Page 23 of Jessica, Not Her Real Name
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and nodded, though her eyes were watering.
Shaking his head, he took another drag and turned his gaze back to the lake. Beside him, she shifted, pressing closer against the car. Out of the corner of his eye, he stole a glance at her.
In the moonlight, she looked unreal. Ethereal. Perfect, full lips. Eyes like some glacial lake.
As if she could feel his gaze, she turned her head, looking up at him. He dropped his chin, scuffing the toe of his boot against the gravel.
“Where in Mexico are you from?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Just kept watching the water. Then, with an exhale of smoke, he said, “Torreón. We left when I was thirteen.”
“With your parents?”
He nodded.
“Do they all live in Chicago with you?”
His voice was quieter this time. “No. They’re not here.”
She kept looking at him. He flicked the joint onto the damp sand, where it sizzled out. Leaning back against the car, he closed his eyes.
She sighed. Then sighed again.
He cracked one eye open. “Are you freaking out?”
“No,” she whispered. A beat. “Yes.”
He smiled. “Just relax. It’ll wear off in a couple of hours.”
“Really? Because I feel like I might die right now.”
He chuckled, turning toward her. “You’re not gonna die.”
She nodded quickly, though she didn’t look convinced. Her breathing had quickened, her chest rising and falling in a way that was?—
Distracting.
“I just keep thinking,” she panted, “that if I stop thinking about breathing, I’ll actually stop breathing.”
His smile deepened. Without thinking, he reached for her hand.
She didn’t pull away. Instead, she slid along the car until their shoulders touched. Lifting his hand, she turned it over, tracing the ink along his fingers. Her thumb ran over the ridges of his knuckles, following the letters tattooed there.
Her touch was light, almost reverent. She traced a line along the back of his hand, over the rosary beads at his wrist, then up his forearm, pausing at the eagle with a snake in its mouth. Then the skull crowned with marigolds. The deeper she explored, the more she seemed to find—tarantula, scorpion, rose. She went to push his sleeve higher.
“You having fun there?”
She froze, looking up, startled.
Her face was inches from his. Her lips slightly parted, soft and tempting. He had the sudden, urgent need to run his tongue over her Cupid’s bow.
A breeze rolled off the lake, making her shiver slightly. Whatever trance she’d been under seemed to break. She looked embarrassed, dropping his arm.
He stepped forward, closing the space between them.
She pressed back against the car. His hands braced the roof, caging her in.
She looked like she’d forgotten how to breathe again. In the quiet space between them, he could almost hear the rapid beat of her heart.
