Waking Up (16 page)

“That could be it,” said the younger man thoughtfully. “Of course, it might just be her own sweet disposition that’s prompted this…”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Robbie exploded, and her annoyance was so great that she threw her couch pillow at Jason, who laughingly ducked out of harm’s way. He went to retrieve the pillow while she glared at her father, realized the two had been trying to get just such a response out of her, and subsided into grumbling under her breath.

Jason then swooped down on her, heaved her up into his arms, and strode to the front door. “You’ll be pleased to know that I picked up something edible at the store for our supper,” he said sweetly, while she peered over his shoulder at her father, who was wearing a pleased, vacant smile. “Now, since I have my hands full, open the door and say good night, Robbie.”

She glanced up briefly at twinkling, warm gray eyes, turned to twist the doorknob and thrust it open, and caroled, “Have a nice evening with Marjorie, and good night, Robbie!”

Herb laughingly echoed the farewell, and Jason slipped sideways through the doorway with her. Then her self-consciousness was brief but intense as he carried her across the lawn. Fortunately the street and their cul-de-sac were empty, and they were soon inside the Morrows’ house, which was much the same as it had ever been, though she hadn’t been inside for a surprisingly long time.

“Where do you want to sit, in front of the television or in the kitchen while I start our supper?” Jason asked her. She had her arms wound around his neck and was held tightly against his chest. Though she was not exactly small or lightweight, he didn’t seem to have any apparent problem with carting her around indefinitely.

“If you’re very good, I’ll keep you company,” she told him grudgingly, to which he immediately started for the family room. “No, no! I take it back!” she cried laughingly then, tightening her arms around him.

His face turned towards her, and his close, gray eyes sparkled with delight. “Why, Robbie,” he said lightly. “If you hold on any tighter, I might believe that you care after all. Is that a blush I see darkening your little cheeks?”

She muttered as she fought the urge to squirm, “Just put me down, will you?” Obediently he went down on one knee and sat her on the floor in the hall. At that she looked around her, sighed, and said very patiently, “I didn’t mean here, you simpleton.”

He straightened and laughed down at her. “Of course you didn’t,” he said cheerfully, and headed for the kitchen.

He never ceased to amaze her. At every turn he was a different person, and she struggled to conform her perception of him with every shift in mood. He was her brother, stranger, friend and lover. He was everything and nothing. A disturbing little voice whispered inside her mind as though coming from another person. It reminded her that Jason wasn’t her lover yet. Not quite yet. And what was she to him?

“Sometimes teasing you can be no fun at all,” he complained from her right, and she turned to see him leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, one leg kicked over the other. He tilted his golden-brown head at her, like a bright-eyed bird. “Aren’t you going to say something nasty?” was his next hopeful question. “Maybe mutter a few curses, throw a temper tantrum, do anything at all?”

“Nope. I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.” She bumped over to the wall on her rear and leaned against the side with one hand as she rose to her good foot. Then, arms flapping like an ungainly, land bound bird, she hopped precariously towards the kitchen, and he shot off the doorpost to catch her by the waist, laughingly.

“Hold on a moment! The last thing we need is for you to sprain the other ankle. Put your arm around my waist—ouch! What was that pinch for, you little fiend?”

“For leaving me in the hallway, what else?”

He saw her settled comfortably in a kitchen chair and then neatly, quickly set their supper cooking on the stove. For simple items like her scrambled eggs, he didn’t do badly, but Jason had never been a cook by any stretch of the imagination. What, he had picked up for their evening meal was a few frozen gourmet dinners which had become so popular across America. She knew better than to complain. She and Herb frequently indulged in the prepared dinners, and so she knew from experience that they were far better than anything she could hope to get from Jason.

While the plastic packets bubbled in boiling water on the stove, they sat and talked quietly. Soon the meal was ready to serve, and to her pleasant surprise he produced a chilled bottle of wine. The evening went quite well, their earlier wariness having dissolved under the weight of their long friendship.

She had been screwing up her courage to speak of their earlier argument throughout the entire meal, her eyes periodically searching Jason’s relaxed, lean face across the table from her. He seemed quite normal, and yet there was a slight, almost indefinable difference in the way he treated her. He repeatedly, delicately and politely avoided any physical contact with her, apart from what was strictly necessary and she was amazed at how that troubled her.

She watched him pour more wine into their glasses, her mind preoccupied with the struggle to speak plainly, and she blurted out, “You know I’m a virgin, don’t you?”

The bottle neck which was resting lightly against the rim of her glass jerked spasmodically and wine spilled all over the table. Jason swore explosively, crashed the bottle to the table in a savage movement that made her jump, and then put his elbows on the table’s surface and buried his face in his hands. Feeling hot and miserable under the pressure of her own intense embarrassment, not comprehending his reaction, Robbie stared down at her hands as she twisted them together in her lap.

“How many times,” said Jason, too carefully, “do I have to tell you, not to startle me so when I’m doing something.”

“You weren’t drinking anything!” she snapped back and fell silent. She looked up to find Jason peering wearily over one hand, which still covered the lower half of his face.

“I certainly hope you don’t think that there’s anything wrong with virginity,” he said with some difficulty. She could only surmise that he felt as embarrassed by her own gauche way of beginning the subject as she did, and she became even more mortified.

Urgently reaching for her glass, she gulped down what little wine he had managed to pour into it. Then she looked away blindly and muttered, “I don’t know. It’s so complicated. It’s just not something you confess right off the bat. “Oh, hi. I’m a virgin.”

She didn’t see his broad shoulders shake convulsively, but she thought his voice sounded peculiarly strangled as he agreed, “No, I know exactly what you mean.”

“I mean, so many people aren’t these days.”

“A startling amount, I should think.”

