He pulls away, features rearranged into his I told you so gaze. “Relax. It’s not like she was looking for a reading or anything. Or at least she didn’t seem to be.”
“What’d she want?”
“Jude, I guess.” I lift my shoulders, inching my fingers under the hem of his shirt, feeling his smooth expanse of skin and wishing I could crawl under there too. “It was weird seeing her alone though. You know, without Stacia or Craig. It’s like she was a totally different person—all shy and awkward, completely transformed.”
“You think she likes Jude?” His fingers trace the line of my collarbone, his touch so warm, so perfect, barely dimmed by the veil.
I shrug, burying my face in the shallow V of his shirt, inhaling his warm musky scent. Determined to ignore the way my stomach just dipped when he spoke. Having no idea what it means or why I should care if Honor likes Jude, but preferring to push it away nonetheless. “Why? Do you think I should warn him? You know, tell him what she’s really like?” My lips pushing into the hollow at the base of his neck, right next to the cord that holds his amulet.
He shifts, rearranging his limbs, pulling away as he says, “If he’s as gifted as you say, then he should be able to read her energy and see for himself.” He gazes at me, voice careful, measured, overly controlled in a way I’m not used to. “Besides, do we even know what she’s really like? From what you’ve described, we only know her under the influence of Stacia. She may be quite nice on her own.”
I squint, trying to imagine a nicer version of Honor, but unable to get there. “But still,” I say. “Jude has a habit of falling for all the wrong girls and—” I stop, meeting his gaze and sensing that things have taken a definite turn for the worse, though I’ve no idea why. “You know what? Never mind all that. It’s boring and stupid and not worth our time. Let’s talk about something else, okay?” I lean toward him, aiming my lips toward the edge of his jaw, anticipating the prickle and scratch of the stubble that grows there. “Let’s talk about something that has nothing to do with my job, or the twins, or your ugly new car—” Hoping he was more amused than off ended by that. “Something that doesn’t make me feel quite so—old and boring.”
“Are you saying you’re bored?” He looks at me, eyes wide, aghast.
I lift my shoulders and scrunch my face, wishing I could pretend otherwise, but also not wanting to lie. “A little.” I nod. “I mean, I’m sorry to say it, but this whole cuddling on the couch while the kids sleep upstairs—” I shake my head. “It’s one thing when you’re babysitting, but it’s a little creepy when the kids are essentially yours. I mean, I know we’re still adjusting and all—but—well—I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s starting to feel like a rut.” I peer at him, lips pressed tightly together, unsure how he’ll take that.
“You know how to get out of a rut, don’t you?” He jumps to his feet so swiftly he’s a shiny, dark blur.
I shake my head, recognizing that look in his eye from when we first met. Back when things were fun, exciting, unpredictable in every way.
“The only escape is to break free.?
?? He laughs, grasping my hand and leading me away.
twenty-three
I follow him through the kitchen and out to the garage, wondering where he could possibly be taking me since a nice trip to Summerland can be had from the couch.
“What about the twins?” I whisper. “What if they wake and find we’re not here?”
Damen shrugs, leading me to his car and glancing over his shoulder as he says, “No worries, they’re sleeping soundly. Besides, I have a feeling they’ll stay that way for a while.”
“And did you have anything to do with that?” I ask, remembering the time he put the entire student body to sleep—including the administrators and teachers—and I’m still not sure how he did it.
He laughs and opens my door, motioning for me to get in. But I shake my head and stand my ground. No way am I riding in the mom mobile—the very embodiment of the rut that we’re in.
He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head and closes his eyes, brows merging together as he manifests a shiny red Lamborghini instead. Just like the one I drove the other day.
But I shake my head again, having no need for a new brand of fun when the old one will do. So I close my eyes and wish it away, replacing it with an exact replica of the shiny black BMW he used to drive.
“Point taken.” He nods, waving me in with a mischievous grin.
And the next thing I know we’re racing down the drive and onto the street, slowing just enough for the gate to open, before taking Coast Highway in a blur of speed.
I gaze at him, trying to peer into his mind and see just where we’re going, but he just laughs, purposely erecting his psychic shield, determined to surprise me.
He hops on the freeway and cranks up the stereo, laughing in surprise when the Beatles come on. “The White Album?” He glances at me as he navigates the road at near-record speeds.
“Whatever it takes to get you back in this car.” I smile, having listened to the story (many times) of his time spent in India learning transcendental meditation right alongside them, back when John and Paul wrote most of these songs. “In fact, if I’ve manifested it correctly, then that stereo will play nothing but the Beatles from now on.”
“How am I ever going to adapt to the twenty-first century if you’re determined to keep me rooted in the past?” He laughs.
“I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t adapt,” I mumble, gazing out the window at a blur of darkness and light. “Change is overrated—or at least your more recent changes are. So what do you say? Is she a keeper? Can we banish the big ugly mommy mobile?”
I turn toward him, watching as he exits the freeway and makes a series of sharp turns before climbing a very steep hill and stopping before a sculpture in front of a huge limestone building.
“What’s this?” I squint, knowing we’re somewhere in L.A. from the look and feel of the town, but not exactly sure where.