For a while he sipped coffee, stared out the window, and thought about Mr. Snow’s rant. When he’d talked about jealousy and rage, when he’d asked if there was anyone Jon hated, his mind had gone blank. The same thing with grief. What the fuck did he know about shit like that? He could see where the loss of a beloved animal might generate emotion, but he’d never actually owned one. Growing up, his mother’s asthma had precluded house pets. The only bright moment he remembered in contemplating Mona’s arrival in his life was when he thought that maybe he could have a pet, a hope that was quickly dashed, along with just about every other hope he had. Mona was allergic to cats and she thought dogs were too much work. Mona ruled. The rest of them were there to obey.
The Amazing Mona. He did have things to say about her and none of them were nice.
He abandoned his typewriter, took a pad of yellow legal paper, and made himself comfortable on his unmade bed, pillows propped up behind him. The sheets smelled of two-day-old sex, a scent not as evocative as he’d found it on previous occasions. He thought about Mona, tapping his pen against his lower lip. He couldn’t think where to start. As much as he hated her, he knew he couldn’t write about her without jeopardizing his relationship with his dad, and more important, getting his butt kicked out of the house. He wouldn’t show anyone his work, but it would be entirely like her to wait until he was gone and come into his apartment so she could go rooting through his things.
He heard a pounding on the downstairs door. Annoyed at the interruption, he set aside pen and paper. If it was Walker, he’d send him on his way. He opened the door just as Destiny reached the top of the stairs. She was exuberant, all hugs and smiles, rattling out a laughing account of her leaving Creed and Sky tending dye kettles in the yard. She’d told them she was going out to snag more T-shirts so she had only an hour. She was busily hauling off her clothes when she picked up Jon’s mood. “Is something wrong?”
“This is my day to write. I’ve been kicking around a couple of ideas and I need the time to myself.”
“I’m not going to be here long. You can write when I’m gone. I thought you’d be excited to see me.”
“I am. I just, you know, had my head into something else.” Having stripped, she pressed up against him, running her hands along the front of his pants. He was already hard, a conditioned response. She slid his shorts down over his hips. She kissed him, lips soft and open, and then sank down to her knees and took him in her mouth. He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her up, kissing her with the same intensity she always called out of him. Smiling, she put her bare feet on the tops of his and he walked her to the bed.
The sex was good. It was always good, but this time his inclination was to be done with it and get her out of the way. She was a distraction. Her intensity was like a mass of hot, wet rags pressed over his face. He could hardly breathe. She must have sensed his distance because she clung to him like an octopus, all arms and legs and sucking. She wanted his full attention and she was doing what she could to arouse him for another round.
He pushed her hand away. “Enough. I’m bushed.”
“Don’t be such a shit. You never turned me down before.”
“I didn’t turn you down. What do you want from me? We just made love.”
She settled on her side, her head propped on one hand. “You know what? We belong together. We’re a good fit.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s the feeling I had the first time we met. Like we were together in another life.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. It’s like I remember you.”
“What about Creed? How many reincarnations have you shared with him?”
“Don’t make fun. He’s boring. All mopey and glum. I’m sick to death of him and his parents and this whole stupid town. I’m this close to taking off, just getting the hell out.”
“I thought the bus belonged to him.”
“Who said anything about the bus? That’s what thumbs are for. I hitchhiked all over the country before I hooked up with him. Pregnant, babe in arms. There’s always a guy who slows down and offers you a ride. You go where the wind blows you.”
“Go and god bless, but leave me out of it.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t you want to live on the wing?”
“Not particularly. What about your kid? He might not appreciate being dragged all over just to satisfy your whims.”
“I’ll leave him with Creed. Sky’s crazy about Deborah. He’d be happy as a clam.”