Come Back To Me (15 page)

mission for the day,’ she whispers in my ear.

I roll my eyes at her again and, grabbing my bag, hop

out. Kit picks me up and swings me around, his lips find-

ing mine before I even have time to say hi. I only vaguely

hear Didi honking her horn as she drives off.

After a minute Kit lets me go, though his arms stay

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around my waist. We stare at each other for a few sec-

onds, both smiling as though lost for words, and I’m

struck anew, as I always am, by the colour of his eyes,

how much they remind me of a summer sky. I know that

whenever I think of Kit in the future I’ll think first of a

summer day, because he makes me feel like I’m basking

in sunshine, warmed through. He spins me around, takes

my hand and marches us towards his truck.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask as soon as Kit starts the

engine.

‘It’s a surprise,’ he answers.

I grin and slide across the seat so I can wrap my hands

around his arm. He’s wearing a grey T-shirt and I run my

hand over his bicep and down his forearm. I still can’t

quite believe I get to do this after fantasizing about it so

often.

About three blocks from where we started, Kit takes a

left turn into a quiet residential street and parks up. I turn

to him. ‘What are we doing here?’

Kit doesn’t answer, he just pings his seatbelt and then

opens his door.

‘What?’ I ask. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Swap,’ he says. ‘You’re driving.’

‘What?’ I say again, panic gripping my insides. ‘I don’t

know how.’

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I’m teaching you.’

I stare at him, my mouth falling open, but he’s already

heading around the front of the truck to my side and I’ve

got no choice but to scoot over to the driver’s side.

He gets in. ‘You’ve got your learner’s permit, right?’

I nod.

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‘So we’re all good,’ he says, climbing into the passen-

ger seat.

I grip hold of the steering wheel. ‘I’m not sure this is

such a good idea,’ I say, looking across at Kit nervously.

‘Are you insured?’

‘Yes, don’t worry,’ he says, grinning and resting his

arm on the back of my seat. He runs me through the

pedals, pointing out the clutch and the brake.

‘A stick shift?’ I say, pulling a face.

‘You gotta learn on a stick,’ he says. ‘No other way.’

I swallow and stare at the dashboard. ‘OK, I can do

this.’

‘You can do this − it’s easy, like riding a bike.’

‘Except I can only kill
myself
riding a bike.’

Kit rests his hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re going to do

fine. You need to learn how to drive.’

He’s right about that, and if I wait for my father to buy

me a car or agree to lessons I’ll be waiting until I’m old

enough to retire. I turn to face the road and take a deep

breath. ‘OK,’ I say.

Kit shows me how to start the engine and put the truck

into gear. He puts his hand on my leg to show me which

one to use for the clutch, and my leg jerks up on reflex

making me stall. We start again, and this time he doesn’t

touch me, he just points. I ease away from the kerb and

before I know it I’m driving at eight miles an hour.

‘OK, a little more gas,’ Kit suggests and as I push my

foot to the floor we start bunny-hopping down the street.

‘Second gear,’ Kit says.

I ram the gear stick down into second and then into

third, Kit helping me out by putting his hand over mine.

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After half an hour of driving up and down residential

streets, Kit shows me how to park, then he gets me to

swap sides with him.

My pulse is racing and my legs trembling. ‘I just drove

a car!’ I say as he moves off.

‘You did. And you were pretty good at it,’ he says.

‘You’re going to take your test before I leave.’

The sudden reminder of his leaving date makes my

shoulders slump.

‘What?’ he asks.

I shrug and give him a weak smile. ‘Nothing.’

He doesn’t buy it and leans over, brushing a strand of

hair out of my face. ‘What’s up?’

I don’t want to bring it up, to talk about his leaving

and what it might mean for us, because we’ve only been

seeing each other for five days. We’re not even officially

dating. I’m not going to ruin the day by worrying about

tomorrow.

‘Tell me where we’re going now,’ I say brightly, hoping

to distract him.

He refuses to tell me so I settle back and enjoy the ride,

letting the wind blow through the truck and whip away

all my anxieties. I look across at Kit while he drives, one

arm resting on the windowsill, and take a mental snap-

shot. Then I remember I have my new iPhone and pull it

out to take a real photo. He glances across at me when I

point the phone in his direction and smiles. I scroll to the

photo on my phone, and see myself in some not too dis-

tant future doing the same thing, staring at the image of

Kit driving, smiling at me, and I know I’ll strive to recall

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the detail of this day so that I can relive it, struggling to

remember the feel of his lips on mine. A dull ache

expands in my chest and a solid lump rises up my throat

and I look out the window, trying to straighten my face

out.We’re heading into the city, I notice. I get a little flutter

in my stomach thinking about what Didi said about Kit

taking me to a motel. Is that the plan? No. Even as I think

it, I dismiss the idea. Given how slow he’s taking things, I

don’t think that’s on the cards. A part of me slumps in

quiet disappointment. The thought of having sex with Kit

makes my heart beat faster. I can’t stop thinking about it.

I want to sleep with him, but I’m also scared, because I

don’t think I’ll be able to sleep with him and then act like

it was nothing. If I have sex with Kit, it will involve more

than giving him my body, it will mean giving him my

heart. And he’s leaving.

He’s leaving and I don’t want him to leave me heart-

broken.

He’s going to leave you like that anyway
, a voice in my

head pipes up.

