“What?”
He leaned closer, and whispered, as though he were tellingme a secret. “The accent.”
My eyes widened with a genuine gasp. “Get the fuck out ofhere.”
“Honest to God. She’d get so irritated any time itreallycame out. She couldn’t understand how it was I grew up here and nevertotallyAmericanized.” He shook his head with a mischievous grin. “I’d sound like afeckin’ Leprechaun,chasin’ afterme Lucky Charms, jus’t’pissher off.”
I laughed. Oh God, did I laugh, and I pressed my hands andforehead against his chest, falling into him. Falling into the only home Ireally knew, and ever really wanted. And as I fell, I wondered if …
“You’rewonderin’ if I still doit in bed.”
Mind-reading Irish bastard.
I raised my head to find his eyes, darkened with unravelingpassion. He tightened his grip on my waist, pressing my body into his and theobvious proof that he needed me just as much as I needed him.
“I’mwillin’ to letyafind out.”
He loosened his grip from my waist, and pulled me towardhis bedroom. I eyed him with a slow shake of my head.
“Patrick …”
“Your feet aremovin’,Kins,” he pointed out.
They were.Traitors.
He hummed.
CHAPTER 16 |
Old Trucks & Old Blankets
We made lovefor the first time when wewere eighteen.
Patrick had gotten his very own set of wheelsthat summer, before I left for college. He thought it would be a wiseinvestment; all the better to visit me with. The old Ford pickup breathed a newair of freedom we never knew we were missing. No longer did we have thepressure of borrowed keys hanging over our heads, and God, did we takeadvantage of it.
We owned Connecticut that summer. With a fulltank of gas and the windows down, we drove up and down the north and southshores. We cruised through the rich neighborhoods of New Canaan, making upstories about what heinous things the owners did to afford those houses. Wewandered ancient cemeteries, learning about historical figures beyond RiverCanyon’s William Fuller. We sat on beaches and piers, seeing what else was outthere, squintingreally hardthrough a great pair ofbinoculars.
We had so many adventures, so many memories,and it was hands-down the best summer we ever had.
And also, thesaddest.
It was a countdown to when things would change again.Like grains of sand, in the form of days, dripping through two months’ worth ofhourglass.
That one day, the last afternoon in July, wegot into Patrick’s truck and drove without a destination in mind, or at leastnot one I knew of. We drove west and over Connecticut state lines. We droveinto New York, and onto Long Island, and then, we stopped outside of HofstraUniversity.
“Two hours and fifty-two minutes.”
I turned toward him. “What?”
“Two hours and fifty-two minutes, and that waswith little traffic.” He shook his head, wiping a hand over his mouth. “God,Kins, it’s so far away.”
“It’s not that far away,” I said, laughing alittle to lighten the suddenly heavy mood. “I could be going so much further,but—”
“Why would you want to go even further?” heasked, squeezing the steering wheel. “We have plenty of colleges close to home,but you just had to go here. Why?”
“You don’t want me going?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m justaskin’ why.”
