Page 36 of Deeper (Caroline & West 1)

I shake off the whole train of thought. Doesn’t matter, and it’s not happening between her and me, anyway.

“Here’s my point, though,” I say. “There’s all this other shit you could be worrying about, and you’re wasting too much worry on something you can’t fix. ”

“Like what? Worrying over the size of your ears isn’t going to fill much of my time. I’ll still have, like, twenty-three and a half hours a day to worry in. ”

“What are you saying, you only care about my ears half an hour’s worth?”

“Maybe not even that. I have to be honest with you. ”

“Please. Be honest. ”

“Okay. The thing is, if I never have to see another guy’s ears so long as I live? I’ll be a happy girl. ”

“Now you’re starting to sound bitter. ”

“Maybe I am bitter. Maybe I’ve just seen waaaay too many close-ups of ears lately. ”

“Red, swollen ears?”

She leans in, like she’s telling me a big secret. “Veiny, horrible, giant, disgusting, dripping ears. ”

That cracks me up.

“What is it with you guys taking pictures of your ears?” She’s all indignant now. “It’s like you’re so proud of them. ”

“If you could make stuff shoot out of your ears, you’d be proud, too. ”

She’s biting her lip, looking away toward the mixer like it’s going to rescue her from the fact that we just had a conversation about dicks, and she wants to laugh but she won’t let herself. “I think we need a new topic. ”

“Something more polite?”

“Yes. ” Then she glances up at me from under her eyelashes, and, for one hot second, she’s wicked. “Something a little less lubricated. ”

I have to look away from her. Take a breath.

I point at a lump of dough. “Wash your hands, and I’ll let you knead that. ”

“Will you, now?”

“I will. I’m going to teach you to make the best sourdough loaf in Putnam County. ”

“Is anybody else in Putnam County making sourdough loaves?”

“Not that I’m aware of. ”

She makes a face at the bread, but she’s pulling her sweatshirt over her head. “All right. I’m game. ”

The shirt she’s got on underneath—it’s got to be her pajama shirt. She’s not wearing a bra.

I get four more loaves ready while she’s washing her hands at the sink. It takes two before I’ve managed to push the surprise away.

I do another one with my eyes closed, willing the soft bounce of her breasts from my head.

When she comes back from the sink, her face is serious. “Listen. I’m … I’m just going to say this. I meant what I told you at the library. ”

“Which thing you told me?”

She’s picking at her thumb with her fingernail. “I can’t be your friend. Or—or anything else. ”

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