“Oh. Right.” He handed Wallace an American Express card. Gold. While we waited, I took another look at our courtyard. The other tables had cleared and we were alone with the gentle gurgle of the fountain, candles all around. I could feel Lucas looking at me and turned to him.
“What?” I demanded.
“Nothing,” he answered, smiling. “You’re an interesting girl, Cassandra Renfield. How old are you?”
Maybe I should have told Lucas the truth. But I was afraid it would shatter the perfection of this moment, the best I’d had in way too long. So I didn’t. “Eighteen.”
He shook his head. “You’re the oldest eighteen I’ve ever met.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Gianna kissed us each on the cheek as we left, telling Lucas not to be a stranger. To me, she said she hoped I’d be back. She sounded like she meant it.
We walked to the main street, the lamps lighting the now-empty sidewalks in oblong circles. We were close, but not touching. I didn’t know what to expect from Lucas. I’d never been out like this—a real dinner date, if that’s what this was. I wasn’t a complete innocent, but high school dates were fast food and football and movies and the mall, not this. I wasn’t even sure I was really on a date. What if Lucas just thought I was interesting? A student to mentor?
And then he said, “My place is just down the block. You want to come up for a nightcap?”
He’d put on an accent like in the old movies Nan used to watch, winking and raising one eyebrow. It was silly and completely charming. I felt like I might scream or faint. In a good way. “I don’t wear one,” I managed to answer.
“Ba-dum-bump.”
We stood there: Lucas smiling down at me, nonchalant, my stomach doing flip-flops. What would happen if I went? What if I didn’t? Would I ever get another chance?
“Is that okay?” I asked, my voice calmer than I felt. Thank God for the wine. “I mean with me in class, you the TA …”
“I think I clear the ethics board,” he said. “After all, you’re not taking the class for credit, right?”
“True.”
“Therefore, you are not being graded and I hold no sway over you. You stand to gain nothing by befriending me.”
“If I would be the one gaining, why would you be held accountable by an ethics board?”
He smiled again. “Excellent question.”
He took my hand and led me to an old brick building down another quiet side street. I felt everything—Lucas’s firm, hot grip, the slight breeze, a spinning dizziness that was the wine and him all wrapped together. I took a deep breath, inhaling the warm night air to steady myself as we ascended his steps and went inside.
Chapter 17
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me when I woke up.
“What time is it?” I asked, automatically looking at my na**d wrist, my watch somewhere on his nightstand.
“Shh,” he said. “Early. Just before eight.” He stroked my hair and it felt wonderful. I closed my eyes. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said softly, “but I have an early meeting at school.”
I started to get up. “I have to work anyway.”
He shook his head. “No rush, Cassandra. Take your time, as long as you like. Just push the lock on the door when you go.”
I propped myself on an elbow and looked at him, my eyes better adjusted to the light. He was amazing, I thought, his hair brushing the rims of his glasses. He smiled.
“I had a nice time last night,” he said. “Can I see you again?”
I smiled too, self-conscious about being this way—lying rumpled in his bed. “I’d like that,” I said, trying to sound like a college girl might.
He leaned over and kissed my forehead. I watched him leave, my TA, his familiar bag slung over one shoulder. A shoulder that I had seen, had touched bare.
I flopped back in bed, reveling in the warm, tingly feeling inside. I was really here, I thought, in Lucas’s apartment. I had kissed Lucas and … well, other stuff. I was a little embarrassed to think about that.
I sat up, looking around his space, dying to learn more, know everything about him. I pulled on my sweater and walked to the living room, liking the scratchy feel of its straw rug on my bare feet. There was a stack of hardback books on his coffee table. I leaned sideways to read their spines: Our Century in Pictures, Ancient Greece, World Atlas. There were more books on shelves along the wall. Books everywhere, I realized. A short stack of paperbacks on the end table, another near the window, another on his desk beside three picture frames.
I walked over to look at the photos. One was obviously Lucas’s family. Beautiful people on a beach near sunset. His mom and dad were gray-haired, but trim and smiling. Holding hands, of all things.
The second was Lucas with a group of girls and guys. I recognized one, the pretty blonde from the coffee shop. The picture looked recent, had been taken on campus. She was next to him, his arm around her shoulder. I looked closely, but the meaning was unclear. The whole feel of the picture was casual, friendly. Still, I wondered, having seen them together at Cuppa more than once. I was jealous, but felt stupid for feeling so. After all, I was here and she wasn’t, right?
The last photo was a little older. Lucas in high school, I guessed. Surrounded by other guys, all of them in faded sweatshirts, a football slung in one’s arm. It took me a minute to find Lucas without his glasses and made me wonder about my initial impressions of him. Here he didn’t look the quiet bookworm any more than the jock I sat next to in philosophy.
I checked the clock and realized I needed to get going to be at Cuppa by ten. I still had to get back to the apartment for a shower and change of clothes. Drea would be at work, not that it mattered. I’d been worried last night, but her response to my text telling her I was staying with a friend from class had been a cavalier “Have fun.” Some guardian.
On my way out, I took one more look at Lucas’s home, his personal space. I hoped I’d be back, but just in case, I wanted one final memory. Then I pushed in the button on the slim side of the door, checking the knob to be sure it would lock, and closed it carefully behind me.
Chapter 18
I shouldn’t have worried that my first visit to Lucas’s might be my only one. In fact, I spent so much time there in the weeks following our dinner at Gianna’s that it felt more like home than Drea’s.
Since Nan had died, I thought I’d come to like being on my own, which is basically what I was. Aside from her one tipsy night, Drea’s conversations with me had barely moved beyond “We’re out of Cheerios” and “Don’t forget to turn the fans off when you leave.” Spending time with Lucas now made me realize I’d been kidding myself. I’d been lonely. Really lonely. It was so nice to have someone to eat dinner with or walk beside in the park or just lie near, reading on the sofa. My hours, instead of inching along, seemed almost too short. And the mark, though it never left my mind completely, was less consuming. A soft tap on the shoulder rather than a constant, throbbing squeeze.