The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(52)

I had some ideas, thanks to his shiver-inducing neck kisses. But when one of the women who lived in the neighboring teal-blue row house stepped outside with her terrier on a leash, I decided it was best to table all my lusty thoughts and get the heck out of there before we were spotted. “Let me get back to you on that.”

Hand in hand, we rushed uphill to the bus stop. Jack never took Ghost on graffiti runs because she was crazy identifiable, so tonight we’d be slumming it on Muni with all the other late-night riders. It was almost like the night we met, only this time I was filled with excitement instead of dread.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said while Jack used his phone to find out exactly where the train was. There would be one or two more trains coming before the Owl took over the route.

“Second thoughts?”

“One or two,” I said. “But no chance I’m bailing now.”

“What about Nurse Katherine?”

I grunted. “She’s drinking wine in bed, which means with any luck she’ll be snoring in about an hour. Either that or she’ll be pushing expired condoms off on Heath.”

“Um, what?”

“She gave me a billion hospital condoms that expire at Christmas.”

He gave me a sidelong glance, and I was instantly aware that this conversation was heading into untested waters. “Is this something she often does?” he asked carefully.

“You know how thrifty she is,” I said with a forced shrug. “The hospital was throwing them away at the hospital, I guess.”

“Huh.”

Ugh. Why had I even brought this up? “She says she gives them to Heath all the time. Not that I want to think about that. I don’t know. She’s just weird sometimes.”

“A billion of them?”

“More like a hundred. What, do the ER patients need to get it on before they leave the building?” I laughed nervously.

“But they aren’t expired yet?”

“December, apparently. That’s what she said, anyway. I didn’t look.” More like I didn’t want him to think I was studying the boxes in my room like a fiend.

“A hundred condoms by December. That’s nearly one a day.”

“Is it?”

“We could break your record with Howard Hooper in less than a week.”

I nearly choked. We, as in us. Was that a suggestion, or was he teasing? “Quality over quantity,” I managed to say over the erratic thump of my pulse.

“Why settle?”

I made a small noise. “You’re awfully confident.”

“You bring out the best in me.”

To hide my smile, I pretended to watch a car passing. But it didn’t matter, because the train was pulling up to the stop. I boarded the train ahead of Jack with a spring in my step. I even greeted the driver.

Yep. I was definitely a goner.

The train was mostly empty and fairly clean, and we settled together in a two-person seat. I assumed we’d be discussing the plan for his graffiti attack, but all he’d tell me was that we were headed for the Civic Center BART station on Market—where underground rapid-transit trains depart for the outlying counties beyond the city and across the Bay. “We’ll have some time to waste when we get there, so we can stop for caffeine if you need it.”

I wouldn’t.

As the train picked up and dropped off other passengers, we spent the trip talking about this and that. Friends. School. The art contest and my plans for using the scholarship money if I won. I even told him more of the story about my parents’ divorce, and about the mysterious artist’s mannequin being delivered and my email response from the wood-carving shop in Berkeley. He offered to go with me if I decided to talk to the guy who’d made my mannequin and find out how to contact my dad. If I was going to make the trek out there—behind my mom’s back, I might add—I’d definitely rather do it with Jack at my side.

Not surprising to either of us, toward the end of our conversation, the train broke loose from the overhead cable near Duboce Park (this happens all the time), and we had to wait nearly half an hour for the driver to reconnect it. By the time it dropped us off near the Civic Center, the BART station was closed and locked up.

“Perfect,” Jack said, slipping on thin leather gloves.

“It is?”

“Yep. Follow my lead. And let me know if you see any cops.”

This area was dodgy at night, but it was mostly homeless people and nonthreatening street punks. I wasn’t all that worried, since Jack was with me, though my nerves were bouncing with anticipation. What I didn’t understand was why we were here, exactly. It was a major thoroughfare, and though it wasn’t exactly bustling at one o’clock in the morning, it wasn’t hidden, either—unlike most of the other places he’d hit.

At the end of the block, he watched for a moment before we retraced our steps.

“Where are we—”

He stopped at one of the subway entrances. It was a small one—and like many others around the city, just a railed-off area of the sidewalk with a BART sign. Normally, there would be steps descending underground inside the railing, but on this night the entrance was covered by one of those temporary plywood construction enclosures with four walls and a roof. A makeshift door was boarded up, with a laminated sign attached: ENTRANCE OUT OF SERVICE UNTIL ___. The blank had been filled in with the next day’s date, and the sign instructed riders to use an alternate entrance around the block.