Robin Wasserman - Gluttony

Reed would never cheat on her, but nothing he could do with Star la behind her back would be as raw and sensual as what he was doing right now, onstage, in front of all these people, letting himself go and charging through the music, stomping with the beat, losing control, with her. Beth and Reed were never that free with each other, that close, swept away, because Beth couldn’t afford to lose control. She always had to keep a piece of herself-the most important piece-locked away.

But that’s just an excuse, Beth thought, placing her mug carefully on the table and standing up. Fish and Hale, mesmerized, didn’t even notice. Her reluctance-her inability -to get up on that stage didn’t have anything to do with keeping secrets. She had to admit it to herself, as she slipped quietly away from the table, moving toward the exit, knowing she wouldn’t be missed. She wasn’t holding herself back for the sake of caution or self-protection.

It was just fear.

“So I have to ask-what’s with the tie-dye?” Miranda didn’t even hesitate to say it. For some reason, nervous paranoia had yet to set in. Maybe because she was on vacation, in a strange place with a strange guy, with no baggage and no expectations for the future, nothing to risk and nothing to lose-or maybe it was just Jackson. She felt comfortable with him, free to speak her mind. It wasn’t like they’d settled into some cozy conversational groove, pretending they’d known each other forever; it was more that there seemed no danger that she could say the wrong thing. She could somehow tell that he was enjoying everything that popped out of her mouth. The feeling was mutual.

He was fascinating, funny, and-once you got past the wispy goatee and overgrown hair-adorable.

“You know Berkeley.” He shrugged. “It’s illegal there not to wear some kind of tie-dye or peace sign on at least one part of your body.”

In fact, she didn’t know Berkeley-pretty much didn’t know anywhere beyond the claustrophobic confines of Grace, CA. Which was why she couldn’t believe that this guy, this college guy, was wasting his time on her.

“Hate to mention this to you, but you’re not in Berkeley anymore,” she pointed out.

If this had been Kane she was talking to, he would have immediately wondered whether that was a veiled invitation to take his shirt off. And then he promptly would have obliged.

But it wasn’t Kane-after hanging out for a few minutes he’d obviously decided he had something better to do. Jackson just plucked at the edge of the multicolored shirt. “Yeah, but it’s all I’ve got,” he said without a hint of self-consciousness. “I’m just not that into clothes. Or appearances, you know?”

Maybe that was why he was still talking to her, Miranda concluded, despite the fact that she was wearing a bikini that exposed more of her flab and cellulite than she’d ever allowed anyone to see. (She had intended to cover up before Kane and his friend arrived, determined not to let him see the humiliating bulges and sags, but-unwilling as ever to accommodate her hopes-he’d arrived early.)

“So what are you into?” she pressed. “Other than Tolstoy and world peace, of course.”

“What am I into?” Jackson tipped his head back to catch the fading light of the afternoon sun. “The taste of cold beer at a baseball game, when the score is tied and your team has one man on base and two outs,” he said. “Discovering a new band, just after they’ve found their sound, but before they sign away their souls to the radio gods. Poems that make no fucking sense but still manage to blow your mind. And”-he gave her a mischievous smile-“good conversation with pretty girls.”

Miranda felt the heat rising to her cheeks. “In that case, what are you doing here?” she joked.

He didn’t laugh. “Having an amazing afternoon,” he told her, with a totally straight face.

Miranda didn’t know what to make of it. A cute, smart, older guy, giving her two compliments in a row as if it was nothing? Guys her age didn’t talk like that-at least, not to her.

So, instead of responding, she just laughed nervously and turned toward the pool. “The water looks so tempting when you can’t go in, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Even though you know it’s just going to be cold and over-chlorinated, from here it looks so insanely refreshing, like we’re in some kind of beer commercial.”

“Who says we can’t go in?” Jackson asked, appearing not to care that she’d randomly changed the subject.

“Well, I guess I could, ” Miranda allowed, though she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. “But I think you’ve got a small problem.”

“And that would be?”

“Shirt? Jeans? Shoes? Unless you’re going to dive in like this, or-” She stopped, realizing that she didn’t know this guy well enough to suggest a skinny-dip, even as a joke. “I’d say swimming is out.”

“You don’t think I’d jump in with my clothes on?” Jackson asked.

“Now that , I’d love to see,” Miranda said, laughing. The only people left at the pool were a few little kids and their nervous mothers, who she guessed wouldn’t take too kindly to some random college student throwing himself in fully clothed. (Although this was Vegas-surely it wouldn’t be the first time.)

“What do I get?” Jackson sat up and leaned forward. Their knees were almost touching.

“Get for what?”

“For jumping in the pool and soaking myself, just for your amusement,” he explained, staring at her so intensely, she had to force herself not to look away.

“I don’t know. A dollar?”

“How about you go out with me tonight?” he suggested, his grin stretching nearly to his ears.

“I barely know you,” Miranda said, as her brain furiously tried to process the request. He wanted to go out? With her? Like, on a date? Would it be a date? What else could it be? “For all I know, you’re some psychotic ax murderer trolling cheap hotels looking for redheads to chop up for your salad. I watch CSI .”

“I don’t think your buddy Kane would have introduced you to an ax murderer,” Jackson pointed out. “And I’ve never seen CSI , but I can assure you that I’m a vegetarian. Only thing in my salad is lettuce and tofu.”

She was supposed to meet up with Harper for the night-although, Miranda reminded herself, Harper had ditched her that morning and probably never looked back. And she would be the first person to urge Miranda to go on a date. She always pushed Miranda toward every guy who crossed her path-every guy, that is, except Kane. The ultimate lost cause.

Miranda had to admit that she’d been hoping to spend the night hanging out with him-along with Harper and Adam, of course, but that was a coupling-off waiting to happen and, if it did, she’d be left alone with Kane. In a place where, according to him, anything could happen.

Anything like what? she asked herself. What the hell am I waiting for? Kane had, several months before, finally seen her as something more than boring Miranda, just one of the guys. He’d taken her out, he’d kissed her-and that had been the end of it. The moment she’d spent all those years dreaming of had come, and then gone, almost as quickly. So what did she think was going to happen next? That one day, he would just wake up and realize what he’d been missing?

In less than eight hours, she would be eighteen years old. Did she really want to kick off another year of her life sitting in a corner, waiting for Kane to notice her?

Hadn’t she had enough?

“Okay,” she said finally. “If you actually jump in that pool, then yes, I’ll go out with you tonight.”