Page 4 of Falling

“Didn’t think about it.” She smirks this time. I don’t think it’s far from the truth. “He was pretty drunk anyway, so I had to do most of the work.”

“Were you nervous?”

“Why? I planned it. I told you, it was just sex.”

“It should never be just sex,” I argue.

“Question four,” she continues, cutting me off. “Were you aroused?” She wiggles her eyebrows, making me chuckle.

“Obviously enough.”

“Yeah, he was totally into it. Even if he was slurring his words.” She doesn’t mention if she was, and I don’t want to hear the same answer again. “What position did you use?”

“Missionary,” we announce at the same time.

“Jinx, you owe me a soda,” she adds. I point to the back seat. She digs her favorite diet out of the cooler. She pops it open and turns back to the magazine.

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” I answer. “She was nineteen. Your brother and I snuck out of the dorms to attend a college party. We hitchhiked to the train station. Still made it back before morning call.” I wait for her to answer the same question. I hope I don’t hate the answer.

two

GENEVA

Peter Winsloe iswithout a doubt the most honorable person I’ve ever known. Hell, he’s probably the most honorable person anyone who’s ever met him knows.

I know that sounds old-fashioned, which is sad, really. This world could use more men like him. Rand and I agree that Peter is the best of us. I’m sure he has flaws; I know he does. They’re just hard to see around the shining armor.

He was raised by parents who, while lacking money, provided all the love and support a child would need. Hugs and “good jobs” were handed out in equal supply between him and his four siblings. His parents still hold hands after thirty years of marriage. They call him every Thursday night just to tell him they love him. They’re those people.

That’s how I know he’s going to hate my answer. “Fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” He says it like he’s casting a curse. “Fourteen?” As if saying it louder changes the answer. “Geneva, what were you thinking? Fourteen is way too young. Hell, seventeen was too young.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“It’s not funny.” He runs a hand down his face. Peter has a lot of tells when it comes to emotions. This particular one means he’s frustrated. I’ve studied him for years now. I know every non-verbal cue he has. “Jesus. Why didn’t Rand tell me?” he mumbles to himself.

“Rand doesn’t know,” I snap. “Rand doesn’t need to know. Rand isn’t going to know.”

It’s not an idle threat, and Peter knows it. Rand would completely lose his shit about it. I shouldn’t have told Peter. He’s like having another, much hotter brother. The brother I’d like to see naked. Well, that’s just wrong when thought out loud.

“How old was he?” You think he’s angry now. Just wait until he hears this.

“Twenty-five.” I watch his knuckles turn white as he strangles the steering wheel. “It’s not a big deal. I knew what I was doing.”

“There’s no way you knew what you were doing at fourteen. It was?—”

“Don’t, Peter,” I warn. I know what it was. I’ve had years of regret about that night under my belt. I don’t need any more guilt forced on me. I stare out the window as I leave California behind little by little. He sighs beside me.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s just find something else to talk about.”

I close the magazine and toss it onto the back seat. We ride in silence for another half hour.

Peter keeps glancing at me as we hurl down the road toward the mountains. He thinks he’s being stealthy about it, but he doesn’t realize I can see his reflection in the window. He’s been watching me like that for years. At first, I hated it; now, I find I like the attention.

Crossing my legs, I catch when Peter glances at my thighs for a beat before focusing back on the road. I smile to myself when he adjusts in his seat. I’ve also been able to make him uncomfortably hard for years. Maybe it’s the fact I insist on doing everything in the shortest skirts I can get away with. Wait until he sees what I’m hiking in.

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