Freeks(56)

“Who decorated your house?” I asked Gabe as I dried my hair.

“My mom, mostly, but Selena helped a bit.”

“It’s so stylish and hip,” I commented as I spied a Jackson Pollock painting hanging in the grand entry. “Whoever decorated like this seems like they’d have a very cosmopolitan sensibility.” I paused. “One that clashes with the way of life down here.”

There was clearly a culture clash growing inside this house. The crown molding and antique chandeliers contrasted sharply with the furniture in bold primary colors and modern art. It was like a mashup of Pee-wee’s Playhouse and Gone with the Wind.

“I think my mom would’ve been happier in New York,” Gabe admitted.

“Then why did you move back here?”

Gabe let out a deep sigh. “The Brawley legacy.” He looked around the entry at the grand staircase and refurnished fixtures. “This house has been in our family for nearly two centuries. My mom couldn’t let it go.”

“Well, I’m glad,” I said. “If she had, you wouldn’t be here with me now.”

He looked at me then, his deep golden eyes meeting mine, and I saw a heat in them that I felt reflecting in my own. It wasn’t lust or the hunger I felt when he kissed me or even the way my pulse quickened every time he was near.

It was something deeper. The comfort that I found in his presence and the way my smiles felt easier when he was around. The way I wanted to know everything about him, and how I wanted to tell him everything about me, even the things that I’d never told anybody.

I realized that’s why I’d come over here today. Everything about today had felt off and wrong, and I knew that Gabe would make me feel better, safer, happier.

He reached out, taking my hand in his, and his skin felt even warmer than normal, nearly scalding.

“You’re freezing!” His eyes widened with alarm. “At the risk of this sounding like a line, I think you should get out of those clothes.” I arched an eyebrow, so he added, “I’ll throw your dress in the dryer, and in the meantime, you can put on some of my warm, dry clothes.”

I smiled. “That sounds fair.”

Gabe took a step back toward the staircase, still holding my hand as he did. “My clothes are upstairs in my room.”

“Why do I feel like you’re always looking for excuses to get me into your bedroom?” I teased.

“Maybe because I always am,” Gabe admitted, making me laugh again.

He led me to his spacious bedroom, where the wallpaper was carefully concealed with a multitude of band posters. His bed was unmade, hidden beneath a pile of blankets and pillows. The blue teddy bear I’d won him sat on his dresser next to his Nintendo, causing me to smile.

With his back to me, he rummaged through his closet looking for something suitable for me to wear. I pulled my dress up over my head, and since it was sopping wet, I didn’t want to just drop it on his floor.

“So I think this will—” He started turning around, holding a T-shirt in his hand, but then he saw me standing in my white bra and panties, and he just stopped, gaping at me.

Then he shook his head and lowered his eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d already taken off your dress.”

“Don’t apologize.” I laughed. “I knew you were right there when I took my dress off.”

He lifted his eyes slowly, as if expecting there to be some kind of trick, but when I didn’t freak out, he brightened up and said, “Hey, there’s your other tattoo.”

I glanced down at the tattoo that was scrawled across my abdomen in large bold letters.




It’d been my first tattoo, one I’d had to use a fake ID to procure at a rundown tattoo parlor in Denver when I was only fifteen. Roxie had gone with me, and she’d held my hand when it hurt.

Gabe moved closer to me, filling in the few steps that had been between us, and he tilted his head. “What does that say?”

“Lusus naturae. It means ‘freak of nature’ in Latin,” I explained.

He shook his head, and his forehead creased. “Why would you get that?”

“Growing up in a circus sideshow, I always felt that way.” I shrugged, but his reaction made me feel self-conscious, so I hugged my wet dress to me, hiding the tattoo.

“I’m sorry,” Gabe said hurriedly, realizing that his words had stung. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just so beautiful and wonderful and kind, and I can’t imagine anyone ever making you feel like less than that.”

I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t know how to respond. I’d been called beautiful before, mostly by my mother, and by a few clumsy boys who’d said it as they fumbled with my bra hooks. But I’d never had anyone call me beautiful and wonderful, and really mean it, not the way Gabe did.

There was a weight in his words, and a look in his eyes, and a softness in his touch. The way when we walked together, he always slowed his pace to match mine, and he tilted his body toward me whenever he was close.

“I should get your dress in the dryer,” Gabe offered, since I wasn’t doing anything but staring at him. He reached out to take it, but I put my hand over his, stopping him.

“Wait,” I said, breathy and desperate.

His eyes met mine, confused and worried. “Why?”