In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(17)

It freaks me out—how much I want this.

“I, uh,” Rex says, and with my ear pressed to his chest his low voice rumbles through me. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” The feeling of comfort drains out of me, leaving me exhausted just thinking about waking up that morning, hopeful and unsure, and finding him gone, without even a note to say good-bye.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” I say, and I can hear the resentment in my voice. Rex shifts backward so he can see my face. I make sure my expression is neutral.

“Not true. I just wanted to get Marilyn to the vet. And, like I said, it seemed pretty clear you’d take any job over one here. I didn’t think our little town made a real good impression.”

“I dunno. You were a pretty good welcome wagon,” I say. “Even if you didn’t say good-bye.”

“Hmph,” he says. His expression has shuttered. It makes him look sterner, older. “Well, you’re here now. I suppose you’ll be using this job as—what’d you call it? As a springboard?”

“Maybe,” I say. I’m amazed that he remembers our conversation so well. He even remembers the word I used. “I’ll have to see. I’m here for this year at least. Um….” I make a vague motion toward my pants, which are bunched at the bottom of the tree.

Rex lets me go and I try to go about putting my twisted underwear and pants back on with some semblance of dignity. Not that there’s much room for dignity when you’ve just been wrung dry against a tree in the middle of the night.

“Suppose you walked?” Rex asks. I nod.

“Hey, you’re not from here, are you?” I ask.

“Nope. Texas, originally,” Rex says, doing a much better job of putting himself back together with dignity than I’ve done. “But I lived all over. Why?”

“Your accent. You don’t have that nasal Michigan thing. And you say suppose.”

“What’s wrong with suppose?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. Just, usually people who say suppose are either, like, being formal or they’re from the South. So I just wondered. Texas, huh? So, are you into that whole cowboy thing?” I’m babbling again, but there is just something about Rex on a horse—or a bull, or whatever the hell they have in Texas—that’s incredibly hot. Rex with a whip.

“For a professor, you’re kind of into stereotypes, aren’t you?” Rex says, but he doesn’t seem offended. “Serial killers are from the Midwest; everyone in Texas is a cowboy.”

I groan. “You remember that, huh?” I was desperately hoping that, what with the orgasms and all, maybe he wouldn’t have registered that part of our exchange.

“It only happened a few minutes ago, Daniel,” he says, and he chucks me under the chin.

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t actually think those things. I just—”

He pulls me into his chest and tips my chin up. He kisses me lightly and smiles, then strokes my stomach. I look down and see his come has dried in white streaks on my black T-shirt.

“That’s pretty grim,” he says.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m doing laundry tomorrow.” Rex’s eyes darken and that predatory expression is back.

“I’m not sorry about that,” he says. “I mean your shirt. You sure know how to put a guy in his place.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down again. I forgot that my shirt says No One Will Ever Love You. “It’s a Magnetic Fields song,” I say, and I turn around to show him the back: 69 Love Songs.

“Mmhmm.” He pats my ass. “That’s a band, I suppose?” he says with a playfully exaggerated drawl.

I once again slide my copy of The Secret History into my back pocket and feel for my iPod in the left.

I’d almost forgotten she was here, but Marilyn lets out one bark and stands up.

“Yeah, girl, time to go,” Rex says, and pats her head.

I stick my fists in my pockets, trying to figure out how I can make sure I see him again.

“Hey, where am I?” I ask Rex. “I walked from that way, I think.”

“You living in town?”

“Yeah. Above the hardware store.”

“Carl’s place?”

“Whoa, small town,” I say. I’m joking, but he doesn’t smile.

“If you follow the road for about a mile, you’ll hit town,” he says. “On your left.”

“I walked for a lot more than a mile, I’m pretty sure,” I say.

“Yeah, you likely looped around. This road has a horseshoe curve that you can avoid. Just stay left. I can drive you if you want. I mean, I need to go back home and get my truck, but—”

“Nah, I’m cool,” I say. “It’s a nice night.” I need to clear my head.

“Sure,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I’ll see you, Daniel.”

Wait, that’s it? He still doesn’t want my number, or…?

“Um, yeah, I’ll see you,” I say. “Maybe… in town?”

“Very likely,” he says.

“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll just….” I gesture down the road. “Bye, Marilyn. I’m really glad you’re all right.” I pet between her ears and she puts out a paw.