Gluttony (16 page)

“What am I into?” Jackson tipped his head back to catch the fading light of the afternoon sun. “The taste of cold beer at a baseball game, when the score is tied and your team has one man on base and two outs,” he said. “Discovering a new band, just after they’ve found their sound, but before they sign away their souls to the radio gods. Poems that make no fucking sense but still manage to blow your mind. And”—he gave her a mischievous smile—“good conversation with pretty girls.”

Miranda felt the heat rising to her cheeks. “In that case, what are you doing here?” she joked.

He didn’t laugh. “Having an amazing afternoon,” he told her, with a totally straight face.

Miranda didn’t know what to make of it. A cute, smart, older guy, giving her two compliments in a row as if it was nothing? Guys her age didn’t talk like that—at least, not to her.

So, instead of responding, she just laughed nervously and turned toward the pool. “The water looks so tempting when you can’t go in, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Even though you know it’s just going to be cold and over-chlorinated, from here it looks so insanely refreshing, like we’re in some kind of beer commercial.”

“Who says we can’t go in?” Jackson asked, appearing not to care that she’d randomly changed the subject.

“Well, I guess I
could,
” Miranda allowed, though she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. “But I think you’ve got a small problem.”

“And that would be?”

“Shirt? Jeans? Shoes? Unless you’re going to dive in like this, or—” She stopped, realizing that she didn’t know this guy well enough to suggest a skinny-dip, even as a joke. “I’d say swimming is out.”

“You don’t think I’d jump in with my clothes on?” Jackson asked.

“Now
that
, I’d love to see,” Miranda said, laughing. The only people left at the pool were a few little kids and their nervous mothers, who she guessed wouldn’t take too kindly to some random college student throwing himself in fully clothed. (Although this was Vegas—surely it wouldn’t be the first time.)

“What do I get?” Jackson sat up and leaned forward. Their knees were almost touching.

“Get for what?”

“For jumping in the pool and soaking myself, just for your amusement,” he explained, staring at her so intensely, she had to force herself not to look away.

“I don’t know. A dollar?”

“How about you go out with me tonight?” he suggested, his grin stretching nearly to his ears.

“I barely know you,” Miranda said, as her brain furiously tried to process the request. He wanted to go out? With her? Like, on a date? Would it
be
a date? What else could it be? “For all I know, you’re some psychotic ax murderer trolling cheap hotels looking for redheads to chop up for your salad. I watch
CSI
.”

“I don’t think your buddy Kane would have introduced you to an ax murderer,” Jackson pointed out. “And I’ve never seen
CSI
, but I can assure you that I’m a vegetarian. Only thing in my salad is lettuce and tofu.”

She was supposed to meet up with Harper for the night—although, Miranda reminded herself, Harper had ditched her that morning and probably never looked back. And she would be the first person to urge Miranda to go on a date. She always pushed Miranda toward every guy who crossed her path—every guy, that is, except Kane. The ultimate lost cause.

Miranda had to admit that she’d been hoping to spend the night hanging out with him—along with Harper and Adam, of course, but that was a coupling-off waiting to happen and, if it did, she’d be left alone with Kane. In a place where, according to him, anything could happen.

Anything like what?
she asked herself.
What the hell am I waiting for?
Kane had, several months before, finally seen her as something more than boring Miranda, just one of the guys. He’d taken her out, he’d
kissed
her—and that had been the end of it. The moment she’d spent all those years dreaming of had come, and then gone, almost as quickly. So what did she think was going to happen next? That one day, he would just wake up and realize what he’d been missing?

In less than eight hours, she would be eighteen years old. Did she really want to kick off another year of her life sitting in a corner, waiting for Kane to notice her?

Hadn’t she had enough?

“Okay,” she said finally. “If you actually jump in that pool, then yes, I’ll go out with you tonight.”

With a holler, he jumped up and raced toward the pool. Miranda felt a warm tingling spread through her body at the thought that this guy was really going to go through with it, just to get a date with her. He stood on the edge and turned to face her, flashing her a peace sign.

“You won’t be sorry!” he shouted, then spun around and, with an enormous splash, did a perfect belly flop into the deep end.

She was only sorry she’d hesitated.

The balcony was too high up for Kane to hear what was going on.

Still, he managed to get the general idea.

Bad enough that their conversation stretched on for more than an hour. Worse yet that, after the lame pool stunt, Miranda rushed to the edge holding a towel, then wrapped it around him, rubbing his back for warmth.

The final blow: Jackson ditched the towel and, still dripping, took Miranda’s hand. She let him, and they walked off together.

