In my dream, I'm sitting at the table in my kitchen when my mom walks in. Her hair is loose on her shoulders, shining in the morning sun. She goes to the sink to put water in the tea kettle like it's the most normal thing in the world.
"You're alive!" I say, and leap out of my chair to give her a hug. She's solid and strong, like always, and her arms lock me close. I feel her kiss my hair.
"I came to see you," she says. "Are you okay?"
I think about telling her all the things that have gone wrong, but I don't know where to start and it feels so good to hug her. "How long do you get to stay?"
"I'll make you breakfast, how's that?" She pulls back and looks at me, and her eyes are a much better blue than mine. They remind me of somebody, and I can't remember who.
She clatters around my kitchen, which miraculously has everything she needs-eggs and a waffle maker and bacon and milk. "I think you need to find your dad," she says.
"I have a dad," I say. "Henry. You always tell me that."
"Your other dad."
I just look at her, unsure what to think.
"You're lonely." She glances at me. "Aren't you?"
I don't have to nod. In these dreams she always knows everything.
Then breakfast magically appears in front of me, golden waffles smelling of vanilla, and a scrambled egg and three strips of meaty bacon. I gobble it all down, so hungry I forget that my mom is there to see me. When I finish, finally full, I look up and she's gone.
Then I'm falling. Falling a long, long way, back into my bed. I wake up, tangled in the covers. A breeze is blowing in through the small windows over the bed, and it brings the sound of birds in the branches of the tree outside. I lie on my side, head aching a little from the blows and all my stupid crying the night before, and stare at the other window, where a row of coleus and wandering Jew cuttings are lined up in small crystal bottles I've found at garage sales and Goodwill. Henry keeps his eyes open for them now, too. Light breaks through them into shards, making shapes on the ceiling and walls.
Mom.
My heart is hollow with missing her, with the sense of her arms around me. In the quiet morning the pain is too deep for tears. I feel lost and alone. My body feels bruised and battered.
I wish my mother really was here.
I get these dreams a lot, where she comes to visit for a little while. She always hugs me. She always cooks for me. She often says that I shouldn't worry about her, that we all live forever and we'll be together again.
I had psychology my senior year, and I know what the dreams mean. My subconscious is trying to comfort me, and it's not a big surprise I have the dreams when I've had a bad day. But I also like to think they're real in a way, that she really is coming to see me.
After a while my bladder is screaming. I pad through the house in my t-shirt and underwear, getting a pang when I pass the spot where my mom stood to cook for me. I also wish I had a fridge full of bacon and waffles and eggs. There might be a yogurt and some milk in there if I'm lucky. I will have to spend some of my minuscule pile of cash on some groceries. As I pee and brush my teeth, I try to think of the best way to maximize the amount. Ramen noodles. Somebody always has ten for a dollar. A box of powdered milk for my tea. Eggs from somewhere.
It's going to hurt to miss that meal from Billy's every work day.
I make a cup of tea, trying not to think about Rick or the fact that there are no messages on my phone. I don't have time to worry about him, anyway. I have to get to the library and grab a computer before the rush starts, find out who might need waitresses. There are places I'd like to work that go on my mental list, and I'll see what else there is.
I also have to wash some clothes. That will only take four dollars, because Electra has given me permission to use her clothesline and I don't have to dry my laundry in the machine.
Carrying my tea outside to the garden, I wander through the rows of strong-looking vegetables and edgings of herbs. The lavender is starting to bloom and, as Electra has taught me, I bend and bruise a leaf, bring my fingers to my nose. It's a calming scent, she says, and I don't know if it's the smell of fresh air or the garden or the lavender, but I feel like I can face the day.
Maybe I'll even Google my other dad.
* * *
I'm almost out of time on the computer-they only give you 55 minutes-when a text comes in on my phone. I've filed for unemployment and filled out seven applications and I'm on the eighth when I feel it buzz against my leg. I have to finish filling out the last application before I look at it. The librarian is giving me the evil eye, and I put my head down, type in the last three answers as fast as I can and hit send. I close the program so some creepy person can't come after me and read my email, then jump up.
An older guy shuffles over and takes my seat. Tucking my papers under my arm, I pull out my phone to check the text.
How r u holding up? (From Ty)
A zing goes through my blood. Tyler! Walking toward the fiction stacks, I text back:
Ok. U?
