Junk Miles Read online

  I laughed. “That’s French, Jake.”

  “I’m trying.” He grinned.

  I ran my hands over him, along his wide back and up his neck and through his surprisingly silky hair. I felt his soft cheek, newly shaved and nicked right at the jaw, and pulled on his ear lobes. He licked at my mouth, and I melted into him willingly. This was heaven.

  Jake pulled away suddenly. “Sorry, babe,” he said shakily. “Much more, and your parents will have good reason to shoot me. You want to head out?”

  So we said our goodbyes and got into his big blue truck, and it was just me and Jake driving all over Sussex County. I felt a crushing sadness that this was the end of our winter break together instead of the beginning, but I tried to push all of those thoughts aside.

  “I think there’re a few things you need to do before you leave American soil.” Jake busted me out of my sad thinking. We pulled into the Hampton Diner. “You need to eat at a good, greasy diner.”

  “Mmm. Perfect.” I loved this diner. It was the place where Jake and I celebrated our newly-minted relationship with apple pie a la mode the day he asked me to be his girlfriend.

  Not only did Jake order way too much delicious food, he stopped the waitress from getting too oogly over him by asking her to take our picture in front of said delicious food.

  “What’s the picture for?” I turned the camera so I could see our smiling faces over the whipped-cream covered desserts we were working through.

  “Your photo project.” He lifted a forkful of lemon meringue pie to my lips, and I took a bite. “I’ve decided to do Sussex County before and after Brenna Blixen. So there will be life with you, then life without you.”

  “Sounds awesome.” I scooped a forkful of cheesecake with strawberries and whipped cream and offered Jake a bite. “Any layout ideas?”

  “Before will be really dynamic, full color, and beautiful.” He dipped into the chocolate crème pie and held it out to me. “After will be a flat format in black and white, washed out, sad. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re kind of adorable.” I sipped his Coke instead of my own milkshake just because I wanted to drink out of his cup and not because I was at all thirsty for soda.

  “I think you’re kind of gorgeous.” Suddenly his gray eyes raked over me, hot and hungry. He took my hand and rubbed his thumb over the bump of my ring, then pulled me across the table and kissed me. “Food won’t be as delicious without you,” he said solemnly.

  I held up a fork loaded with flaky apple pie. “Maybe some food will lose its taste. Not this food. Never.”

  Jake shrugged. “Maybe my taste buds will just go dead without you.”

  “I hope not!” I put a hand to my heart.

  “Don’t worry about me…” he began.

  “I’m not worried about you,” I interrupted. “If your taste buds die from longing, mine will be obligated to die, too. And what fun will Paris be if I can’t taste all the delicious food?”

  “You’re a caring girl, Bren.” He scooped a dab of whipped cream on his finger and swiped it onto my nose. “Alright. I’ll let half of my taste buds go dead.”

  “Like flying a flag at half mast?” I stuck my tongue out and attempted to lick the whipped cream off my nose.

  “That’s right. But I’ll taste all the good stuff, in your honor.”

  “Consider me honored.” I gave up on getting the whipped cream off on my tongue, swiped at my nose with a napkin, and Jake laughed. It was a good, deep sound and it made me feel warm and happy.

  Jake and I went to both of our schools and snapped obligatory pictures while I complained. “Being near school the day after Christmas seems so wrong!” I wrapped my arms around my chest as the wind whistled hard and cold.

  “Shut up and pose!” he called from behind the camera lens.

  I struck a studious pose. We went to the overlook where we had skipped school, the bar where Folly had its first concert, the movie theater where we’d had our first real date, the Chinese restaurant where we’d shared our first meal. Jake made me stand and sit and smile and frown until he had enough pictures to wallpaper his room.

  “Okay,” he said, finally. “Just one more place that will miss you.”

  “Where’s that?” I stepped close to him, and he wrapped me in a tight hug.

  “My room.” His voice was a little sad despite all our fun.