Kane had tried to call her cell, hoping to whisper a warning in her ear, but she wasn’t answering. Too engrossed, apparently, by Jackson’s pathetic sideshow. How could she fall for his act? She was too sharp for that, too guarded. Maybe, Kane thought, she was just playing Jackson, waiting for the right moment to make her move.

But Kane was forced to admit it was unlikely. Miranda might have been sharp when it came to calculus homework or Trivial Pursuit, but when it came to guys, she was clueless. He knew that firsthand.

Kane tightened his grip on the balcony railing, choosing not to wonder why he cared, or why it sickened him to see that slimeball holding Miranda’s hand. This wasn’t jealousy, and it certainly wasn’t self-sacrifice—he wasn’t planning to risk his own standing with Jackson to protect Miranda from her own mistakes.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Kane, who had always believed his only responsibility was to have fun and his only obligation was to himself, felt responsible for the situation. Obligated to Miranda.

To
Miranda
, of all people.

She was a good friend. She was, on the whole, more tolerable to be around than nearly anyone he knew. She let him get away with anything—though never without a sharp rebuke that cut deeper than she knew. And, clueless or not, she didn’t deserve Jackson.

Staging a rescue attempt would be totally inconvenient—and, for all he knew, unwelcome. But it was also the right thing to do.

There was just one problem: Kane had wide variety of skills, talents, and areas of expertise.

Doing the right thing definitely wasn’t one of them.

chapter
7

As soon as she stepped outside the club, Beth realized she had no idea how to get back to the hotel. They’d driven over in Star
la’s car, and she didn’t have enough cash on her for a taxi. Even if she could get a cab driver to take her to a bank and wait while she hit the ATM, there wouldn’t be much point: Her tiny savings account was even emptier than usual. She’d drained it for gas and food money, figuring this trip would be worth it.

After all, now that she’d decided to take college off the table, what was the point in saving her money? What was she saving it
for
?

Emergencies, perhaps. Like this one.

A screeching crowd of girls burst out of the bar, slamming into Beth as they charged toward the street. She stumbled backward, catching herself just before she fell.

“Watch yourself!” a tall, skinny girl in knee-high leather boots yelled. “You’re in the way!”

That part, she’d already figured out.

Maybe she could walk back. Beth knew this wasn’t like home, where everything was within a couple miles of everything else. It could take all night—but she had nowhere else to be. Nor was she in any particular hurry to get back to the hotel room, because then she’d have to address the question: What next? Reed would have to return eventually. (Beth tried to ignore the persistent voice in her head pointing out that, no, Reed didn’t
have
to come back—not if he got a better offer.)

Unable to decide and unwilling to turn back, she stood in front of the bar, watching the traffic crawl by.

She didn’t hear his footsteps behind her, but she recognized his voice when he whispered her name. She still flinched when he put his arms around her and leaned his chin on her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Reed asked. His hair brushed against her neck. “Where’d you go?”

Beth didn’t know how to answer. Now that she had to put it into words, her fears seemed ridiculous.

“I’m not feeling well,” she lied.

“So you leave without saying good-bye?” He turned her around to face him. Their noses were almost touching. “How were you going to get back?”

Beth shrugged.

“What’s really going on?”

She looked away. “Nothing.”

He took her chin and tipped her face up so she couldn’t avoid his dark eyes. “Tell me.”

Beth took a deep breath. “When I saw you with
her
, I just thought—”

With both hands, Reed, smoothed down her hair, then pressed her head against his chest. His T-shirt was so old and worn that the cotton felt like skin. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widened. She’d been expecting denials, laughter, maybe even ridicule. Anything but a simple apology. Guys didn’t work that way. “For what?”

“For making you think that anything could ever—”

“She’s just so much more … like you,” Beth said weakly, wondering why she was encouraging the idea. “She—she fits in. And I …”

“You fit,” Reed assured her. “Here.” He laced his arms around her waist and held tight.

“That’s not what I mean,” Beth protested.

“But that’s what matters.” When she didn’t answer him, he ran a hand through his tangles of black curls. “Look. I know I don’t …” He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. When he opened them, she realized she could see her reflection. “All this—” He waved his arm at the club, the people, and, somewhere inside, Star
la. “You’re right, it’s me. And you’re different. But that’s why … You make
me
want to be different, you know? You make me think I can be better, that, like, I should be better. And …” He rubbed his hand against her back in a slow, soft circle. “You get that there’s something else, something beside all this. I don’t have to
be
anyone for you. All these people? They think they know, but they don’t get it. They don’t get
me
. You do.”