I started counting in my head and made myself leave after three minutes. At least I knew she was home and didn’t have some drunken motherfucker harassing her somewhere. I drove home, managed to avoid Dad as I got myself a bottle of water, and headed to my room. I locked the door, set the alarm for five-thirty, and changed into some lounge pants.
As I lay back on the pillow and replayed the entire day in my head, I listened to the sound of Rumple’s breathing as I licked my lips and spoke quietly to her. I considered the minute movements of her tensed muscles when I said the word “orgasm” during class.
Morning came far too quickly.
I tossed on a pair of sweats and my running shoes before I headed out the door. I stretched and warmed up a bit and then put on my pedometer before I started to run. It was still dark, but at least it wasn’t raining at the moment as my feet pounded against the driveway and past the trees. Once I got to the road, I turned left and picked up my pace.
Rumple invaded my thoughts.
Actually, it was starting to annoy me for several reasons. Even though I had been trying a hell of a lot harder than I ever did, she still barely answered me when I asked a direct question.
And did she stand me up? For a study date? Did that actually happen?
My pace had slowed, so I picked it back up again, sprinting for a minute before dropping back to my normal pace. I could feel a trickle of sweat sliding down between my shoulder blades. It wasn’t raining, but it sure was humid. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and trudged on.
The thing that annoyed me the most was not knowing what I should do next. Usually all I had to do was show up and smile, and chicks would line up. They still did, as evidenced by Lisa and Lucy last night. Hell, I probably could have walked right up to Heather when Mika’s arm was around her and gotten her back in the locker room with me. So what the hell was wrong with Rumple?
I sped up again. My meandering thoughts apparently were affecting my feet. I wondered if the freak chick, Amy, knew what she was talking about but dismissed it almost as quickly as I thought of it. I mean, it’s worked on everyone else, hasn’t it? Maybe I just needed to dial it up a notch.
I got home a little late, and Dad was up and glaring at me as I came through the door.
“You didn’t get up on time?” he spit out at me.
“I was out the door at six,” I told him.
“Give me that,” he said as he reached over and grabbed the pedometer. “You really want to show these averages to the scouts? You want Wayne Messini to see your first mile is almost six minutes? Seriously?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I guess I’m tired this morning.”
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Nothing, really,” I said. I had to look away from him because lying to his face was too hard.
“Schoolwork?”
“No, really, Dad,” I said. “I’m just tired.”
“Do extra on the bike,” he insisted. “I want your averages under five-thirty tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“And lay off the pizza.”
I nodded and went downstairs to the stationary bike, then did the weights, and then went out in the back yard for some juggling practice.
I fiddled around with my bow tie until the damn thing was straight. There appeared to be a little spot of something on the jacket that didn’t come out when it was at the dry cleaners, but I hoped no one would notice. I checked myself in the mirror, evaluating my unruly, gelled hair—short sides, slightly longer on top, and basic brown. I’d gotten a haircut two days earlier, so I was looking more polished than usual. My hazel eyes shimmered in the light from the bulbs above the sink.
Deciding I was as perfect as I was going to get, I walked out into the hall and heard Dad cursing in the master bathroom.
“Need help?” I asked as I stuck my head around the corner. He was standing in front of the sink, leaning over and looking into the mirror with his bow tie wrapped around his wrist and fingers. His blond hair was perfectly groomed, quite in contrast to my own. He turned his blue eyes on me and glared.
“Goddammit, yes!” he snapped. Then he sighed and pulled the bow tie off his neck altogether before handing it to me. I smoothed it out and s
tarted tying it around his neck. His voice softened. “I used to wear the damn clip-on ones.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, until…” He paused and took a deep breath. “Your mom said they were ‘undignified’. She kept trying to teach me, but I never could tie the damn things right.”