I'm not sure what I'm in the mood to read, so I wander through the shelves, head tilted sideways. I've been on a classics kick. Last month it was Steinbeck, Call of the Wild and The Wayward Bus. Of course, I read other stuff in between-all kinds of fiction, from werewolves and vampires to romances, and even sometimes a thriller or two. I'll pretty much read everything but westerns. Hard to get romantic about the Old West, in my opinion, but that's just me. Whenever there's a blizzard here, I wonder how anyone survived. I don't have a TV, and my phone doesn't get the internet. I read like other people watch TV, long and short, happy and sad, whatever.
Or that's what I tell people, anyway. Honestly, I just like reading. It's more private to read than to watch something. Even when I was a little kid, I liked diving between the covers of a book into somebody else's life. Now it's my lifeline.
Considering that my life weighs a billion pounds right now, I'm not in the mood for anything heavy. I pull down a glitzy paperback about an artist in the twenties and a romance set in Greece. By the time my phone buzzes again I have five books. A mystery, a romance, the artist one, and a couple of others that just look like they'll take me somewhere else.
At the end of the display is a bunch of travel guides. As if my mom is pointing, there's one on New Zealand and, just in case she's really talking to me from the other side, I add it to my stack.
I carry the books to the check out line, and my phone gives a second buzz to remind me that I haven't read the text . I bide my time. I don't want him to think I'm too eager. While I wait my turn, I pull out the phone.
U free for lunch today maybe? I'm off.
A burble of nerves rolls through my belly and up through my spine. Grinning, I text back. Make it waffles and I'm in.
When? Where?
I'm checking out books downtown library. Be home in 20.
Wait! I'm downtown now. Came to pick up my check. I'll be outside the lib in two minutes.
"Miss?" a lady says behind me. "Your turn."
I can't hide my grin as I whirl around. "Oops! Sorry."
As quick as I can, I demagnetize the books and hurry out. It occurs to me that I'm not going to want to feed more coins to the meter, so maybe I should just have had him meet me at home after all. It brings back the tense feeling in my chest that's been there all morning. There weren't that many jobs listed, at least not many I'm qualified to do. I could work retail, but minimum wage is just not enough by itself.
I'm biting my lip, thinking about this, when I hear a whistle. Not a sexy one but an "over here" type. A black Audi is pulling up to the curb, a two-door with a sunroof that confirms that he's out of my league.
Tyler's waving a hand toward me, the sun catching his brown and gold hair, and my feet carry me over. I lean down to look at him through the open window. "Hey."
"Hop in," he says, moving things to the back seat. I've forgotten how beautiful his mouth is, like something I would draw or dream up. Looking at it makes me touch my tongue to my own lips quickly.
"I don't want to pay for more parking." I say. "You want to follow me home and I'll park there?"
His eyes catch the light, too, the pupils nearly disappearing as he looks up. It leaves the iris a field of ocean blue and meadow green, almost eerily beautiful. Mesmerizing. "I can, if you want. Or we can just swing by your car and put some quarters in the meter. My treat."
"You don't have to do that."
He smiles. "I can spare a dollar. I'm pretty sure you can't."
"True enough." Relieved, I open the door and climb in. The smell of leather and a recent car wash greets me. Test #1 passed-his car is clean. I hate messy cars with junk all over them. "Nice car," I say lightly, as if I ride in Audis all the time.
"Thanks," he says. "I like it." He frowns at me. "Did you get that black eye during the accident?
I touch it, unwilling to explain the insanity last night. "Crazy, right?" It covers my bases without actually lying.
"Sorry to hear it." His hand rests on the gear shift. The hair on his muscular forearm glitters against his tan skin, and I want to put my hand on it, brush my fingers over that hair. "Waffles, you say?"
I meet his eyes and something hot and quick and real arcs between us, so intense it almost makes a sound. I can feel it all the way down my back, sizzling and popping. "Yes, please."
His gaze slips to my mouth, stays there for a second, comes back to my eyes. "I know just the place."
Then he's shifting, looking over his shoulder and pulling into traffic. As the wind starts to dance in my hair, I pull it into a twist over my shoulder and feel something soaring inside me.
* * *
He takes me to Manitou Springs, a hippie suburb on the skirts of Pikes Peak. It's packed with tourists, and we have to circle a few times to find a parking place, then he leads me to a hole in the wall restaurant on the lower level of an old house. The walls are covered with flowered red wallpaper, and the tables and chairs don't match. A woman in a blue t-shirt dress and curly hair comes over. "Creekside?" she says to Tyler, like she knows him.
