Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(27)

My phone rings. The tinny chime splits the silence and cuts through the romance of the moment, but I don’t move to answer it. Maybe if I stay just like I am, he’ll still kiss me.

“You gonna answer that?” Will’s voice is a breathy almost-whisper against my lips.

“No.”

His lips land on mine as soon as the word is out of my mouth, like he was waiting for that one word as permission. His kiss is insistent, hungry, and sends wave after wave of awareness and anticipation crashing through me. I’ve always imagined my first kiss would be slow and awkward, but there’s nothing awkward about kissing Will. It’s like we’re back in the club, dancing together in perfect unison.

When his tongue sweeps across my lips, I feel the sensation in my soul and answer him with a nibble to his bottom lip. He makes an almost imperceptible sound of approval. I withdraw just a hairsbreadth, and he follows me, closing the distance between our lips before it opens. The hand he’s had playing in my hair all this time splays across my tingling scalp and holds me steady.

At some point, my phone stops ringing, but I’m not paying attention to it anymore. All my focus is on Will, on this kiss, on the way his lips are both demanding and gentle against mine. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I place them against his chest near his shoulders, not to push him away but to expand our connection. His free hand lands at my hip, and images of him holding my hips while we danced flash through my brain.

Ring, ring. My phone interrupts the moment again, and I swear it’s a hundred times louder than it was just a few moments ago.

Will pulls back, and my lips suddenly feel cold without his kiss. He removes his hand from my hair but leaves the one at my hip. “You should probably get that. Must be important for whoever it is to call right back.”

I don’t want to admit it, but he’s probably right. I extricate myself from his arms and reach for my phone.

The moment I see my mother’s number on the screen, I know something’s wrong. She never calls me repeatedly unless something’s up. I swipe my thumb across the screen and put the phone to my ear. “Mom, what’s wrong?” I do my best to not let my mounting concern show in my tone.

“Marisol, I need you to come home, rápido. We’re out of milk.” We devised the code phrase when I first became old enough to go places and do things on my own. It started as a joke, and I never actually thought I’d hear her say it for real. But here she is, telling me we’re out of milk, and her voice is rushed but quiet, like she’s trying not to be overheard.

She’s not alone.

“Is it—” I catch myself before I say Petrov’s name. The less Will knows about him, the better. “I’ll be right there,” I tell her.

“I love you, mija. Be safe.”

“Love you, too. See you in a few minutes.” I hang up the phone, and by the time I slip it back into the pocket of my sweater, I’m in full freak-out mode. It takes everything I have to maintain my composure and not let on to Will just how freaked I am by my mother’s call. “I have to go,” I tell him without looking him in the eye. I stand up from the swing, and he does the same.

“I’ll walk you.” His tone is all business; he must realize something is wrong.

I consider arguing with him, telling him I don’t need a babysitter, but right now, I need the comfort of his company for the two-block walk back to my place. Between my mom’s call just now and the guy following me earlier, if I walk alone, I’m going to imagine every possible thing that could be happening, and I’m going to get so caught up in my own imaginings, I’ll be a nervous wreck by the time I arrive. “Okay.”

I let him lead me to the door and into the elevator. The descent to the main floor seems to take forever. But finally we make it out of the building and onto the street, and he leads me toward home.





Chapter Twelve


The two blocks between Will’s apartment building and mine might as well exist in a fog for all I’m aware of my surroundings. I’m intent on getting home as quickly as possible and don’t have time for things like paying attention to the world around me. Will stays by my side easily, keeping up with my almost jog with long, easy strides. He doesn’t say anything, but I don’t need him to. Or want him to.

The minutes feel hours long, but eventually, we make it to my building and rush inside. The eleven is lit up on the floor indicator above the elevator, and it doesn’t seem to move even after I hit the call button. When it does start moving, the descent is painfully slow. As each new floor lights up, my gaze darts over to the stairs, and I weigh the merits of jogging umpteen flights to my floor. I could do it, but by the time I got there, I’d be borderline worthless for even simple conversation, let alone whatever trouble awaits up there, and it probably wouldn’t be much quicker than just waiting for this slow-ass elevator.

When all’s said and done, I waffle over the choice for so long that I’m still standing in front of the elevator when it dings and the metal doors part to let me in. Will places his hand against one of the doors to hold them open while I enter, but I’m so anxious, I’m inside long before the doors would have closed. I press the button, even as Will is still stepping into the car.

“You don’t need to come up with me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to involve you in my drama.”