  We headed to his drab little house. It had a wreath on the door, but no lights around it. There was a tree inside decorated only with glass balls. There were no sentimental ornaments with school pictures of Jake or popsicle creations with too much glitter. It looked like a tree they had stolen from a dreary bank lobby.

  Jake’s room was only minimally improved from when I’d first seen it. There were now pictures and drawings and notes taped or tacked neatly over most of the wall behind his bed. He had more stuff around too. There were framed photos of us, random items from our dating life. He had a pair of clean chopsticks from our first Chinese food date on his desk next to the piles of books on tape I’d been giving him for weeks. Some of my barrettes were scattered around along with a couple of bangles that I’d forgotten. He never wanted me to take them when I left, so I let them live on his desk and imagined him looking at them once in a while and thinking about me.

  “Sit on my bed,” he instructed.

  I sat cross-legged on his bed and smiled. He snapped the picture. “How does it look?”

  “Perfect.”

  That was the last thing he said for a long time.

  He kissed and held me so gently it made me feel a little sad. He smelled my hair and nuzzled my neck and ran his hands over my face and my body softly, like I was delicate and would break if he was too rough. We reached and touched and rolled over one another, twining together like we would never see each other again.

  He ran his finger over the gold posey ring. “Was it too much?”

  “It was perfect. I’m sorry I got a little freaked out. It just felt…official.” I looked down at the shiny ring of gold on my finger.

  “It will be official someday.” He tilted my face with his fingers and looked into my eyes. “Because I’m never letting you go.” He wrapped his arms around me and nestled his nose in my neck. “Never.” His voice was muffled by my skin.

  I knew what he was saying. It was a sweet, lovey thing for a guy to say to the girl he loved. And I liked it. I really did. But I also had the sudden urge to yank the ring off of my finger.

  Why?

  “You’ll have to let me go sometimes.” I didn’t mean for my voice to sound as panicked as it did. I wriggled a tiny bit against his hold. “Like, what about when you go to college?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about with that.” He unclamped his arms and flopped back on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  “You’re going to college. You have to go to college.” It was a no-brainer for me. What else was there to do if you didn’t go to college? How would you learn what you needed to learn about life and yourself? What would you do if you didn’t go?

  “I’ll be happy for you when you go.” He shrugged his shoulders like it didn’t matter to him whether he went or not.

  I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest. “Jake, you have to go. Are you seriously thinking that you’re not going?” A little bubble of panic swelled in me and threatened to burst wide open.

  He looked at me, his eyes a little sad, his mouth fixed in a set smile. “You have a lot of opportunities that other people don’t get, Bren. And that’s cool. That’s what I want for you. But that doesn’t mean everybody has all those advantages. I don’t, it’s alright, and I’m gonna be there for you when you need me. Okay?”

  He meant it to be sweet. I knew he did, but it made me so furious, I felt like I’d swallowed something cloying and spicy. My skin burned and I couldn’t think straight all of a sudden. “No. Not okay. I know things are really good for me. I know that. But you can’t just give up on wanting more! The
re are people who can help you. You can take other classes. You can apply for loans. Don’t you want to see more? Don’t you want to experience things?” I looked at him, but his gray eyes were calm and serene.

  He reached out and took my hand. “Being with you has made so much in my life better. I don’t need to do all the same stuff you do. I’m a simple guy, Bren. I know you need more than Sussex County, and I’d never stop you from doing what you have to. And if you need me, I’ll follow you. And if you’re doing your own thing, I’ll be here waiting. And I’ll be fine.”

  I wanted to argue. I really wanted to argue badly. But I had a feeling my arguments would go right over his head. How could I explain wanting some intangible more to someone so content with what little he’d been given?

  And then, just as quickly as it flared up, all of my anger melted away, and I decided to not go crazy about the whole issue of Jake’s future. Because he was destined for better; I was sure about that. It might take him longer to realize it, but he wouldn’t just stay in Sussex County forever. He’d start to realize there was more out there.

