Gluttony (18 page)

“… and let’s just say that I will never again bite into something without checking to see if it’s still breathing,” Jackson concluded, shaking his head as if in dismay at his own foolishness.

Miranda laughed—perhaps a little harder than the story merited, but then, she was spending her birthday with a cute, older guy who, in his own words, thought she was “adorable,” “hilarious,” and “fantastic.” A little extra laughter was a small price to pay. “That’s unbelievable,” she said, gasping for breath.

“I swear.” Jackson put a hand over his heart. “It happened exactly like I said.”

When they’d been booted out of the bar, Miranda had been sure her date was over before it even began, but Jackson had just shrugged and escorted her down the strip to Killian’s, a dark, opulent, outrageously Irish pub with thick burgers, heaping plates of mashed potatoes, and towering mugs of beer. Miranda stuck to salad and soda.

“I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me tonight,” Jackson told her.

Miranda searched for a suitably snappy response, but under the table she suddenly felt the light touch of a hand on her knee, and her witty bravado melted away. “Me too,” she said sincerely, and, though it felt unthinkably bold, she rested her hand on top of his, lightly twining their fingers. Jackson stared at her so intensely that she was tempted to look away, but she knew that in a situation like this, she was supposed to meet his eyes. So she forced herself to do it.

He’s
gazing
at me,
the overanalytical part of her mind that refused to shut up observed.
I never thought anyone would do that
. It was only a few hours to her birthday, and Miranda allowed herself to hope that she would get to start off her eighteenth year in the best way imaginable: with a kiss.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked, appearing as if from nowhere. She was dressed in green from head to toe, and wore a four-leaf clover beret over her bright red—certainly dyed—hair. “Some more water?”

“We’re fine,” Jackson said, but she had already leaned in to start pouring.

“Jesus!” he screeched, as half a pitcher of ice water sloshed into his lap. He jumped up, but it was too late—a large dark spot was quickly spreading across the front of his pants.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the waitress cried, slipping out of the fake Irish brogue she’d adopted for the rest of their meal. “Here, let me—” She leaned toward him to start patting him down with a napkin, but Jackson squirmed away. “I got it,” he snapped. Sliding out of the booth. “Miranda, I’ve got to—”

“Go,” she urged him, marveling at how quickly her perfect date could go south. Not that it was a surprise. The perfection of the afternoon had seemed bizarre. It was all too unbelievably smooth and perfect to be true. This comedy of errors, on the other hand, was totally in keeping with the way Miranda’s life usually went. “I think the bathroom’s that way.” She pointed, but he was already gone.
He’ll come back in a minute,
she assured herself, but she couldn’t make herself believe it.

“Clumsy waitress, eh?” a familiar voice chuckled from the next booth over. Miranda peeked her head over the top of her booth to see Kane staring up at her. He shook his head. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

As always, she felt an unmitigated blast of joy at seeing him—so it took her a moment to wonder at his presence. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked.

“You’re not answering your phone,” he pointed out.

“I’m on a
date
.”

He smirked. “Yeah. I caught that. How’s it going?”

“It’s going great,” she boasted. “Fantastically. Best date I ever had.” Mostly because all her other dates had sucked. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let Kane know that he wasn’t welcome to crash this one.

Even if, secretly, possibly, he was.

“I was afraid of that.”

“Afraid of what? That I’d actually have a good time?” Dare she allow herself to hope that he was jealous? Stop, she instructed herself.
It doesn’t matter. I’m here with Jackson
. Jackson was cute, smart, sweet, and, though he wasn’t Kane, he had one important thing going for him that Kane didn’t: He wanted to be with Miranda.

“He’s bad news,” Kane told her. “Don’t trust him. I’d leave now, if I were you, now that I’ve given you the chance.”

“Now that you’ve …?” The pieces fell into place: the suddenly clumsy waitress. The fact that Kane just
happened
to be sitting at the next table. Maybe even the bartender who’d randomly thrown them out of the bar. “Are you trying to ruin my life? Or just my night?”

“Just trying to help,” Kane said. “Get away from him. He’s—uh-oh. Don’t tell him I was here.” Before she could say anything else, Kane had ducked out of the booth and disappeared into a corridor. And then Jackson was back.

“Well, I’ve gone from soggy to damp,” Jackson said ruefully, sliding back into his seat. “So that’s an improvement. Still, maybe after dinner we could stop by my room, just to grab a change of clothes. If you’re up for it, I mean.”

It didn’t make any sense. This was Kane’s friend; Kane was the one who’d introduced them. He’d vouched for Jackson. And now he was trying to torpedo the date? It was as if he was jealous, but he
couldn’t
be jealous. And it didn’t matter either way. It didn’t matter what his reasoning was. She’d wasted enough of her time worrying about Kane—this was her chance to actually be happy, even if it was just for the night. She wasn’t going to screw it up. “Sure, as soon as we’re done here, we should definitely hit your room so you can get out of those wet pants.” She giggled as they both realized the implications of what she’d just said. They weren’t altogether unintentional.

Miranda was about to continue, to tell Jackson about the strange encounter she’d had while he was drying off, so that they could laugh about and then dismiss Kane’s ludicrous scheming. But Kane had asked her not to say anything.

And though she didn’t owe him anything, didn’t care what he wanted, and refused to spend another moment thinking about him, she kept her mouth shut.

Her skin was so soft.

