Page 108 of Collision
Thomas glances at my neckline, before focusing on the skirt. “You don’t usually dress like that.”
The little voice in my head keeps pointing out that I did want to get noticed by someone, yes. But that someone is not Logan. I’d be lying if I said I’ve thought about him for more than two minutes since he left. Which perhaps makes me a bad—very bad—person.
I shake my head. “How could I? He’s not even in Corvallis.”
Thomas remains silent and continues to smoke, watching me. “Where is he?”
“He went back home for a few days.” Despite his serious expression, I catch a fleeting flicker of satisfaction cross his face. I hasten to change the subject. “Why didn’t you come to class?”
He takes one last drag and stubs out the joint in an ashtray on the small coffee table in front of him. “Wasn’t in the mood.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He gets up and joins me. Correction: reaches into the refrigerator next to me.
“Did you miss me?” he asks with a cocky air that makes me roll my eyes.
He grabs a beer, brings it to his lips and downs it in a few drinks, never taking his eyes off mine. His eyes are the same as last night: reddened, sad, and empty.
“No, I was just worried.”
“About me?” He lifts one corner of his mouth in a mocking fashion. “Don’t be, I’m fine.”
“Fine?” I echo in amazement. He nods and gets another beer. Oh yes, this is definitely typical “fine” behavior. “Is this what you intend to do all day? Lock yourself up in here drinking and smoking?”
Thomas sets the bottle down on the table, annoyed, and advances on me. “That’s the idea.” He pronounces each word with an unbearable arrogance. I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin.
“Well, let me just say: your idea sucks.”
“No one asked you.” Another step toward me. Only inches separate us. The room, previously spacious, seems to have suddenly shrunk. I am forced to tilt my head back slightly to get a better look at him.
“But if you have a better idea…” He strokes my neck with his index finger, moving down to my cleavage. “I’m listening.” He stares greedily at my mouth. “Maybe you want to pick up where we left off last night, Ness…” The deep rasp of his voice lights up all my senses. “Or maybe, you’d rather go from where you left off…”
I look up at him, blinking like a scared doe. “Wh-what?”
He approaches my face and twists a lock of my hair around his finger. “Did you like it?” he whispers, warm and raspy.
I’m breathing heavily. “I-I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do…” He brushes my earlobe with his lips and then takes it gently between his teeth, making me gasp. I feel my cheeks flush and my body shiver at his touch while a warm feeling flares between my thighs.
“Thomas…” I croak in a vain attempt to stop him. But he pushes me back until my backside collides with the kitchen cabinet. He rests his hands on either side of me, caging me in. “You owe me a kiss, you little sneak,” he grunts, pressing his body against mine. I look up at him, overcome by his renegade charm and his intoxicating scent. His mouth is touching mine. And he’s so close I can smell the mingled scents of weed and beer. My stomach tightens, and I feel almost dizzy.
“No.” I push him away with a determination that surprises meand stuns him. Thomas frowns in annoyance. I put my palms on his chest, and for a moment it seems like I can feel his heart beating faster. “Don’t try to seduce me just to run away from your problems. Talk to me. Whatever is hurting you, don’t let it make you into…this.”
His eyes narrow into two slits and I realize that I’ve said the wrong thing. The atmosphere changes dramatically, suddenly icing over. Thomas heaves a sigh and takes a step back. “Fuck, Vanessa. You just can’t help yourself, can you? Always have to look for the deeper reason for everything, Jesus Christ!”
“No, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you!”
“Nothing.” He runs his hands through his hair in an anxious gesture.
“Nothing? You call this ‘nothing’?” I point indignantly to the empty beer bottles and the full ashtray.
“What’s wrong with it? Relax, you sound like my fucking mother!” He snaps back, his face hard.
“Just because I think it’s a bad idea to numb your pain with alcohol and drugs? You’re suffering, but you’re dealing with it in the wrong way.”
He lets out an unhappy laugh. “My pain. What, now that your little boyfriend is gone, you need to fill the void by playing Sigmund Freud with yours truly?” he says contemptuously. I know he’s just trying to embarrass me, but I won’t fall into his trap.
“I’m not playing anything, Thomas.” He brings the bottle to his mouth again and gives me a challenging look. Overwhelmed by a surge of anger, I snatch the bottle from his hand and throw it into the sink, spilling the contents.
