Page 20 of Up In Flames

His big, ropey, veiny, hard dick. Maybe like Sampson’s, maybe not. I’ve never seen his dick. Rumor is, he knows what to do with it, whatever it looks like.

My Darius has amnesia. He doesn’t recognize Clove from the high school they attended together. He doesn’t remember the scene of my—her—utter mortification, so all he feels is bone-deep attraction. There isn’t a single memory barring his sticking said big, ropey, veiny, hard dick into her.

Amnesia solves a world of impossibility. No muss, no fuss, no hassle. If only real life would comply as well as fiction.

The doorbell rings less than a second before I hear the door opening and small feet pounding up the stairs.

“Close the door, Nicholas,” I call.

Feet retreat, a door slams, and he doubles back up the stairs. I’m already saving my progress on a floppy key drive thingy, which I’m sure is its official name, when the boy bursts into my room. He runs straight for my desk.

“He’s out and we need to go bring him flowers or kiwi or something,” he pants. “Maybe pineapple, but kiwi is better, that’s what Mrs. Radimeer says. She’s our new health teacher. Mom has a second phone interview, and she says she can’t drive me, but I have to go now because I’ve got something to tell him that’s really, really, really important!”

The words overlap, he speaks them so fast, all his thoughts jumbling together. It takes me a few seconds to try to piece them out. He wants me to drive him somewhere with kiwi? Ooh, Mari has a second interview? That’s wonderful news.

“Nina! Come on!” Nicholas grabs my arm and tries to pull me from the chair, a sense of urgency losing him his manners. “I need to talk to Mr. Dean.”

Ooh, Sampson?

I check my rising excitement and clamp down on it. Hard. I’m not enthused about visiting my enemy. I’m just getting caught up in Nicholas’s emotions, that’s all. I don’t feel any need to jump from my chair and run to Sampson’s side… with kiwi, apparently.

To Nicholas, every thought in his head takes on monumental importance, so there’s no pressing need to lift my ass out of my chair… though I could use a break from the manuscript. I’m moving along, sure, but I don’t have more than the beginning chapters in my head. I’m a pantser by nature, which means I usually let the story lead me rather than mapping it out before I start writing. Until I have a vague idea about the next scene, there’s no sense forcing words.

I mean, I can only describe Sampson’s imaginary dick for so many pages.

I mean—Darius’s dick.

“Did your mom say it was okay for me to take you to see him? And why aren’t you in school?”

“It’s four o’clock already. Why would I be in school? And yeah, she said it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you.”

“I guess it is.” I do a quick think as I try to control my pulse, which is leaping around in my veins for reasons probably having to do with Darius’s presence in Clove’s bedroom rather than an impending visit to Sampson. Plus, I don’t know where Sampson lives, but they’d probably know at the MFD. Or I could call Darla, Pete’s wife. “Do me a favor? Go feed Mr. Mittens while I search out Mr. Dean’s address. And check his water dish?”

Nicholas scampers off, happy to be taking charge of the cat, and when I make a call, Darla’s more than happy to tell me how to find Sampson. She’s also anxious to set up a dinner for next week, which I take to mean that Pete’s matchmaking skills have already transferred to her through that mind-warp thing married couples have. Once I agree, she hands over the information.

Great. Another meeting with the giant. Wish my heart wasn’t pounding as if I’m excited about it, though it’s probably dread I’m feeling.

Fine. There’s a little dread. A lot of anxiety. But Sampson has been nicer lately. The trend could continue. Plus, if he’s not amicable today, I don’t have to go to dinner at Pete and Darla’s. Ooh, and maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of his infamous Red Room?

No. No Red Room. Nicholas will be with me.

I’m not sure if it’s relief or disappointment swamping me.

I spend a good ten minutes in the bathroom, putting on mascara, brushing out my hair, and making sure my legs are shaved, but not because anyone is going to see my legs under my jeans. It’s the principle of the thing. Right?

With Nicholas fidgeting and urging me onward, I stop to scoop out the pints of pineapple ice cream we never ate yesterday from the freezer and put them in a thermal bag, then grab my keys. I don’t drive often. There’s not a lot of need in a small, walkable town, but Sampson apparently lives in the converted loft spaces of what used to be the button factory. That’s on the other side of the mountaintop.

The drive there is peaceful, marred only by Nicholas jumping up and down with his butt on my passenger seat. “Does this go faster? Jeez, how do you drive this thing?”

This thing is an old Jeep that barely has its doors on anymore. The color has faded to a peachy shade of nothingness after its forty years of life. There’s no air-conditioning, but the wheels turn and the engine chugs, and that’s really all I need. And I still have another ten car payments until it’s all mine.

“We’re almost there. What do you have to tell him, anyway?” I turn onto a smaller street, careful since the balance on the old Jeep isn’t the best when cornering at high speeds.

“It’s a secret.”

“Well, do I get to find out once you tell him?”

“If he says it’s okay.”