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  left. It couldn't have been warm from his ass, or at least I

  shouldn't have been able to feel it if it was, but I imagined

  heat. I knew I shouldn't pick up the paper, or smooth it

  out in front of me. I knew, especialy, that I shouldn't read

  it.

  But I did, anyway.

  I didn't learn the secrets of the universe. I didn't even find

  out his name. He'd mostly been scribbling and doodling,

  with a few chicken-scratch phrases I could read but didn't

  understand here and there on the paper. Looking over it, I

  should've felt dirty. I only felt disappointed. But what had I

  expected, a hand-written autobiography listing his

  expected, a hand-written autobiography listing his

  education, career and medical history?

  Stil, I smoothed out the creases as I finished my breakfast

  and folded the paper in half. Then half again. And again,

  until finaly I'd turned a legal-size sheet of paper into a

  palmful of secrets. It wasn't any of my business. I had no

  right to keep it. It weighed there as heavily as a handful of

  lead, and yet I couldn't manage to toss it into the trash.

  I did wish, though, that I'd lingered over the coffee.

  Riverview Manor doesn't have a doorman, and the front-

  desk staff was there to accept packages and take care of

  problems, not keep anyone from entering the building. The

  building had security cameras in the elevators and on every

  floor, but no real means of keeping anyone out who

  wanted to be in.

  Part of me wasn't surprised when I turned the corner of

  the hal to see Austin waiting for me in front of my door.

  Another part wanted to turn and run away. I lifted my chin

  instead, wishing again I'd at least bothered to wear

  makeup, though honestly he'd seen me look way worse.

  "What are you doing here?" I bent to put my bags down

  so I could pul my key from my purse. When I stood,

  so I could pul my key from my purse. When I stood,

  Austin's eyes were on my face, not my ass. Now, that

  surprised me.

  "You didn't answer my cals."

  I fit the key into the lock, but didn't turn it right away. "I

  meant, what are you doing here? "

  "I caled your mom."

  I unlocked and opened my door and pushed it, but didn't

  go through. I turned to look at him. My irritation must have

  been clear on my face, because he held up his hands right

  away as though I meant to punch him. "My mother told

  you where I lived?"

  "Your mom always liked me."

  I blew a sigh that fluttered the fringe of my bangs off my

  forehead and then pushed through the door. I left it open

  behind me, as much of an invitation as I could bear to give.

  He folowed and shut the door. Softly, with a click, not a

  slam.

  I put my bags in the kitchen and kicked off my shoes.

  Austin stood stil and watched me without making any

  Austin stood stil and watched me without making any

  move to sit. He looked around the apartment with interest,

  then shoved his hands deep into his pockets and rocked

  on his heels while I took my time unpacking and putting

  away my groceries.

  "Can I sit down?" he asked finaly, when I'd made it clear I wasn't going to offer.

  "Do you have to ask?" I kept my back turned as I sifted

  through the change from my walet. I found a Wheatie

  penny and set it aside to put in my colection, then washed

  my hands thoroughly with soap and hot water. Money is

  one of the filthiest things a person can touch.

  When I turned to look at him, he was stil standing. We

  stared at each other across the expanse of my unimmense

  living room until I nodded. He sat the way he always had,

  legs sprawled, taking up as much space as he could.

  I took my time cleaning the kitchen, wiping the counters

  and scrubbing the sink with bleach-infused powder. I even

  emptied the garbage pail and took the trash out to the

  chute at the end of the hal. I expected Austin to be

  restless or irritated by the time I came back, but he'd

  found a copy of a Robert Heinlein novel inside the pile of

  found a copy of a Robert Heinlein novel inside the pile of

  books and magazines thrown into the straw basket next to

  the couch and was flipping through it.

  "It doesn't have any pictures," I said from the doorway.

  Austin put the book on the coffee table. "This is nice."

  He hadn't risen to the bait, though I'd made a point of

  pushing one of his buttons. "The book?"

  "The coffee table," he said, stil not rising.

  "It was Stela's."

  Austin nodded, like that made sense. "Glad I didn't put my

  feet up on it."

  It took me an actual five seconds before I realized he was

  trying to tease me without pissing me off. He was actualy

  just…kidding. I knew how to handle him trying to seduce

  me or piss me off. I didn't know how to take that.

  "I miss you," Austin said.

  The words were hard to hear, and I don't mean because

  he spoke too low, or mumbled. They were hard for me to

  he spoke too low, or mumbled. They were hard for me to

  listen to because I didn't know what to say. I didn't want

  him to miss me.

  I sat across from him, instead. The recliner's springs

  sometimes poked through the faded material, though I'd

  tossed a fleece throw over it. One did now, and I winced

  as I shifted.

  "I do," he said, as though my expression had been in

  response to his statement and not a coil of wire in my butt.

  "Austin." Nothing else would come out.

