He closed the book and pressed a hand on its cover. “I doubt you’ll be able to get this translated. Trying to will just send you on a painful journey. Do you really think there’s going to be someone in Podunk, Louisiana, who can translate something of this magnitude?” His laughter sounded mean.
“I thought you liked Podunk, Louisiana.” Eureka’s eyes narrowed. Brooks was the one who always defended their hometown when Eureka bashed it. “Uncle Beau said Diana could read this, which means there must be someone who can translate it. I just have to find out who.”
“Let me try. I’ll take the book with me tonight and save you the heartache. You’re not ready to confront Diana’s death, and I’m happy to help.”
“No. I’m not letting that book out of my sight.” She reached for the book, which was still in Brooks’s grasp. She had to pry it from his hands. The binding creaked from the strain of being pulled.
“Wow.” Brooks let go, held up his hands, and gave her a look intended to convey she was being melodramatic.
She looked away. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with it yet.”
“Okay.” His tone softened. He touched her fingers where they encased the book. “But if you do get it translated,” he said, “take me with you, okay? It might be hard to digest. You’ll want someone there you trust.”
Eureka’s phone buzzed on her nightstand. She didn’t recognize the number. She held the face of the phone up to Brooks with a shrug.
He winced. “That might be Maya.”
“Why would Maya Cayce call me? How would she get my number?”
Then she remembered: Brooks’s broken cell phone. They’d found it in two pieces on the beach after the wave had dropped on it like a piano. Eureka had been absent-minded enough to leave her phone at home that morning, so it was intact.
Maya Cayce had probably called Brooks’s house and been given Eureka’s number by Aileen, who must have forgotten how nasty high school girls can be.
“Well?” Eureka held out the phone to Brooks. “Talk to her.”
“I don’t want to talk to her. I want to be with you. I mean—” Brooks rubbed his jaw. The phone stopped buzzing, but its effect did not. “I mean, we’re hanging out and I don’t want to be distracted when we’re finally talking about …” He paused, then muttered what Eureka thought was a curse under his breath. She turned her good ear toward him, but he was quiet. When he looked at her, his face was flushed again.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. He leaned closer to her. The springs beneath them creaked. Eureka dropped the phone and the book, because his eyes looked different—smooth around the edges, bottomless brown—and she knew what was going to happen.
Brooks was going to kiss her.
She didn’t move. She didn’t know what to do. Their eyes were locked for his entire descent to her lips. His weight came down against her legs. A silent sigh escaped her. His lips were gentle but his hands were firm, pressing into her to wrestle in a new way. They rolled into each other as his mouth closed around hers. Her fingers crept up his shirt, touching his skin, as smooth as stone. His tongue traced the tip of her tongue. It was silky. She arched her back, wanting to be even closer.
“This is—” he said.
She nodded. “So right.”
They gasped for air, then went back in for another kiss. Eureka’s history of kisses had been Spin the Bottle pecks, dares, sloppy gropes, and slips of tongue outside school dances. This was galaxies away.
Was this Brooks? It was like she was kissing someone with whom she’d once shared a powerful affair, the kind Eureka had never allowed herself to desire. His hands swept her skin as if she were a voluptuous goddess, not the girl he’d known his whole life. When had Brooks become so muscular, so sexy? Had he been like this for years and she’d missed it? Or could a kiss, done right, metabolize a body, kicking in an instant growth spurt, making them both so suddenly mature?