Evanescent - By Addison Moore Page 0,58

sweeps over me, seducing me in ways I could never imagine. Coop rakes his breath over my cheek. For a second our eyes lock, and I’m not sure what the next moment will bring.

“I’m not into Grayson,” he rasps it out in a hoarse whisper.

I wonder if I should reciprocate and say the same about Wes, but my lips seal themselves together instead.

Coop presses his hand in the small of my back as he leads us deeper into the house. A nightlight glows from the kitchen, and it affords the entire downstairs a suburban romantic appeal.

A shadow appears in the living room. “You’ve brought a guest.”

I jump behind Coop nearly taking out his shoulder.

“Dad.” His voice increases in volume and rocks me out of the quiet fantasy world we were spinning through a moment ago.

“Hi, Dr. Flanders.” I maneuver next to Coop, more than slightly embarrassed. This can’t look good. “I have the DNA samples,” I say it boastfully as if that were my sole purpose for being here—as if I always wore a short lace dress on my scientific dealings after midnight.

“Perfect.” Dr. Flanders says it rather sternly as he adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. He’s wrapped in a blue flannel robe with his house slippers on, and it makes me uncomfortable to see him this way. “Come with me,” he says as he leads us to the back office.

He flicks on the small desk lamp, and the room illuminates enough to make me squint. I glance up at the wall where the family portrait hangs and take in his mother with her fair coloring, her smooth easy smile. I want to memorize her. I want to recognize her if I somehow end up in those Celestra tunnels.

“Laken?” Dr. Flanders blinks in my direction. “Would you like to give me the samples?”

“Oh yes,” I say, pulling the plastic bag from my backpack. “It’s mostly hair, and I stole her toothbrush.”

Neither Dr. Flanders nor Coop seems that impressed with my hygienic heist.

I study Dr. Flanders as he hems and haws over the articles before placing them in a small, white bin.

“I’ll run a complete panel and have the results to you as soon as possible. Have you noticed anything odd about her in general?”

“She’s the spitting image of Hattie Tobias,” I say. “Hattie’s ghost.” I’m quick to correct.

Dr. Flanders stares pensively past the two of us before nodding. “We’ll know soon enough.” He presses out the impression of a dull laugh. “What’s going on here?” He directs the question to Coop.

“It was homecoming tonight.” Coop leans back and takes a deep breath. He’s still in his suit jacket. His teal tie, that matched Grayson’s monstrosity of a dress, hangs from his neck like a noose. “I thought we’d chill out, maybe watch a movie.”

Dr. Flanders doesn’t appear amused. His lips twist while needling Coop with an aggressive stare. “Marky’s apprised me of the ongoing situation. Turns out, Laken’s been spending quite a bit of time here—mostly early morning hours from what I understand.” He amps up the sarcasm and suddenly I’m eyeing the exit.

Shit.

“Cooper sleeps on the floor,” I say it so fast it sounds like a lie. I wonder if that’s how I’ll say it to Wes when he finds out.

Guilt crushes me like a pile of stones lying over my chest.

I bet Dr. Flanders thinks all kinds of inappropriate things are going on upstairs.

An image of Coop’s naked body writhing over mine flies through my mind—his teeth grazing over my shoulder, the curve of his bare back, his shin flexing as he pushes into me—it plays on a loop and I can’t shut it off.

“Laken?” Dr. Flanders knocks on his desk. “I asked if you’re using protection.”

“Protection?” An image of a shotgun bounces through my mind until I realize that’s not the kind of self-defense he’s referring to.

Crap. We just went there.

He frowns into Coop before dipping into his medical bag and producing a pair of small foil packets.

Condoms! Ack! Shit, shit, shit!

Everything in me wants to jump out of the chair, my skin—the window. Is this Dr. Flanders’ way of giving us his carnal blessing? By offering us parting gifts for the evening?

Just sitting next to Coop makes me feel dirty now.

“They’re not mine.” It comes out dry as he looks to Coop. “They’re from the convention. They’re stunt condoms. They light up, heat up, vibrate, what have you.” He gives an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what they do and please do not give a report in