Man, I hope whatever she has under there is thin and lacy.
When she undoes the last of the shiny gold buttons—her jacket reminds me of something an eighties pop star would wear—she slips the heavy coat off her shoulders, revealing a plain black tank and a whole lot of creamy skin. Not the sexy bra I’d been hoping for, but at least it’s tight and cut low. A blue necklace with a silver feather hangs just below the lines of her collarbone, drawing my eyes right where they probably shouldn’t go.
She tosses the jacket in the general direction of her house. “Hopefully this looks close enough to a workout outfit to fool your parents. We’ll tell them we were training and you ran too hard and got leg cramps. That should sufficiently explain your condition.”
I can’t think of anything better, and I’m getting pretty tired from holding myself up, so I let her wrap my arm back around her shoulders. A million lightning bolts zing as my skin meets hers. My shivering vanishes. Without her thick uniform-coat thing, her touch is a thousand times more electric. Not to mention how smooth and soft her bare skin feels against mine.
Note to self: Steal and destroy her jacket as soon as possible.
I try not to trip as we start moving again, but my useless legs refuse to cooperate, and I nearly knock us over. She shifts her weight in front of me and pulls me back to my feet. Leaving us face to face, her body pressed so tightly against mine I can feel her heartbeat through her thin shirt.
I swear the air around us is seconds away from catching fire.
Audra shuffles me back to her side. “Once we get inside, I’ll lay you down in your room and see myself out. Try not to get up. Eat something. Eat a lot, actually. Your body could use a few more ties to the earth. And stay away from the wind. Close your window tight—turn off your fan. You’re too vulnerable right now.”
“Vulnerable how? Like . . . I could get swept away again if I stand too close to an AC vent?”
“Probably not. But I’m trying to be cautious. I’ve never heard of anyone being as tempted by the wind as you were. Maybe it’s a Westerly thing. Or maybe you’ve been so wind-deprived these last ten years your body doesn’t know how to handle it. Either way, you need to stay grounded, so it’s safer to stay away from temptation.”
The only temptation I’m feeling is to run my hands along the sliver of midriff peeking from the bottom of her tank top. Now, that would motivate me to stay grounded.
I’m ready to tell her that, but we’ve reached my house’s ugly blue front door.
“Should I . . . knock?” Audra asks.
I’ve never heard her voice crack before. “Nervous to meet the parents?”
“I just haven’t had a lot of contact with groundlings.”
“You realize they’re going to think you’re my girlfriend, right?”
She pales. “Whatever it takes to protect the truth.”
Does she have to sound like having me for a boyfriend is some exhausting assignment she wants to get rid of?
“It should be unlocked,” I tell her.
She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and pulls the door open.
“I’m home,” I call, loud enough to be heard over the TV. “And don’t freak out—but I kinda wore out my legs, so I needed help inside.”
Before I even finish my sentence, my mom shrieks, “What?” and both her and my dad stampede down the hall. So much for not freaking out. They stop dead when they spot Audra.
Audra turns rigid and stares at the ground.
The awkwardness would be awesome if I weren’t suddenly overwhelmed by nerves of my own.
“What happened?” my dad asks, gesturing to my rather pathetic, slumped position.
“I got shin splints pretty bad, so Audra had to help me in. I must have pushed myself too hard while we ran.”
My dad laughs—one of those huge belly laughs you’d expect to come from some six-foot-five guy with a beer gut, not a five-foot-nine skinny guy who wears preppy golf shirts every day. “That’s what you get for showing off.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
My mom snaps out of her Audra-staring stupor. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve really been introduced. I’m Carrie.”
She extends a hand for Audra to shake. Audra trips over my feet as she moves to take it.
“We should probably let him lie down,” she says when she recovers. Her cheeks are bright pink. “Which way to his room?”
I have to give her credit. Acting like she doesn’t know exactly which room is mine is a nice touch.
“Oh, um, I don’t know—Jack, maybe you should take him,” my mom says, biting her lip like she’s worried we might feel the uncontrollable urge to rip each other’s clothes off the second we get near a bed.
My dad laughs, runs a hand over the shiny part of his head—he proudly rocks the cul-de-sac of hair curving around his bald spot—and says, “Relax, Carrie.” He points down the hall. “It’s that way.”