Her brown gaze flashed quickly to his face, and her cheeks went dark red with sudden hurt. “You’re laughing at me!” she accused heatedly.

“No, no,” he hastened to reply. “I’m laughing with you.”

“How the hell can that be?” she cried furiously. “I don’t think it’s very funny!” Her hands slapped the surface of the table in outrage.

He reached quickly for one of her hands, but she jerked them back to her lap and his landed in the spilled wine. Shaking them absently, he insisted, “I’m not laughing at your expense, damn it. I’m as sympathetic as I can be. I happen to think that too much is made of sexual affairs. They’re vastly overrated. Any animal can couple. It’s the love shared between two people that matters, otherwise it’s just a biological function.”

“Biological function,” she snorted miserably, and bowed her head to rub at her eyes. It had been a stupid thing for her to confess in the first place, and the strain of the conversation was giving her a terrible headache. “Somehow that makes it sound so easy. But it’s not.”

“Robbie,” he said gently, looking as strained as she felt, “it’s only easy when it’s shallow. Your friend Casey’s taken the easy way out.” A long pause, while she listened to the distant sounds of a passing motorcycle. Somewhere in the fading light of evening a buzz saw whined. When he spoke again, his voice was quite low, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” she whispered, “I didn’t want you to think that I was playing some kind of game with you. And I didn’t want you to think that I thought your touch was vile.”

She glanced up unexpectedly. His light eyes were blazing hot and bright with some kind of deep emotion, and his face was tightly clenched to contain it all. The mellow overhead lighting threw strong slanting shadows over his face, emphasizing the cut of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lower lip, the length of his lashes. “It’s one of the bravest, most generous gestures I’ve seen you make,” he replied, gentle affection strong and palpable in his voice. The uncomfortable, tight feeling eased in her chest and she was able to relax.

“I’d been bracing myself to tell you all evening,” she confessed further, giving him a funny, twisted little smile. “But it surprised me, too, when it popped out like it did.”

But Jason didn’t return her smile. Instead, he looked even more strained. He thrust himself from his chair and walked away from the table while she stared blankly after him and wondered if he meant to leave her alone. But he stopped in front of the refrigerator and bowed his head. Strangely, to her mind, he seemed uncertain. She had seen him many ways, gentle, diffident, sensitive, angry and belligerent, but rarely had she ever seen him uncertain. “I’m glad you told me,” he said finally and thrust his hands into his pockets. “You see, it makes it a little easier for me to confess something to you.”

A thousand different possibilities ran through her mind at that moment. She was scared. She was so scared, her heart started to pound and her lips began to quiver. He was going to say that he no longer wanted her now that he knew. He was going to confess the number of women he’d been with. She didn’t know what he was going to confess, but one thing was certain, she soon found out. She would never have guessed it in a million years.

Chapter Nine

Jason turned back to face her. His expression was pale, guarded, and his eyes met hers as he told her quietly, “I, too, am a virgin.”

The shock stayed with her for days.

She had expected one of two scenarios. Either Jason would have twinges of conscience because she was sexually innocent and so he would leave her be, or he would sweep her tenderly into his arms and reassure her that everything was all right because he had enough experience for both of them. But she should have known she would have no such luck. Real life never was that simple.

By Sunday she was able to hobble around on her own. She was careful not to put too much strain on her ankle, which was remarkably slow to loosen up. Her days were filled with late mornings, lazy, sunshine-filled afternoons, and quiet evenings spent reading or watching television with her father and Jason.

Those were the activities that occupied her time, but the subject that occupied her thoughts was Jason. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was such an enigma. Certainly, he had more than enough money and the time to take a vacation anywhere he wished, and yet he stayed at home doing nothing in particular, lazing his days away in much the same way as she was. Instead of keeping his virginity a secret as most males would have, he had chosen to tell her the truth. After confessing his deep attraction to her, he seemed perfectly content to fall back on the rules of their old platonic friendship. The waiting, disturbing shadow in the night had disappeared.

He was driving her crazy.

She continued to watch him helplessly. He always seemed to be practically naked, his long, sleek muscular limbs bare and glistening with a light sheen of sweat in the summer heat. She remembered the frustrated and intense light in his gray eyes as he confessed his desire for her. She remembered the eager, excited way he had taken her mouth, the tension that had vibrated through his entire body.

She thought she understood now. He was a normal male in every way. That he had retained his virginity throughout college was nothing short of a miracle to her. He was good-looking, physically very attractive, intelligent, and certainly more sophisticated and mature in his outlook of the world than she was. What he was experiencing now was probably the intense, almost overwhelming, belated urge to indulge in his own sexuality.

That plunged her still strangely unstable emotions to the depths of depression. She should feel flattered and touched that he would want her of all people. She’d heard it said that a man always remembered his first woman. There was simply no doubt, her reaction was as incomprehensible to her as his actions were.

Jason joined her that Sunday afternoon and they talked desultorily while lazing in the sun.

When he excused himself later on, she murmured languidly, “Want to come over for supper?”

She thought he hesitated as he stood squinting up at the sun. “Thanks, but I’m going out tonight,” he replied finally.

Her heart gave an unpleasant jolt. She fervently hoped her face didn’t reveal her inner reaction and stirred restlessly on her lounge chair. “Oh?” she asked, studiously, falsely uninterested. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

He turned and met her gaze, his bright gray eyes standing out against the golden tan which had deepened several shades in the last week. They were far too observant, his eyes. “Linda.”

The queer jerk in her chest had subsided to a dull ache, and she unconsciously put her hand under her breast in wonder at her physical response to his reply. She slid her glance down the taut, youthful vitality of his body and then looked away, holding her expression in tight control. “So you managed to catch her when she wasn’t seeing Ian, hmm?”