To be honest, I don’t bother to hide my surprise because, well, I’ve been surprised by Victoria in a great way today.
“I do want you to succeed—why wouldn’t I? I love working at Edge. Where am I supposed to go?” A look of puzzlement crosses her face. “We all know we’re on our last breath. Nobody’s taking over. Our print run gets tinier by the second. Every one of us will end up without a job.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want that.” She sighs. “I want to be looked upon favorably by our bosses, but to be honest, I’m not sure what I’d do with Saint if I ever had him.”
“Oh, that boy just can’t be had.” I laugh lightly, but inside, this makes me sad. That Saint is so apart from the crowd may make it harder for him to feel like he “belongs” anywhere. That he will never belong to anyone at all.
“What do you mean, ‘he can’t be had’?”
“He just can’t be had, not in any way that matters to him. Nobody’s gotten more than just a tiny piece of Saint. Not his dad, not even his mother. No woman. Not his friends or his businesses. He spreads himself around, even in his interests. Nothing really claims him. He keeps that to himself, all that fire. He just gives you a glimpse of the spark.”
“Well”—she fans her face with her hands—“you already have a better grasp of him than I do!”
A little before 8 p.m., I enter my apartment, remembering I’d promised Victoria I’d wear a dress. “Try not to reveal too much. People always take their tops off for Saint. He might like wondering what’s underneath instead.”
“He won’t get to see it, so he can wonder to death,” I flippantly said.
But I’m surprised my tongue didn’t catch fire, because I don’t feel flippant. I feel anticipation of the kind that makes you concentrate on nothing. Makes you try to do ten things at once and fail at them all.
I haven’t seen him since he Frenched me outside my apartment right before the elevator doors closed.
By the time Gina gets home, I’ve got clothes strewn all over my room. I had texted her: Sin is at the Tunnel tonight and we’re going!
Whereas I’d been deliberating what to wear since before I even opened the door, she instantly storms inside and takes charge.
“What are you still doing in bra and panties? Get dressed! Wear that top that’s cool and modern in blue and white that says MY BOYFRIEND IS A SAILOR, just because you want to appear taken and like you didn’t try too hard.”
“Not try too hard? I spent four hours at a spa. I paid for my silly makeover.”
“Wear that top anyway that says your boyfriend is a sailor. If he wants in your pants, he’s going to loathe that.”
I pull the top out of my closet and eye it, my nerves skyrocketing as the seconds tick by. I decide maybe I will wear a skirt and the boyfriend top. Not as seductive as a dress but still, he can get an eyeful of long legs now that they’re slick and oiled up nicely. And why are you wanting to show him your long legs, Rachel?
“Is this a good idea, G?” I leap into my skirt.
“It’s a fucking great idea, it’s exactly what you wanted!”
“Um, no, it isn’t. I wanted research, but this is almost like a date.”
“No, it’s not. Saint doesn’t date. He just hooks up.”
God, I’m wishing he’ll drool for me.
I’m wishing that at least one night, one night in his existence, he will have a wet dream about me.
But I’m still so uncertain. I turn and ask Gina, “Is this all right? I’m treading such a fine line. . . .”
“Rachel, just remember he’s using you, you’re using him; you’re not in a relationship, nor will you ever be. Just do the job and don’t get involved.”
“Okay,” I quickly agree, just to get her to stop saying the word using.
I gulp back a ball of nerves the size of a lemon and as bitter as the peel, then grab my bag and tell myself that I can do this, that I want to do this, that I want to do this more than I want to do him.
16
TUNNEL
“Okay, we’re mingling. Help me find Emmett.”
Wynn, Gina, and I roam the mazelike rooms inside the Tunnel with the smells of clay walls and sweat filling our nostrils along with perfume, cologne, and alcohol. Flashing lights and music hit us as we head toward the heart of the Tunnel, the “pit.” Wynn leads the pack while I trail behind, head turning as I look for him.
“Bet he’s there.” Gina points at a room to the right, which is filled to capacity, so I can’t even see past the wall of glittery dresses and skin at its fringes.
“Why there?”
“Hello? Where there’s smoke there’s fire? Where there’s Saint, there are GIRLS.”
Frowning at that, I wedge myself through to the busiest corner, and my heart stutters because there he is, the Guy Who Owns My Hormones. While Callan and Tahoe look good, Saint could be wearing a sign that says BRING EXTRA PANTIES.