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She’d run, all right. He’d been pretty damned convincing.
Poor Kevin. He’d been so sweet. Funny and brilliant. Sean had been immensely proud of his brother’s genius, his accomplishments.
It broke her heart. And speaking of heartbreak, that had been the same day as that horrible five minute conversation with Sean at the jail. The five minutes that had ended her innocence and split her life in half.
She stared down at her hands, realizing how badly she stank of smoke. She got up, knees wobbling. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Excellent idea,” Amelia said. “You just relax. We’ll take care of all the details. Shall I have Pamela bring you up a sandwich?”
Her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of food.
“Nothing,” she said. “Thanks. ’Night.”
She hauled herself up the stairs, and made her way to the bedroom. She stumbled, but her exhaustion had a jittery, excited edge.
Because Sean had flirted with her? Please. He flirted with every woman he saw. He was programmed that way. It was nothing personal.
Even so, thinking about Sean was so much more fizzy and fun than thinking about the tar pit of her family life, or the ruins of her bookstore. Or T-Rex, out in the dark somewhere, thinking about her.
She shuddered. T-Rex’s attention felt like a foul lake of toxic waste, lapping up against her consciousness. The only thing that helped was the foolish fancy that Sean McCloud was thinking about her, too.
That evened out the score. Just enough so that she could breathe.
It was just a mind game, of course. Sean didn’t care about her, she knew that. But who cared? If the trick worked, she would use it.
She stumbled in the dark room, tripping over her suitcase, but hesitated before flipping on the bedside light. She had no desire to announce to any malevolent presence outside that someone was in the bedroom. She flipped on the light in the internal connecting bathroom and left the door a few inches open. A fine sliver of light was enough.
She perched on the bed, and doubled over, pressing her face against those ugly, baggy pajama pants. How pathetically lame, that she hadn’t grown out of this lingering obsession. After thousands of dollars’ worth of head shrinkage, she and her therapist had concluded that she badly needed to push back against her family’s control. Well and good. She still needed to push back, evidently.
What better way to distract herself from all this crap than to drag out her fantasy man, with his gorgeous body, his warm lips, his clever hands? Watch Liv forget the past, her pride, her own goddamn name.
It was ironic. Their affair had lasted one month. A decade and a half ago. They’d never even had sex. He’d just worked her into a hot, sweaty fever on the phone, telling her how it would be when they finally did the deed. What he would do with his hands, his tongue. And all the rest of his manly stuff.
Her on her bed, beet red and speechless with longing. Him, slouched in the gas station phone booth, back when there were still a few phone booths left. Slipping in quarter after quarter so he could keep on stroking her, touching her. Torturing her with words.
In the hindsight of sexual experience, she knew how improbable his promises were. They’d done nothing but spoil her for the real thing.
She’d been almost eighteen that summer. She hadn’t known anyone her own age in town, after being shuffled from one elite private school to another. She was shy, withdrawn. The only constant in her life were books. They had been her refuge—until she met Sean.
It started with that summer school course. She’d gotten a C+ in chemistry her senior year, trashing her perfect four point average. Her mother’s response had been to bully the school into letting Liv retake a summer school equivalent with the hopes of adjusting her grade.
It was a waste of time, since she was already accepted into the college she wanted, and had no further interest in chemistry. But no. That C+ was a moral failing, to be corrected by wholesome discipline.
Her mother never imagined what kind of trouble was going to saunter into Schaeffer Auditorium. So much for wholesome discipline.
The lecture hall had been nearly empty. Most of the students were swimming at the Falls. Liv had been there, though, dutifully scribbling notes. It was surprisingly interesting. The grad student lecturing was great. Kev McCloud was his name, a tall, skinny guy with blond hair that stuck out all over his head. When he talked about chemistry, his eyes lit up like green flashlights. That enthusiasm was contagious.
Then the door to the hall creaked open. She turned to look, and bye-bye, carbon structures. That was the last note she ever took.
The guy in the doorway looked as out of place as a wild panther. Luxurious blond hair. Sleeves ripped off a denim work shirt, showing off thick, ropy arms, broad shoulders. The lecturer, who she learned later was his twin, said “Don’t come to my class late, you furry little punk.”
Shocked murmurs and giggles swept the room. The panther-like apparition was unfazed. “Lighten up, you tight-assed geek,” he replied.
The guy lecturing rolled his eyes and launched back into his lecture. The panther turned, scanned the hall. His eyes lit on her.
She looked down, face hot, heart tripping, as he paced to the back of the auditorium. He found her aisle and began slithering towards her between rows of seats. She was hiding in the back behind her hair, the hall was nearly empty, and he was coming to sit with her. She’d entered a parallel universe. The sky had fallen. Time ran backwards. Pigs flew.
“Is this chair free?” His voice had been so low and soft.
