month. She wished he’d put the top down so all Central Avenue could see the two of them going along together in that cool car: her and Carter Bellinger, Carter and her. Probably he wanted privacy, given what they were just about to do.
When they left the Cineplex she thought tonight was the night, they were finally going to do the scary, private thing that would bond them forever, body and body, heart and heart. Naturally Carter would want to keep the top up, so nothing could interrupt and no fool cruising on Bayfront Drive that late would accidentally see in. When they finally Did It, she thought, it would be a relief. Then Carter would be hers and Jen and every Tiffany and Britney in Fort Jude could go the fuck to hell.
Now she’s not so sure.
They didn’t park on the bay they just drove on, past the usual place where she and Carter almost got started once. He kept going even though the makeout spot was deserted and the moon was making one of those paths of light on the water that your heart follows to the stars. They didn’t park, at least not then. Carter just kept going along the waterfront to the two big old cement sphinxes guarding the bridge to Coral Shores. It was so late that all the houses on Coral Boulevard were dark; they were all safe in bed while she and Carter . . . She doesn’t know.
They sneaked into the Tills’ house on Coral Circle, they were there for hours and she still doesn’t know!
Carter had her breaking into somebody’s house in the dead of night and messing with their belongings, and the weird thing? She never gave it a thought.
She would have followed him anywhere.
Never mind that everyone knew the Tills were in Europe and the house was alarmed, never mind that or that Shoresafe Security could put them in jail. Carter walked her up to the side door just like they’d been invited. He found the key under the cement hoptoad and let her in! How did he know what numbers to tap into the alarm? The Tills have a deal where when you walk into a room the whole ceiling lights up – awesome, right? It was like walking into a private club with the floors waxed and everything set up and waiting, just for them.
‘This is the place.’
‘What about the Tills?’
‘Fuck ’em.’
The minute the lights went up on the humongous playroom, Steffy freaked. ‘They’ll see us!’
Laughing, Carter pointed. ‘No they won’t.’
She saw stainless steel Rolos locked over the windows like armor on a tank. If the Tills ever had kids it was a long, long time ago, but somebody spent a lot of money on this paneled rec room with fake stuffed grouper and swordfish on plaques, a pool table and a pinball machine complete with flashing lights and a bucket full of quarters so anybody could play. They had an old-timey soda fountain left over from Early America – Mr Till’s bar. Champagne glasses and Gators mugs stood on glass shelves under a barroom mirror with an alligator at the top in frosted glass.
‘There’s beer in the fridge.’
‘How do you know?’
His voice got raw. ‘He has parties here.’
‘What . . .’
‘You don’t want to know.’
There were squashy sofas and fat chairs at the far end of the room so Steffy thought probably this was the place where she and Carter were finally going to get down to it; he’d picked here because it was private, she just hoped to God they didn’t get caught. It was exciting and scary and weird.
Instead they played pool for, like, a hundred hours. She didn’t think it was because she kept winning, but the longer they played the madder Carter got and the more she won, the more he wouldn’t let her quit.
Her boy was pissed at something; he started out pissed tonight. He was pissed before they broke into the house. Then he was pissed because all he found in the minibar was Diet Coke, like Mr Till hid all the liquor because Carter was coming, or Mrs Till had put Mr Till into rehab and poured his booze down the sink. In fact, Carter was pissed about a lot of things, which was odd since Mr Till nicely left the key for him, and Carter tapped in the alarm code like it wasn’t the first time.
Maybe if she’d let him win the trouble wouldn’t have started, but Steffy