Everything about her was perfect. That sweet, lilting voice that sang whenever she spoke. Her hair, which fell through his fingers like it had no substance, no weight, but was made of golden light. Her lips, which were now pressed against his neck, and her fingers, which crawled down his bare chest and massaged his back. Her pale blue eyes, closed now, shaded by delicate eyelids rimmed by eyelashes so light, they were nearly invisible.

But it was her skin that Reed loved the most. The cheap hotel sheets were scratchy, but her pale, creamy skin was unbelievably soft and smooth, as if it had never been exposed to the outside world. Reed loved the way it felt against his cheek, his lips, his fingertips, his body—always wondering how something that delicately perfect could exist. And how it could be within his grasp.

She moaned softly, and shivered as he traced his fingers lightly down the small of her back. He grabbed her waist, gently tipping her onto her back and rolling on top of her, so their chests breathed together and their lips met. He supported his weight on his elbows, so as not to crush her, and stared down at her.

Whatever doubts he’d had at the beginning, whatever guilt he’d struggled with, he was past that now. He had no regrets.

“Do you … do you want to?” she whispered suddenly, her eyes still closed.

“Want to what?” He kissed her cheek, then her forehead, her nose, and, finally, her lips.

“You know.” She opened her eyes. A tear was pooling in one of the corners. “I don’t know if you brought … protection.” It sounded like she had to choke the word out. “But it you did, maybe we should—”

Reed rolled off of her and propped himself up on his side. “Where’s this coming from?”

Beth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and, instead of turning to face him, stayed on her back, staring up at the cracked ceiling. “I know I said I didn’t want to, not yet, but that was before …”

“Before what?” When she didn’t answer, he sat up, and pulled her up too. “Before
what
?”

“You’re just really good to me, and I thought—” She took his hand in hers. “I want to make you happy.”

“You think
this
will make me happy?” he asked incredulously, his voice rising. “You’re doing this as it—as if you owe me something? Do you think I’m that kind of guy? That I’d ever want you to—”

“Are you mad?” Her voice sounded like a child’s.

“Of course not!” He forced himself to stop and take a few deep breaths. “I just don’t get it. Why would you think … I told you I’d wait. I told you I didn’t care.”

“I know. But …”

She didn’t need to say it out loud. He got it: She hadn’t believed him.

Reed didn’t know much about Beth’s past, so he didn’t know who had screwed her over so badly, or how. But something must have happened to make her so unwilling to trust that someone would wait for her.

“Why now?” he asked. “Why tonight?”

“Because I don’t deserve you,” she admitted. “And I just thought maybe … I don’t know.” She threw herself back down on the bed, face first, her head buried in her arms. “I don’t get why you want … I don’t know why anyone would want to be with me,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the sheets. Her body trembled, and Reed wondered if she was crying.

It didn’t make sense. He was the stoner. The dumbass. The loser. She was smart, beautiful, perfect. Grace’s princess. He was the one who didn’t belong in the picture, who was undeserving. How could someone so smart miss something so obvious?

“Come on,” he said. She didn’t sit up, just shook her head, still hiding her face as if afraid to show him her tears. “Come on,” he repeated. “For me.”

Finally, she lifted her head, wiping clumsily at her tears like a little kid. Her makeup smeared across her face. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

He took her by the hand and led her out of the room, down the hall to the elevators and, when they’d stepped inside, pressed the button for the top floor. Moments later they stepped out onto an identical hallway, and Reed, once again leading the way, guided Beth down to the opposite end and through a half-hidden door.

“I did a little exploring,” Reed explained as they entered the dark, cramped stairwell, though she hadn’t asked, or even spoken since they’d left the room. “Found something I thought you’d like.” They climbed up two flights of stairs, pushed through a heavy door at the top, and found themselves standing on the roof, surrounded by the tall silhouettes of the Camelot’s fake turrets. “Come on,” he urged Beth, leading her toward the edge. She followed as if she’d lost all momentum of her own—as if, were he to let go, she would stand motionless until given another command.

They stood at the rim of the roof, the lights of Vegas spread out beneath them like stolen gems spilled onto a sheet of black velvet. A small smile crept onto Beth’s face, still streaked with mascara-stained tears.

“Remember that first day, on the crater?” Reed asked. She nodded. They had hiked up to the top and, surrounded by miles of empty desert wilderness, had decided to take a chance. Together. Reed realized he was breathing quickly and tried to calm himself down. He’d been steeling himself to do this at some point in the weekend—but now that he was actually here, and the words he’d never said before were ready to come out, he could barely speak. “Beth, since then, being with you—it’s not what I expected. It’s—” He hadn’t rehearsed; that would have been lame. But now that he was here, he almost wished he’d prepared something to say. When he wrote a song, the words always came pouring out. But actually
talking
about the way he felt—especially to someone else—was different. It was almost impossible.

He had to try.

“I used to think it was just something people said, you know? Some obligation, but it didn’t mean anything.” He knew he wasn’t making much sense, but it was a place to start, and she was listening. “I didn’t care. And when I met you, I didn’t care about anything. And then …” He put his arms around her shoulders, resting his hands loosely at the nape of her neck. “Now. It’s different. You know?”

“I don’t … I don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Beth said slowly, her face pale. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No. No!” This was going all wrong. Reed wished he’d had a joint ahead of time, because then he wouldn’t care so much and it wouldn’t matter if it came out wrong. But then, it wouldn’t have mattered at all—that’s how it had always been, before her.