"Please." His hand touches the middle of my back as I go in front.
We sit beneath an umbrella on a shaded patio overlooking the creek that races through town. A sign on a tree nearby gives directions on how to get out of the way of a flash flood. "That's creepy," I say, pointing. "Where would we go?"
"Up," he says, pointing behind us. "They've been doing drills. We'd just run across the street and up the steps." His eyes shine as he looks at me. "But today we're probably all right."
"Good to know." The menu is one laminated sheet. Breakfast at the top, lunch on the bottom. My mouth waters as I look at each item, calculating how much I can get on one plate without looking greedy. I worry for a second that he might not have meant he was going to pay, but then I remember that he took care of my parking. I'm safe.
In my pocket, my phone vibrates. "Sorry, I have to look," I say, pulling it out. "I've applied for a million jobs today."
"That's fine."
It's not a job, though. It's Rick. I put it back in my pocket.
Tyler says something, but I'm lost in the choice between the Cottonwood Special and the Miner's Breakfast. "Hmm?"
His chuckle is low and kind. "I'll wait. I can see you're a woman on a mission."
I slap the menu down. "Nope, I've decided on the Miner's Breakfast." Waffle, bacon, eggs and hash browns. Value for the dollar.
The server comes by and takes our orders. I want coffee with mine, even if it's hot out. When she leaves, I sigh. "That's the thing I'm going to miss about my old job. Great coffee by the bucketful."
He folds his hands over his flat belly, stretching his legs out in front of him. I can't help but imagine how that belly looks without the t-shirt covering it. Is he as tan on his tummy as he is on his arms?
"Have you seen your friend?" he asks. "Do you know how things went with her crushed arm?"
"No. I tried this morning." I pick up a spoon and turn it end over end. "They wouldn't let me in. They won't even tell me what her injuries are or anything. She's in intensive care, though. That's pretty bad, right?" It gives me a sick feeling to think about it.
"Maybe," he says with a slight shrug. "Maybe they just need to keep an eye on her. Don't worry more than you have to." He inclines his head. "Did you see the paper this morning?
"No, was the accident in there?"
He takes his phone out and brings up the screen. He flips through something, then hands it over.
The phone is much lighter than I would have thought, and warm from his hand. Sunshine is on the screen so I can't see it, and I have to turn sideways to get it in the shadows. There's a photo of the car sticking out of the restaurant. In memory, I suddenly see Virginia, her bloody arm mangled and hanging loose as they brought her out, and my stomach roils dangerously. I hand the phone back. "I...no...I can't."
"Sorry." He leans forward and touches my shoulders, gently soothing. "It was pretty fucking violent. You must be feeling shaken."
For a dangerous moment I really want to cry. The contrast between Tyler and Rick is so gigantic that I feel like the world's biggest idiot for ever liking Rick at all. With effort, I pull myself under control. Swallow. "I'm okay. Thanks. I just really want to find out about Virginia."
"Maybe we can go by there again on the way back to your car."
I look at him for a long minute. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
A strange expression crosses his face, half-longing, half-bemusement, like he doesn't exactly know himself. "You seem like you could use a friend."
Friend. I've been totally misinterpreting this whole thing. Of course. My ears get hot as I think of how I've been flirting with him. I must seem like a kid to him, and he's clearly got some money and-
"Jess," he says, quietly, and his finger draws a pale line down the flesh of my inner arm.
The feather touch sends ripples through me. I'm too embarrassed to look at him, and he draws a circle in my palm, which to my complete horror makes my nipples hard. Can he see through my shirt? I close my eyes.
"Hey," he says, quietly. "Can I tell you something?"
I nod.
"You have to look at me."
I raise my eyes. Again I'm snared in the blue heat of those irises, but now the pupils are big and dark.
"I waited twenty-four hours to text you because I didn't want to look too eager." His finger spirals around my palm, tickling and arousing.
"Yeah?"
He nods. "What about that boyfriend of yours?"
I lift my shoulders and let them drop. Sliding him a sideways glance from under my eyelashes, I say, "We broke up last night."
"Huh," he says, and smiles very slowly. A locked door opens in my chest and glitter pours through my veins like a magic potion. "Good."
The server brings coffee and two tall, thin glasses of red juice. "House special this morning is watermelon juice. Enjoy."
