But I haven’t been totally honest with you.” His hand rests on his waist, covering the spot where the Band-Aid is.
I don’t know if I want to hear this. Is it Blake’s drug-habit tease or Meadow’s girlfriend theory? “I’m listening.”
“I have—um—”
Whatever it is, we’ll work through it. At least he’s going to tell me. I can help him. He doesn’t realize it, but I owe him. Every time he touched me—all week long—that stupid test and my wrecked genes did disappear. And last night, for those few minutes onstage with him, I was a star. I can’t believe he did that for me. I dreamed the applause all night. Nothing can hurt with him in my life. I never want to sing with anyone else.
It’s bittersweet, though. Here’s a guy I could imagine wanting to have a baby with someday. At least trying. Or practicing. That makes me sweat. Maybe I will need that pill prescription. He says it’s not about sex, but the way I feel when we make out is overpowering. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with sex. Isn’t he feeling that, too?
Whatever it is that haunts him—whatever he needs me for—I’m there.
I step forward, close, so I can speak low. It comes out in a rush. “You can tell me, Derek. It’s not going to make a difference in the way I feel about you.”
He starts to cough, takes another long drink of water, coughs again.
I put my head on his shoulder. “Admitting it is the first step.”
He shakes his head. “Not applicable here.” He puts his hockey jersey back on.
“Of course it is.”
He drains off the rest of his water bottle, pitches it, and grabs my hand. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”
Stubborn.
Frustrating.
Foolish.
Intoxicating.
He scares me. Thrills me. Totally confuses my sense of direction. Up in the trees. Down on the ground. In the spotlight. In his arms. I have no idea where I am.
There’s a backup at the zip line, and we have to wait. He’s in front this time. I slide my arms around his chest and lean over to ask, “How good a skier are you?”
“Boarder. Maniac level.”
I let go of him—jab my finger in his back. “Now you’re doing it on purpose.”
“I won’t tell you what we’re doing tomorrow.”
“Jumping off a mountain?”
“No—that’s Tuesday.”
chapter 15
SO RIGHT
“We’re so boring.” He met me outside my hotel again tonight. It’s darker. More clouds out. Maybe it will rain. “Last night in Lausanne, and we end up on this same bench.”
“I love this bench.” I don’t want to bore him, though. I nerve myself and let my lips slide down to his neck. He catches his breath. He tastes sweaty. Salty. Savory. Sexy. I suck harder, move my mouth, and do it again. I’m so not bored. He pries my mouth off his neck so he can administer some lip action.
“Uptown is just the bar scene at night.” His words tickle my lips.
“And we’re not into that.”
“I’m just into you.”
I laugh at how delicious he is tonight. “That sounds like a corny pop song.”
“I think it is.” His lips explore the side of my face. “Or you could write it.”
“That’s you.” I pull back so I can see him better. I like him in the dark. Somehow he’s softer, safer. I caress his face. “Did you finish my song?”
“Nope.” He frowns at me. “This beautiful angel distracted me.”
“Uh-oh.” I lean back against his arm. “I don’t want to come between you and your art.”
He grins. “Who said it was you?”
I pummel his chest. He defends himself. He bears down on me, trying to kiss me. I whip my head back and forth. When he finally gets my lips, the kissing is crazy and fast. Eager and desperate. More tongue. More passion than we’ve let loose before. His hot mouth moves to my neck, my shoulder. He sucks on my prominent collarbone. Now he’s kissing my sternum. His mouth slides lower. His hands creep higher.