  He shrugged. I hadn't falen in love with him because of his

  way with words. Back then it hadn't mattered if he spoke

  more with his hands than his mouth. Back then we'd both

  been young and dumb.

  "You look good, Paige. This place," he gestured, "it's nice."

  "Thanks."

  His hair used to be bleached almost white by the sun, and

  he wore it so short I could see his scalp. When I ran my

  fingers through it, my nails scraped skin. Now it fel

  fingers through it, my nails scraped skin. Now it fel

  forward over his ears and forehead and was the color of

  wheat in a field, waiting to be cut. His eyes, moving over

  my face, made me think he was waiting to be cut, too.

  I almost couldn't do it. I mean, the night before I'd let him

  put his tongue down my throat and his hands al over me.

  When the warmth of him wafted over me, I wanted to

  close my eyes at how familiar it was. How easy it would

  have been to take him by the hand and lead him to my

  bedroom.

  I kept my eyes open, a lesson I'd been taught a long time

  ago but had taken me a long time to learn. "I don't miss

  you, Austin. Last night was a mistake."

  "C'mon, Paige. Don't say that. We were always good

  together."

  "We haven't been together for a long time," I said, not

  quite as evenly as I wanted.

  "It's not just the sex." Austin leaned forward, too, his

  hands on the knees of his dirty denim
jeans. A white spot

  had worn through just below his kneecap, not quite a hole,

  but on its way to becoming one. "I didn't just mean that. I

  but on its way to becoming one. "I didn't just mean that. I

  can get laid anytime I want."

  "I'm sure you can." I got up, my arms folded across my

  chest.

  He got up, too. "I didn't mean it that way."

  I wasn't going to bend. Not over the chair, not over the

  bed, and not over this. "It doesn't matter how you meant it.

  I think you should go."

  "Same old Paige," he said with a shake of his hair. "Stil hard as nails, huh? Hard as a rock. Can't ever give me a

  break."

  "You don't need a break from me. Besides, you can just

  get laid whenever you want. Look, Austin," I said when it

  looked as though he meant to speak. "We can't keep

  doing this."

  "Why not?"

  I studied him deliberately until I couldn't hold in the sigh

  any longer and it seeped out of me like air from a nail-

  punched tire. "You know why not. Because fucking

  doesn't solve every problem. And we had a lot of

  doesn't solve every problem. And we had a lot of

  problems."

  He crossed his arms and looked stormy. I didn't point out

  the arguments we'd had about money, about religion,

  about monogamy. I didn't remind him of the nights he'd

  gone out for a few beers with friends and had come home

  smeling of perfume and guilt, or that it didn't matter

  whether he had or hadn't fucked anyone else, it was that

  he was content to choose a night with his buddies over

  staying home with me. I didn't bring up the times I'd said I

  was studying for school when I was realy someplace else,

  with someone else.

  "I just want you to be happy, Austin." I meant it.

  He leaned back and frowned more fiercely. "You want me

  to be happy so you can feel better about yourself, that's

  al. So you don't feel so bad about what happened."

  The truth of that stung me like a wasp, smooth-stingered

  and able to jab more than once. "I think you should go."

  Damn him, he didn't. He moved closer and cupped my

  elbows in his palms so I had to uncross my arms to push

  him away or let him snuggle up close. I put my hands on

  him away or let him snuggle up close. I put my hands on

  his chest, but didn't push. His muscles beneath the tight T-

  shirt were hard and firm. He leaned, and I didn't pul away.

  If he'd kissed me, I'd have been lost, but if he'd ever

  thought he knew me, he proved himself wrong again. He

  didn't kiss me. He spoke, instead.

  "I'm your husband."

  I pushed my arms straight. His hands slid from my elbows

  along my arms and fel away at my wrists. I stepped back,

  my hand against his chest preventing him from folowing

  unless he pushed me, too. Austin looked for a second as if

  he meant to try it, but didn't.

  "I have a folder ful of paperwork that says otherwise," I

  told him.

  "Okay, so not officialy. But you can't tel me—"

  "I can tel you anything I want, so long as it's true," I shot back.

  "Can you tel me it's true that you don't miss me, too? Not

  even a little?"

  "I miss fucking you," I said flatly. "The rest of it? Not so

  "I miss fucking you," I said flatly. "The rest of it? Not so much."

  Austin grinned and spread his fingers. "It's a start, right? I'l cal you."

  "I won't answer."

  "I'l cal again."

  I pointed at the door, and he went. I waited until it closed

  behind him before I gave in to the urge to sigh. What is it

  about bad boys that make them so, so good?

  I've known him since kindergarten. Austin. In my

  elementary-school class photos, more times than not, his

  freckled face is beaming from the row behind me. In one,

  we stand beside each other, our grins showing the same

  missing teeth.