I raise my eyebrows and pick up the glass. "Have you ever had it before?"
"I come here quite a bit. I live close by."
"In Manitou?" I test the juice, and it's not only delicious, it's one of the top five things I've ever tasted. I gulp a big mouthful. "Oh, my God, that's amazing!" I close my eyes, sip again. "So refreshing." I narrow my eyes. "Is there cucumber in it?"
Tyler grins, watching me. "Whoa, there, Ms. Top Chef."
I blush and put the glass down. "Sorry. Got carried away. People always give me a hard time about that."
"People?"
I shrug, but I'm pretty sure he knows I mean Rick. The whole band. I think of Jake last night, calling me a cunt, and my throat fills up with acid. Why have I put up with them for so long?
Tyler puts a hand on my arm, his thumb falling to my inner wrist like he's going to take my pulse. "I shouldn't have teased you about your palate. I meant it in a good way." His thumb moves. "You make me a little nervous."
"I make you nervous?" I let go of a laugh. It sounds a little too loud at the end. "That's pretty funny."
"Why?"
"Well, you're...older. And more accomplished." I shrug a little. "And you've, like, been to college."
"I don't know what I've accomplished." His eyes peer right through all my defenses and directly into my brain. It's almost too much, but I can't seem to look away. "I haven't stopped thinking about you." He frowns. Shrugs a little. "It's like I knew you when I first saw you."
"Is that some kind of line?" It's so extravagant I'm sure he thinks I must be stupid.
"No," he says clearly. "It's like I can't quite remember your name."
I have no idea what to say. My heart is racing and I like the feeling of his hand but I'm not the kind of person who believes in the otherworld.
Except that maybe I am.
Tyler straightens, taking back his hand. "Now you're going to think I'm that crazy guy."
"No," I say. It gives me a little more confidence that he stepped out there first.
The server brings our food, thank God, because it's getting kind of awkward and I don't know how to fix it, and I really do like him. The waffle is almost two inches thick, with a big scoop of melting butter in the middle. Maybe to balance things out a little, I say, "I dreamed this morning that my mom made me waffles. They smelled just like this."
He grins, picks up his fork and starts to eat his eggs. "Where's your mom? Does she live in town?"
Spreading the butter carefully over the waffle, making sure that every square has some, I shake my head. "She died four years ago. Freak accident-an icicle hit her in the head." I mime it, a sword of ice piercing her brain. "Died instantly."
He's taken aback, but there's no way to make it softer. It's awful and, no matter how other people feel about it, it's worse for me. I pick up the metal container of hot syrup and drizzle it over the waffle, making long x's to complement the butter.
Finally he says, "That's really sad, Jess. I'm sorry."
I blink hard, focusing on the food, and take a bite of my waffle. "This is really good."
He takes the cue. "I don't know anybody who checks books out of the library anymore. Do you go a lot?"
"Yeah." I sip my coffee, hot and sweet, and take another bite of waffle and then one of bacon, my stomach so happy to have substantial food that I don't even really want to talk, not even to the most gorgeous guy I've ever met. "Usually every couple of weeks. I really like to read, but this morning I was using the computer to apply for jobs."
"You don't have a computer?"
"No." I give him a half-grin. "You saw my phone. Does that look like the phone of a computer owner to you?"
For a minute he only looks at me, and I can't decide what he's thinking, so I eat some more.
"I guess I thought everybody had a computer."
"They probably do." There's a particularly beautiful mouthful of waffle awaiting-butter and syrup swirled together in three squares. Carefully, I use my fork to cut it free. "But even if I had an old junky laptop or something, I wouldn't be able to pay for Internet. It's like a hundred bucks a month." I pop the waffle in my mouth.
"True." He nods in acknowledgment. After a second he starts to eat his omelet again. "What do you read?"
"Everything. How about you? Do you like reading?"
"Love it. Right now I'm reading Herman Hesse. Are you familiar?"
I'm glad to be able to nod. "Siddhartha, right? I read it for English class last year."
"I'm reading Narcissus and Goldmund. Maybe you'd like it, too."
"Maybe." I give him a mockingly dark frown. "It always seems like guys want you to read these big heavy, complicated things. I'm not really into that."
His eyes narrow. "You don't read romances, do you?"
"Yep. As a matter of fact, I like romances a lot. And science fiction, and those big thick paperbacks you find in used bookstores about some poor person who makes good."
"Genre, then."
