Jill Sorenson - Set The Dark On Fire

Her belly warmed at his insinuation. She was tempted to pull him over her and let him have another go. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that boys always thought kissing led to sex, no matter what they said. Her only other intimate encounter had been with a major fumbler, and she wasn’t in any hurry to make that mistake again. Nor was she knowledgeable enough to think she could tutor a virgin.

Sometimes it was better to be cruel than kind.

“Look, Dylan, you’re a great guy,” she began, implementing a classic brush-off technique, “and I’m sure you’ll make some other girl very happy. But I’m not looking for a boyfriend right now. Even if I were, I’d choose someone older…” she had to force herself to continue, knowing this part would sting, “… and more experienced.”

His eyes dulled with disappointment. She knew that in his short life, he’d been let down too many times. Well, so had she.

“Right,” he said, pulling his backpack on as he stood. He may be young, and easily bruised, but he’d never been dense. “Tell Juan Carlos I said hi, will you?”

“Of course,” she said, smiling too brightly.

He paused on his way out, and she held her breath, afraid he would be so selfless as to extend her his friendship. If you ever just want to talk… he’d say, and her façade would crumble.

Fortunately for her, pride won out over nobility, and he left without another word.

Dylan kicked an aluminum can out of his way as he headed back down the gravel road, moonlight and self-loathing his only companions.

He would never understand women.

His own mother had been diaphanous and distant, a pale, pretty mystery. He’d given up trying to figure her out, or even capture her attention, at a very young age. She’d rarely ventured from the confines of her room or the safety of her daydreams. When faced with harsh reality, she only retreated further.

He hadn’t even been able to count on her in an emergency. When he was seven, he’d fallen from a tree in the backyard and broken his arm. He’d run to her bedroom, screaming, his arm hanging at an odd angle by his side. She’d patted him on the head and told him an obscure fairy tale. They didn’t have phone service at the time, because she’d forgotten to pay the bill, and he hurt too much to walk down to the Martinez place.

He remembered sitting on the front step for what seemed like hours, snot-nosed and teary-eyed, until Shay came home from school.

His sister had mothered him more than Lilah over the years, but now they were more like strangers than siblings. Shay said she cared about him, but she spent most of her time at work. She said she was proud of him, but she paid more attention to him when he was in trouble. She was pleased by his grades and she came to his big games, but they never talked about anything important. It was like they were stuck in limbo, refusing to discuss the past, unable to relate to each other in the present, and afraid to speculate on the future.

Shay was the closest person in the world to him, but he still found her impossible to read. Why didn’t women just say what they meant?

Although Dylan could solve the most complicated quadratic equations, he couldn’t figure out, for the life of him, what Angel Martinez was thinking.

She said she was sorry he’d fought with Chad over her, and then brushed her lips over his abraded knuckles like what he’d done had turned her on. She said she didn’t want a boyfriend, but when he kissed her, she kissed him back. She told him not to take off any of her clothes, but she hadn’t been shy about helping him out of his.

She said he was like a kid brother to her, but she’d moaned and dug her fingernails into his shoulders when he’d moved against her.

That last part had been exquisite. He’d stripped down to his basketball shorts and she’d been soft and pliant beneath him, mouth open, legs spread. A few more minutes and he probably would have embarrassed himself.

If Angel didn’t like him, not even a little bit, why had she let him do that? Had she been toying with him, getting him all revved up for fun?

Maybe his friends were right. Maybe she was a tease.

In her bedroom just now, she’d been giving him the same sultry looks as last night, and he’d been almost certain she wanted him to kiss her again. Then she’d torn his heart out of his chest and stomped on it. And although she smiled at him before he walked away, he could have sworn she was about to cry.

Like she was the one who was devastated instead of him.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he approached his driveway. The house was dark now, so Shay was probably asleep. Good. This morning she’d been too rushed to give him a talk about the birds and the bees, but he knew one was coming.

Jesus. She’d probably show him an educational video. Lions in Love , or some shit.

Groaning, he rubbed his hand over his face. His dad was a total loser, almost as bad as his mom, but he hadn’t shirked out on all of his duties as a parent. The day Dylan came home with blood on his face from the fight with Juan Carlos, the old man sat him down for a talk. Dylan spilled the whole story, including the part about watching Angel in the shower and his powerful experience in the oak trees after.

Rather than reprimanding Dylan for being a Peeping Tom, his dad had smiled and clapped him on the back. Along with a bunch of outdated sex advice, he’d given Dylan a stack of old Playboys and told him to have at it.

Not all of his dad’s pointers were worthless, now that he thought about it.

Hank Phillips was a “make love not war” kind of guy, and Dylan rolled his eyes when his dad talked too much hippie crap, but he did say one thing that stuck: don’t force it. He’d stressed that women’s bodies were gifts, not prizes. Hers to give, not yours to take .

Which was one of the main reasons Dylan had intervened when Travis and Chad had been hassling Angel last night.

Scowling, because his friends were idiots, he used his key to unlock the front door and went straight to his bedroom. Normally he raided the fridge as soon as he came home, but tonight he wasn’t hungry. He shed his outer clothes and climbed into bed, vowing to put Angel Martinez out of his mind for good.

It wasn’t like there weren’t any other pretty girls in Tenaja Falls.

He liked Jennie Heinz a lot. She had a great body and decent taste in music. So what if she giggled over her bad grades and bragged about getting stoned? No one was perfect. And, let’s face it, he wasn’t that interested in her brain.

Dylan decided he would try to talk to her on Monday. But it was Angel’s face he pictured, not Jennie’s, in the vulnerable moment before he drifted off to sleep.

Luke’s fourth day as interim sheriff started out much the same as the previous three. He hadn’t slept well in his jailhouse-style digs at the firehouse. A couple of wet-behind-the-ears Explorer Scouts made runny eggs, muddy coffee, and a lot of superfluous noise.

It was clear that the firefighters-in-training didn’t mean any harm, but if Luke heard any more questions about Vegas or jokes about showgirls, he’d lose it. Had he ever been that young and stupid? He couldn’t remember.

By the time Luke got to the station Deputy Snell was already there, sitting at his desk reading the newspaper. Even more surprising, Luke smelled fresh coffee, a better blend than the stuff he’d choked down earlier.

Luke was instantly wary. “Who made this?” he asked, gesturing with the carafe.

Garrett didn’t look up. “Me.”

Figuring it couldn’t be any worse than the muck at the firehouse, Luke poured himself a cup and retreated to the safety of his office. He and Garrett hadn’t engaged in a lot of “getting to know you” chitchat, and that suited Luke just fine.