He turns to look at me then, smiling, and I realize it’s

true. Whether I sleep with him or not, I’m going to be

heartbroken when he goes.
So you may as well sleep with

him
, the same voice says.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Kit asks.

I feel my cheeks starting to blaze red. ‘Nothing,’ I

mumble.

He raises an eyebrow at me. ‘I recognize that look,’ he

says. ‘You were thinking about kissing me.’

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‘I was not,’ I argue. I was actually thinking about

having sex with you, I want to say, but I don’t.

‘Whatever you say,’ he smirks.

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Kit

For an actress, she can be lousy at pretending. I like that,

though. I like that she doesn’t hide her feelings around

me. Around her family she always wears a mask, but I

can always tell how she’s feeling just from the tone of her

voice or the look in her eye. Maybe I’m just getting better

at reading her. Or maybe around me she just doesn’t feel

the need to pretend and can let her barriers down.

Right now I can tell she’s thinking about me leaving.

It’s playing on my mind too – the more time I spend with

Jessa, the harder it gets to contemplate going anywhere.

I’ve never felt that way before. I’ve always counted down

the days, excited to be on the move again, anxious to get

back to my unit, to feel the adrenaline rush of doing my

job and doing it well. But now I’m willing the days to

slow down, to stop rushing by so fast. I find myself star-

ing at the calendar, mentally checking off the weeks left,

even figuring out how many dates that might allow me

with Jessa – if that’s what these secret meet-ups even are.

Are we dating?

I feel like it would be wrong to make things more

formal between us because how is that fair on her if I’m

leaving? It’s not like we could date while I’m away. I’m

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not even sure how long I’ll be gone for. Or what the

comms will be like wherever we’re going.

Riley manages it with Jo, my inner voice argues. Yeah,

but look at Jo. Look how unhappy she is. I don’t want

that for Jessa. I want her to be happy. I want her to go to

college and have fun. She deserves that after all the

misery her father lays on her. And if she meets another

guy while she’s there? I muse broodily. I hate the idea of

that. Can’t stand even to imagine it. But what right have I

to expect her to wait for me?

I pull the truck into a parking space right beside the

beach and push all these thoughts aside. I want today to

be perfect. ‘Did you bring your bikini?’ I ask. She nods,

staring out the window. ‘I love La Jolla,’ she answers,

jumping out the truck.

‘We’re not staying,’ I say.

She frowns at me, her bag halfway to her shoulder.

‘We’re not?’ she asks.

‘Nope,’ I say, pointing at the row of red kayaks on the

beach. ‘We’re going kayaking to the sea caves.’

Her face lights up and I get a rush, that feeling I always

get around her when she smiles at something I do or say.

It’s addictive. It just makes me want to keep doing more

and more, finding new ways to make her smile. I have a

few ideas about things I want to do to her to make her

more than just smile. I have fantasies that involve hearing

her scream my name, but every time I go there I have to

cut myself off. The slowness is killing me, but it’s the only

way. I don’t just want Jessa for her body. I want all of her.

And besides, there’s a novelty factor in taking it slowly.

I’m enjoying the intoxicating tension that’s building up.

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Turns out that kayaking is a lot of fun, but it’s even

more fun when you get to stare at Jessa in a bikini while

you paddle. I hardly notice the sea lions I’m so busy

ogling. It’s a good thing the water is freezing cold and she

has her back to me. This time I got to slather her with

sunscreen without anyone watching and so I made the

most of it, insisting on covering her whole body, includ-

ing her legs and arms.

I watch her pointing out a pod of dolphins and grin.

‘Better than school, huh?’ I ask.

‘So much better,’ she says, grinning back at me. ‘I could

be stuck in algebra right now.’

‘I’ve a math problem for you,’ I say. ‘We have five more

hours left before I have to drop you back home. How

many of those hours can we spend kissing?’

Jessa flicks water at me. ‘Maybe four and a half,

depending how fast you can paddle us back to the beach.’

I make it in record time, leaving the rest of the group

for dust. Heaving the kayak up onto the beach, I help

Jessa hop out and then pick her up and carry her up the

beach while she fake protests. I head to a spot out of the

way of prying eyes and lay her down on the sand, hover-

ing over her. She lets out a yelp as water drips onto her

stomach, but her arms are already pulling me down, her

lips already parting, her eyes already closed.

I rest my weight on my arms and lower myself down

until I’m lying on top of her, one leg thrown over hers,

pinning her in place. Her breasts press against my chest.

She runs a hand down my back. I shiver as she pulls on

my neck as though she wants all of my weight on her and

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I relax my arms a little and press down on her even more.

She draws in a breath.

We’re skin to skin for the first time, and her lips, when

I finally taste them, are coated in salt and tantalizingly

warm against the cool of her skin. Instantly I get hard.

Painfully so. I try to shift my weight so she isn’t fully

aware of the fact, but she grabs my waist and holds me in

place, lifting her hips up so she’s pressing herself against

me. Shit. I let out a groan at the feel of her, of her fingers

digging into my sides, of her body rocking against mine. I

let my hands travel the length of her body, brushing the

edges of her breasts before trailing them up her thigh.

She throws her head back and I kiss the base of her

throat, licking the salt from her skin. Fuck. She keeps

pushing against me and it’s taking every ounce of control