"Sometimes." There are two bites left of the waffle, but my belly is about to split and I put my fork down. "Last month I read Steinbeck. The month before that, my neighbor loaned me a bunch of James Baldwin." I meet his eyes. "Are you only a serious reader?"
He seems to think about this. "Maybe."
"Do you ever read just because it's fun?"
That sideways smile slips upward. "Not so much."
I grin back. "Maybe you should try it."
A sudden darkness swallows the sunlight shining on us and we look up. A fat fluffy cloud is puffing across the sun, leaving swathes of blue on either side. "A warning," he says. "Read only for serious purpose!"
I laugh. "Or maybe you're supposed to read genre."
He laughs, too. "Do you have time to walk around Manitou for a little while?"
"Dude, I'm unemployed, remember?"
"Let's do it." He pulls out some bills and throws them on the table.
* * *
We weave through the heavy tourist traffic, families with kids sweating in the heat and puffing with the altitude. I feel superior, as always, because I grew up here and I'm used to it. "So, Rich Boy, where are you from?"
He glances down, and I think he's going to object, but he says, "Philadelphia. My dad is in finance."
I have no idea what that actually entails, but it sounds like big money. "Did he buy you the car?"
"Yeah. A reward for turning my life around and getting into CC."
Colorado College, the ritzy private college downtown. "If you went to CC, why are you working as a cook?"
He pauses, not looking at me, and I notice a cord in his jaw. "It's...um...complicated. And I don't want to turn into my dad."
I turn sideways to let a woman pass me, and when I look up at Tyler his face is set in hard lines, which warns me off asking what it is about his dad that he hates so much.
Interesting, though. I slip the information away. "What did you study?"
"Environmental science, but I switched to art."
"Really." I grin. "How'd that go over with your dad?"
He inclines his head, the softness back around his smiling mouth. "Not well, as you might imagine."
"Is that why you did it?"
He looks down at me. "You ask a lot of questions."
"I know. Sorry." A breeze blows hair in my face and I catch it back. "People interest me. I like the stories."
"I guess I'll have to be careful, then."
"Is there a deep dark secret?"
"There always is, right?" The words are light, but his eyes are less glittery than they have been.
"Now that sounds interesting."
"Not really. A bunch of tight-ass WASPs hiding their petty little misdemeanors."
I look at him a minute longer, imagining old mansions with servant stairs and debutante balls. A life I can't even begin to imagine, one that doesn't even seem real.
We duck into the arcade, a shaded area with games and saltwater taffy and a natural fountain that continually runs with the water that once made the area famous. I stick my palm under the flow, then bring it to my mouth. "Ah," I say. "Just like Alka-Seltzer."
He's scowling a little, looking at the ground. Lost in his own thoughts.
"Hey," I say. "Sorry if brought up something painful."
He shakes his head. "I did, too, with your mom."
"I have an idea." I take his big strong hand in mine and drag him toward one of the buildings that house the game machines. "I bet you've never played Flaming Finger, have you?"
He grins, allowing himself to be tugged along. "Nope."
"I challenge you to a duel." The machines are tucked into a corner by a bunch of skeeball machines. No one is in here. I reach into my pocket for quarters. "I'll even pay, as long as you win."
It's an old school game that entails using your finger to beat the clock on a little maze. We play against each other. It lightens the mood, and I forget about the fact that I don't have a job or enough money to pay the rent. Our bodies bump into each other now and then, and we both laugh at the fierce competition. A breeze kicks up, blowing through the room, and cools us off.
"That was fun," he says. "Let's get a soda or something. I'm hot."
I follow him out and take a deep breath. "Ooh, that smells good. Like rain."
He points to the sky, heavy and low over the mountains. As we stand there, spikes of lightning skitter over the clouds, and within two seconds a very loud breaking sound cracks through the air. I slam my hands over my ears.
And just that fast, the rain comes, pouring down on us. Tyler grabs my hand and pulls me to a small covered area. It's ours. Everyone else must have ducked inside. Beneath the wooden boards at our feet is the creek, rushing by. I can see the water moving between the boards. "Aren't we supposed to get to higher ground?"
"I'm sure this will blow over in a few minutes. No sirens yet."
I lean on the stuccoed post and gaze out at the sheets of translucent gray rain obscuring the mountains and even the building across the way. After the heat of the day, the billows of cool damp air are sweet, and I breathe in the smell, deep, deep into my lungs. "It's beautiful. I love the rain."
