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***
“Why are you looking for a roommate?” Zane swallows the last bite of his sandwich and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“My roommate’s boyfriend is moving in with her. She’s so in love with him, it’s driving me up the wall.”
His lips curl in a faint smile. “And why don’t you move in with your parents until fall?”
I shrug. I’m only halfway through my sandwich. I’m discovering that Zane sitting right next to me is very distracting. He’s changed into loose jogging pants and a dry T-shirt. He’s barefoot, and a black tattoo curls around one ankle. I can’t see what it is.
“I’d rather not move back in with them.”
“Why? Audrey said you get along.”
“You asked Audrey about me?” There I go, gaping at him again. This evening’s full of surprises.
His face closes off, and I find I miss his smile.
I nudge him with my elbow. “She’s right. We get along fine. I just like it, you know? Living on my own.”
He nods, relaxing again.
“What about your parents?” I ask. “Do they live in town?”
“Don’t have any.”
The words don’t sink in immediately, I guess because I wasn’t expecting them. “You have no parents?”
He shrugs. “Never knew them.”
The way he says it, so easily… You’d think he doesn’t care, but again a shadow passes over his face, and I know he’s just making light of it.
“But you have other family?” Surely he must have… what, siblings? Cousins? Aunts and uncles?
His hands hang between his knees. He stares down at them. “I have a sister.”
Oh. Okay. Well, that’s something. My family is huge. I can’t imagine someone living without all that support and warmth and love. “Does she live close by?”
“No, out of town. Listen…” His hands are clenching and unclenching, and a vein in his neck is beating frantically. He stands up. “Mind if I smoke?”
I shake my head and put my sandwich down. He changes moods like I change panties. He walks to the sliding door, opens it and steps out onto the balcony. The cool breeze carries a scent of flowers, mingled with car fumes and cigarette smoke.
I follow him out. He’s leaning on the rail, smoking, and I have a great view of his long legs and broad back, all lean muscle and sinew. There’s an ashtray on the floor, full of cigarette stubs.
“Do you smoke?” he asks.
“No.” I step up to the rail and lean back against it to look at him. It’s then I notice his hand holding the cigarette is trembling.
What’s wrong with him? Worry turns my stomach into a stone. Is it what happened at the park? I don’t dare ask him about it. I’ve been nosy enough for one evening.
“My dad smokes sometimes,” I say. “Cuban cigars. He says he likes the smell.”
“It’s a bad habit.” Zane chuckles softly, and it sounds bitter. “Got plenty of those.”
“Like?”
“Like…” He stares out into the night, the embers burning red. “Drinking.”
“Drinking, but not getting wasted?”