  “Hey.” He pulled me down next to him. “What are you all worried for? I’m the one who should be worried. You’re jetting off to the most romantic city in the world, all hot and fine like you are. And I’m here chopping cut trees into firewood.” When he smiled at me, it was shaky with worry.

  “All the more reason for you to brush up on your Italian for our big trip.” It wasn’t college, but it was travel, and he said he wanted it, so I knew it meant he dreamt about more than our current tiny life. Or did he want it because I wanted him to want it? I swallowed the lump that jumped up in my throat.

  “Bren, promise me something,” Jake said when I was pinned under him.

  “Okay,” I answered, nervous at what he might ask.

  “Don’t fall in love with some slick French dude.” He rubbed my nose with his.

  “I think French guys are really short.” I grabbed his shirt in both hands and pulled him back to me for a kiss, and I made it hard and hungry, to push away the doubts that swirled around in my head.

  “I heard they’re ugly, too,” Jake said between kisses. “And weenies.”

  “And smelly.” I arched my neck so he had better access. “And womanizers.”

  Jake shook his head and buried his face in my hair. “Alright, now I’m relieved. I thought I might have something to worry about.”

  “Never,” I promised. And at that minute, I meant it with my whole heart.

  Finally, too soon, it was time for Jake to bring me home. He didn’t want to come in. He crushed me in his arms for a long time under the bright, clear stars. When he let me go, the cold was so jarring my teeth clattered.

  “I love you, Brenna. Come home quick. Life is so damn boring without you.”

  “I love you. I’ll be home before you know it.”

  And then he was gone. I felt like the entire world dimmed, like it rotated more slowly on its axis because I wouldn’t see Jake for more days than I really wanted to count.

  But there was Paris. Mom had already gone to bed when I got home, even though it was early. Mom had strong theories about jet lag, and she had devised a sleep system that made no sense to me.

  I got ready for bed super early and turned in without bothering to call Jake. I wanted to, but it was too sad. I felt like I wanted to remember him leaving the way he had left. The next time I called him, I’d be in France and excited and have happy things to tell him. That would make being away from him a little more bearable.

  Chapter Four

  I slept really well, but then, I never really tossed or turned much. We had to be out of the house by two in the morning in order to be at the airport in enough time to make it through checkin and customs, and it all felt unreal.

  Mom and I hugged and kissed Thorsten in the chilly, gray air outside the industrial, energetic airport. I loved the bustle and potential in an airport. It always made me feel connected to something bigger to melt into in the middle of all that movement and promise. We checked in and went to stand in the short customs line. Soon we were making our way to our terminal and preparing to sit on the hard-backed chairs for longer than necessary, since Mom had us checked in and ready way before we really needed to be.

  Mom immediately saw some faculty friends and went to talk to them, pointing to me and bragging with embarrassingly exaggerated tales of my brilliance. I tried to smile nicely and bury my face in my book. I couldn’t believe Dawes was giving us so long to read Ethan Frome. I moved forward and started on our next novel, which was, unfortunately, Crime and Punishment. Dostoyevsky is not exactly airport reading.

  I was slightly caught up in the story of poor Raskolnikov and his murderous urges when some faintly familiar scent assaulted my nostrils. I knew exactly what it was I was smelling, but I just couldn’t fathom that it was part of my actual reality. That smell belonged to one person and one person only; Saxon Maclean.

  I forced myself to look over the edge of my book, and there he stood, larger than life. Saxon in the flesh. What was he doing here? Why was he suddenly right in the middle of my Paris adventure?

  “Saxon?” He looked at me, a long hard look that gave me absolutely no clue about what he was feeling or thinking. His black eyes were completely dark, his mouth set in a firm line. He held himself stiffly, uncomfortable in the middle of this group of people, who he obviously considered alien and offensive. I felt myself buck under his dark stare, daring him to keep looking so openly. But Saxon, being Saxon, didn’t have the good sense to look away from my angry gaze. He stared straight at me, moved right to me like he was a ship lost at sea and I was the bright blink of a lighthouse.