  In high school, we had nothing in common. Austin was a

  jock. I was a gothpunk girl with multiple piercings and a

  tattoo of a dragonfly on my back. We shared colege-level

  classes and the same lunch period. I knew who he was

  because of his prowess on the footbal field. If he knew me

  it was maybe because I was one of the girls every boy

  it was maybe because I was one of the girls every boy

  knew, or maybe just because we'd been in the same

  school since we were five. We didn't say hi when we

  passed in the hals, but he was never mean to me the way

  some of the boys could be. Austin never caled me names

  or made crude invitations.

  In the fal of our senior year, Austin went down under a

  pile of boys pumped up with testosterone and fury. We

  won the homecoming game, but instead of riding in Chrissy

  Fisher's dad's 1966 Impala convertible, Austin took a red-

  lights-flashing ambulance to the Hershey Medical Center.

  He recovered, nothing miraculous about it. His body,

  bones broken and skin torn, healed. Nobody ever said

  he'd never play footbal again. Austin simply never did.

  Nor basketbal, either, and in the spring, not basebal. By

  then his chances of going to anything other than community

  colege had vanished along with the scholarship offers, but

  if he ever cared he wasn't getting a ful ride to Penn State,

  he never said so to me.

  And by then, he would have. By the time our senior year

  ended, Austin told me everything.

  We were an odd couple, but nobody shunned us for it. I

  We were an odd couple, but nobody shunned us for it. I

  didn't hear whispers in the hals. No jealous cheerleaders

  tried to pul out my dyed-black hair, and no slick rich

  jocks tried to convince him he was better off without me.

  We didn't go to the prom, but only because we decided to

  stay home and watch soft porn and fuck, instead.

  When I told my mom we were going to get married, she

  hugged me and wept. Her bely poked between us—she

  was pregnant with Arthur, then. If she suspected I wanted

  to marry Austin as much so I could move out of the house

  as for passion, she didn't say anything.

  When we told his parents, his dad said nothing and his

  mother's eyes dropped to my waistband. She didn't ask

  me if I was pregnant, and she must have been surprised as

  the months of our marriage passed and my bely stayed

  flat, but no matter how she might have felt about the

  prospect of me as a daughter-in-law, the idea of a bastard

  grandchild must've been worse.

  I wore a thrift-store wedding dress and Austin wore a suit

  of his dad's we'd paid the dry cleaner to take in. In

  pictures, my thick black eyeliner and my spiked black hair

  make me look pale, wan. Tired. Scared, even.

  The truth is, I was happy.

  We both were, I like to think. At least at first. Austin went

  to work for his dad's construction business, and I kept up

  work at my mom's shop. My granddad had died and it

  was hers, ful-time, and now that she had Arty, she

  couldn't spend as much time with it, so I managed the
r />   shop.

  We were happy.

  And then, we weren't.

  Chapter 07

  When I was younger, the prospect of Sunday dinner at my

  dad's had so excited me or stressed me out I'd vomit.

  Never at my father's house—even when I was little I knew

  Stela wouldn't approve of a puking kid. I didn't puke

  anymore, but I'd never managed to get rid of the knots in

  my stomach, either.

  I popped an antacid tablet now as I sat in my not-

  expensive-enough-to-be-impressive car in their half-circle

  driveway of stamped concrete. This was the fourth new

  house my father'd had in the past seventeen years of life

  with his second family. Before that he'd lived in a stately

  Georgian-style half mansion with his first family. He'd

  never lived with my mother.

  Birth-order studies claim that an age difference of six or

  more years between siblings complicates the normal

  oldest, middle and youngest personality traits by also

  making each child an only. That's why, though I have five

  half siblings and an uncle who's more like a brother, I'm an

  only child. I've tried identifying with being the middle kid—

  but what it comes down to, in the end, is I'm not.

  The door opened and Jeremy and Tyler ran out. They

  both favor my dad, too. Al of us look more like siblings

  than we were raised to be. I was fourteen when Jeremy

  was born, sixteen for Tyler. They're more like nephews or

  cousins than brothers. I'm not sure what they think of me,

  just that they're always glad to see me and aside from the

  fact they're spoiled brats who could use a good spanking

  now and then, I'm usualy glad to see them, too.

  "Hey, Paige." Jeremy at twelve no longer ran to clutch at

  my legs. He settled for a half wave with limp fingers.

  Tyler, ten, was nearly as tal as me but squeezed me

  anyway. "Paige, c'mon, we're going to play Pictionary.

  Grandma and Grandpa are here already. So's Nanny and

  Poppa."

  "And Gretchen and Steve, too, I see." I pointed to the two minivans that belonged to my dad's kids with his first wife.

  "Everyone's here," Jeremy said somewhat sourly, and I

  gave him a glance. He'd always been a pretty upbeat kid.

  Today he scowled, blond eyebrows pinching tight over the

  smaler version of our father's nose.

  I leaned back into my car to grab the gift, then locked my

  car. It was unlikely anything would happen to it parked in

  my dad's driveway, but it was habit. "Come. Let's go in."