Another vivid flash of lightning strobes across the landscape, and it must strike somewhere within a block, because the thunder sounds like a bomb blast. It shakes the walls and a little kid screams, and I give a little yelp, again covering my ears.
Tyler leans in close. "You all right?"
"Maybe I'm a little bit afraid of thunder."
He slides an arm around me, pulls me into his chest. Grateful, I slip my arms around his waist and lean into his solid body, feeling a surprising amount of hard muscle. My head comes to just his shoulder, and I nestle my cheek into the hollow beneath his collarbone. He smells like soap and sunshine and something that's his alone.
The rain just keeps pouring. Lightning shimmers and thunder blasts. Against my left side, Tyler is warm. His hand on my back moves up and down, brushing to life all the nerves there. His fingers touch the top of my jeans, the curve of my waist.
I move, too, my thumb across the dip in his spine, my other palm across the flat, hard expanse of his belly. I feel slightly dizzy, like the world is being rearranged as we stand there, our bodies speaking for us.
As if those bodies know when to move, he subtly shifts me until I'm leaning against the wall, and I raise my head to look at him. His eyes practically glow in the gray light, and his hand comes up to cup my face, his fingers touching my ear. He pauses for a long second, then he bends down to kiss me.
At first it's a light kiss, just our lips testing the fit. His are as luscious as orange slices, and he knows what he's doing, pressing and sliding ever so slightly, engaging my lips in an easy dance. I can feel his body moving in closer, our legs scissoring so that we can make better contact. His chest moves against my breasts, his right arm around my waist. My hands rest on his hips, patient, happy to be touching him in any way.
After a little while I find myself tilting my head, opening my lips a little. I flick out my tongue to taste the flesh of his lips, and he makes a quiet noise and nestles my head into the crook of his elbow, supporting me as his tongue sweeps through my mouth and mine sweeps back. I love everything about the way he kisses, the way his mouth moves against mine, the slow long roll of his tongue, the way he suckles my lips, then lets go. How he moves fast then slow, light then deep. Around us the air is charged with lightning, giving my skin an extra electric charge, sizzling when his flesh brushes over mine, when his fingers touch the bare skin of my lower back, when his forearm touches my ear. The only sound is the pounding rain, the crashing of thunder, and it cocoons us in our deserted corner. I open my palms on his bare back and explore the dip of his spine, the silky skin, the taut, muscular angle of his waist.
It goes on for a long time, the rain and the kissing. I'm lost in it, deliciously, happily lost.
In my front pocket my phone starts to buzz. Tyler can feel it vibrate against his leg, too, and he chuckles, moving his hips against me. "Interesting," he says against my mouth. "Do it again."
And the phone obliges, making both of us laugh. "Do you want to check it?"
I shake my head, but the mood has changed. It's still charged, but softer. He takes a breath, looking down at me, and then leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. "Wow."
"I know."
"I don't live very far away. Do you want to come over? Not for sex," he adds. "Just to hang out."
It's tempting, but my limbs are faintly trembling, and between my legs is a heat I have never felt before. If I went to his house, I wouldn't trust myself, much less him. I'm not ready for that yet. "Thanks for the offer, but I really should get back and see about Virginia."
"Fair enough." He straightens, takes my hand. The rain has slowed, but it's not yet finished. "Let's sit over there."
We settle on a park bench. I peer between my toes at the water. He doesn't rush to fill up the quiet, and neither do I. It's kind of scary to like him so much, so fast. It seems dangerous. I glance over at him, his aristocratic cheekbones and straight teeth.
He feels my gaze. "What?"
I shake my head. "Nothing."
"You look suspicious."
"I just don't think I'm really your type."
He grins. "What would be my type?"
"I don't know. Somebody who knows what to wear to a business dinner."
His laughter is big and round. "No way. I like natural women." He reaches out and touches my face. "The real thing, without artifice."
Women. I'm pretty sure no guy has called me a woman before this.
It comes to me, softly, to wonder why I like him. He's not my usual type. I usually go for bad boys on motorcycles, guys with nothing to lose. Tyler feels like something rare and surprising that suddenly fell on the sidewalk in front of me, like the lost manuscript of some famous book, or the pigeon's blood rubies that the Indian rajas used to wear. Even if you know you have no right, you can't help trying to hold onto something like that. Even if you know that sooner or later someone will come to reclaim their prize.
****
Where do you think Jess goes from here?