  “Blixen.” He fell into the seat next to me. I noticed a fabulously beautiful woman with long, dark hair and bright, laughing eyes, the same color as Saxon’s, but with none of his sardonic nastiness. She was slight and bubbly, confident and lovely. She gravitated right to my mother and kissed both her cheeks, like some chic European woman. “I see you noticed my mother.”

  “You never told me your mother was a professor.” My wide eyes followed her as she flitted around the sterile airport longue like some kind of dazzling little sprite.

  “You never asked.” Saxon’s lazy voice dripped and oozed sexily. How did he do that? How did he take the most commonplace words in the English language and turn them into something undeniably sexy? I hated him for it, and hated him more because I felt like rubbing up against that thought. My brain didn’t even have the power to link him to Paris, but it bubbled around that possibility, and it was as powerfully delectable as it was toxic.

  “You’re going to Paris?” I asked, even though the answer stared me in the face.

  “Looks that way.” He flicked his eyes over my face.

  I hated that I felt relieved to have put makeup on this morning. What did I care what he saw, what he approved of? Saxon and I had no business even attempting any type of relationship with each other. We were gunpowder and one hell of a spark, and I wasn’t about to test our combustibility.

  “I can’t believe this,” I muttered, and I knew myself enough to admit that I hoped he heard me mutter it and would respond. He did.

  “Can’t believe what? That I’m crashing your mommy-and-me Paris trip? Trust me, it wasn’t my choice.” He slumped lower in the molded plastic chair and pressed his fingers to his temples.

  I tried hard not to notice how good he looked in his slightly wrinkled button-down and fraying jeans. His hair was a little too long. One piece needed to be pushed back from his eyes. Not that I was about to do it. It just needed to be done. That was just an observation.

  That’s all.

  “What would your choice have been?” I closed my thick Russian book over my finger and tucked my legs up under me.

  “To be in between Sara Olsen’s legs.” His mouth curved into a wicked smile. He wanted to shock me, but I refused to let him. My facial muscles didn’t budge. “But mi madre said it was Paris or
rehab. And I’m not living for two weeks without a cigarette or a decent meal. So Paris it is.”

  “Rehab for what?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to ask. What did I care what he’d been smoking/snorting/inhaling/shooting up? I didn’t. But I asked anyway.

  “Rehab for drugs and drinking.” Saxon looked right at my breasts. I crossed my arms over them. “She’s cool with rock n’roll. And a little sex, just as long as it’s safe.”

  “I wish you’d gone to rehab,” I griped. I clutched my novel until my knuckles went white and reminded myself that throwing it at his handsome head would get me kicked out of the airport. I was not about to miss Paris because Saxon was acting like the ass I always knew he was.

  “Don’t lie, Brenna.” His voice was velvet rubbing along my neck and against my ears. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “You really think I’m happy you’re here?” Screw the repercussions; smacking him upside the head with 400 pages of Russian tragedy would be worth any price.

  “I know you wanted Jakey, but maybe you’ll accept my sloppy seconds.” He looked down at Jake’s ring on my finger. “Let me guess. Autre ne Veuil? C’est tout Mon Deuir?

  I ignored how Saxon’s French snaked around his tongue and spilled into my ears like warm honey. “A Vila Mon Coer, Gardi Li Mo,” I bit out.

  “Well, well.” Saxon’s smile was hard. “So you’re Jake’s heart now? Or am I misreading the sentiment? Keep guard, Blix. I would hate to see my baby brother hurt.”

  “Fuck off, Saxon,” I hissed. “You don’t give one damn about Jake, and I know it.”

  “Yep.” He flipped his words out so they would seem casual, but I could hear that he cared right down to his marrow. “I bet a spoiled little brat knows exactly what it’s like to have a sibling you can’t talk to because a girl got in the fucking way. Spare me the lecture.”

  “Spare me your conversation in general, you asshole. I don’t want to talk to you again.” I felt my blood actually boiling in my body.

  “Done,” he snapped and sat up with an irritated jerk of his long limbs. “And likewise. I would really appreciate it if you could keep the hell away from me.”