The Anatomical Shape of a Heart(59)

“Say the magic word.”

“Uncle!”

“That’s not it.”

I changed tactics and tickled him back. He jumped, lifting us both off the seat. “All right, girl,” he purred roughly. “You’re asking for it now.”

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

He cradled the back of my head with his hand and reeled me closer. His mouth covered mine, strong and confident. I laughed against his lips, just for a second, and then gave in.

The kiss deepened, and his hand drifted down my neck to my side, tracing the curve of my waist, over my hip, and back up. Like he was trying to imagine what I looked like beneath my clothes. That thought thrilled me almost as much as his roaming hand … until he boldly cupped my breast.

Breathing heavily, he broke the kiss—barely—and said against my lips, “Okay?”

I put my hand over his to hold it in place.

“You feel fantastic,” he murmured, his breath teasing my neck.

“You sound surprised.”

“I’ve fantasized about you in every possible way, but the real thing … God, Bex. You’re so soft. And—oh. Well.”

I gasped. I couldn’t help it.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, running his thumb over my nipple.

I didn’t answer; he was too full of himself, sounding all pleased with his discovery. A field of goose bumps bloomed across my arms and warmed me from his hot mouth, down my chest, my stomach … and lower. I knew that heat followed the same path in him, because he stiffened against my hip, which excited me even more.

As rain drummed against the car, he slouched lower in the seat and silently urged me to straddle his lap. I didn’t care that the steering wheel poked my back when I got carried away. We kissed forever, leisurely, until his big hands palmed my butt, greedily tugging me against him. The bump in my jeans where the seams converged between my legs was wedged between the softness of me and the hardness of him.

“You’re killing me,” he murmured huskily against my ear.

I closed my eyes and grinned. “Am I?”

“I want you.”

“I know.”

His low laugh sent chills down my neck. “I did warn you I wasn’t a monk.”

“Definitely not if we keep this up.”

Exhaling heavily, he pulled back and cupped my cheeks in his hands. “We should probably cool it anyway. I promised Katherine the Great I’d get you to work on time, and the rain will gum up traffic on the Bay Bridge. Plus, it’s going to take me a couple of minutes to … calm down.”

I cleared my throat and tried not to smile. “I don’t think I could stand up right now if I tried. Just hold me a little while longer, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, and gathered me closer. I rested my head on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his old leather jacket while our breathing slowed and synced. Everything that had happened with my father felt a million miles away. Like it had happened to me in another lifetime. Jack made me feel safe and strong and good and calm.

Maybe he was my lake, too.

24

Two days later, I covered for another girl at Alto Market and worked a ten-hour shift. By hour number eight, I was completely exhausted. How did Mom work twelve hours like it was nothing? I didn’t understand, but as I scanned my kajillionth block of imported cheese, I wondered just how little I understood about my mom in general.

I googled cabarets in Santa Monica and found the Freckled Rose, a cabaret slash piano bar formerly owned by one Suzi Cameron. Guess Dad was right, because it really didn’t look like a strip club. Most of its performers were older than my parents, and they were all wearing (awful) clothes. I so wanted to call Mom out on this, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her how I found out. So I told Heath instead.

“Sometimes people exaggerate when they’re upset” was all he said.

Exaggerate? Exaggerating was saying you ate a whole sleeve of Girl Scout cookies when you really ate only half. But I couldn’t get into it with Heath, because he asked me how I’d tracked it down. Because of the way he was grilling me about it, I didn’t feel like revealing my meeting with Dad. So I just said I was poking around and found it online.

“Just drop it, Bex,” Heath told me. “Even if Mom exaggerated about the cabaret, Dad cheated on her and left all of us. We don’t have a father. Big deal. It’s just life.”

He was probably right.

Ms. Lopez checked in on me after our last rush of customers for the night. “Hanging in there? Feet sore?”

“I should’ve bought some of those inserts you told me about,” I said, stretching my neck side to side.

“No, you should’ve told Mary to stop dumping her shifts on you.” She clicked the top of a ladybug pen and clipped it to her apron. “Did you miss your anatomy drawing session tonight? How is that going?”

“I missed it, but it’s okay. I’m almost finished. The one good thing about doing a million sketches before I decided on the right angle is that I’ve got it down perfect now. One more session for the final details and I’ll be done.”

“Just in time for the art contest?”

“A week to spare,” I said with a smile. I was feeling a lot better about it, especially after my last drawing session, during which a group of med students came over to my end of the lab to check out my illustrations of Minnie. They acted impressed. Like, really impressed.