How (Not) to Fall in Love(66)

“Not all of them,” he said. “But you’re welcome.”

“I loved Mrs. Sandri’s house. I want my mom to see it.”

His shoulders sagged. Was that relief? “I thought you’d like that one best.”

“See?” I blinked in the sun and smiled at him for real. “Maybe you do know me pretty well.”

He dropped his gaze again, but not before I saw something indefinable flicker there.

“I’ll take you home.” He fished his keychain out of his pocket, still not looking at me.

“No.”

“No?” He looked up, his eyes shooting angry sparks again.

“I’ll take the bus. You’ve spent enough of your day with me already. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Darcy. Don’t be a—”

“Don’t you dare call me a martyr.”

His eyes widened. “How’d you know I was going to say that?”

I tapped my head. “I’m psychic.”

He almost smiled. “Warn me next time. I’ll bring my tin foil hat.”

“Those never work. My wicked mind-reading skills penetrate right through that stuff.”

“You’re a mind reader, huh?” He swung his keychain around his finger, watching me through narrowed eyes. “Tell me what I’m thinking right now.”

I swallowed. There were so many things I hoped he was thinking. “You’re thinking you can’t wait to drop me off and go do guy stuff. Fix cars, watch ESPN. Watch a dude action movie instead of hanging out with a girl who watches sappy movies and reads awful books.”

He shook his head, his cryptic smile making my heart flutter. “You’re a lousy psychic. Not even close.”

“Food,” I said. “That should’ve been my first guess. You’re always hungry.”

“True, but that’s not what I’m thinking about right now.” He took a step toward me and suddenly this wasn’t a game anymore. “Guess again.” His voice was soft, like a caress reaching out to me even though his hands were in his pockets. “Tell me what I want.”

You want to kiss me. You’re going to kiss me. I see it in your eyes. I wasn’t psychic, but I wasn’t blind, either. Oh. My. God.

“Crapuccino,” I croaked. “Extra dry.”

“Wrong,” he said, taking another step toward me. “Try again, Shaker Girl.” We stood inches apart, breathing in each other’s air.

The sharp ring of my cell sounded, making both of us jump and shattering the tension. Frustration shot through me as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and stared at the caller ID.

“It’s my mom. I need to answer.” Why oh why hadn’t I put it on silent?

“No worries,” Lucas said, stepping back. His gaze had lost its heat and intensity, and I missed it already. We started walking, and he hung back a few steps to give me privacy.

The raw pain of Mom’s sobs pushed away all my fantasies about Lucas. “Mom? What is it? Is it Dad?” Please, God. Don’t let him be dead.

Lucas caught up to me. I barely registered his hand on my shoulder.

“Not Dad, me. It’s me. Oh, Darcy, I’ve failed us,” her voice wailed in my ear.

I turned away from Lucas, afraid he’d hear her. “Mom, just tell me what happened.”

“Pam fired me today. She said I was…un(hic)reliable. And un(hic)professional. She said I looked like something the cat dragged in.”

I closed my eyes and sagged against Lucas, dimly aware of his arm encircling my shoulders. “Oh, Mom,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Where are you? When are you coming home?”

“I’m with Lucas. Looking at apartments, remember?” Oh no. How could we rent a place now, without any income? Oh my God. Don’t think about it. Just do the next thing…do the next thing. Breathe. “I’ll be home soon, Mom. I’m almost at the bus stop.”

“I’ll come get you,” she said, slurring her words.

“No, Mom. You’ve been drinking. You can’t drive.”

Lucas took the phone from my hand. “Mrs. Covington? This is Lucas. I’ll drive Darcy home. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” He paused. “Yes, ma’am. Good-bye.”

He handed the phone back to me then tightened his grip around my shoulders.

He put a finger on my lips. “Don’t argue. I’m driving you home.”

“But…but.” What could I say? That I didn’t want him to see my mom drunk? That I wanted him to see me as…not perfect, exactly, but maybe…acceptable?

That hardly mattered now.



Lucas drove fast, but not so fast that I worried. “Should we bring food to your mom?” He hesitated. “If she’s drinking, she should eat.”

I leaned my head against the passenger side window, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of the cool glass on my skin. “We have leftover enchiladas. I made them last night. And some burned rice.”

“Sounds great. Is there enough for me, too?”

I opened my eyes to stare at him. “What?”

His eyebrows knotted. “I’m not going to just drop you off, Darcy. I’ll come in to help. Stay for a while.”