Camelot: How To Misbehave Part 3

It wasn't that she wanted to misbehave. She just wanted to locate some other set of standards, some way to be and feel without worrying so much about doing the right thing all the time. She wanted to follow the occasional crazy impulse without getting smacked down for it.

She'd just begun to think that maybe she could, with Tony. That she could flirt. Be a bit reckless.

Then, smack.

"Say something."

Tony's voice, strung tight again.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything. I get ... I get antsy, being in my head this much."

She didn't know what to tell him. She couldn't go back to what they'd been doing before-teasing conversation that had misled her.

Irritation nudged at her. Be who you are. Say what you mean. What difference does it make, anyway? Who's really paying attention?

He might end up thinking she was a fool, but he was just a stranger. A guy who worked construction at her job. When the new wing of the community center was finished, she'd stop seeing him three or four days a week and start seeing him every three or four years. Or never.

Why should she care what Tony Mazzara thought of her? He certainly didn't care what she thought of him.

For once in her life, she was going to say whatever she wanted, and d.a.m.n the consequences.

Chapter Four.

"I'll talk to you," Amber said, "but only if you promise not to feed me any bull."

Tony sounded cautious when he replied. "I'm not feeding you bull."

"Just ... just be honest, okay? You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, and the same goes for me, but don't say what you think I want to hear. And don't tell me how nice I am. You don't know me."

"All right."

A few more seconds ticked by. She hadn't expected his easy acquiescence. This was uncharted territory, and stepping into it unsettled her as much as it exhilarated her.

"So you gonna talk to me or not?" he asked.

"I'm thinking."

"Anybody ever tell you that you think too much?"

"Yes."

She couldn't see him, but she thought he might have smiled.

"Okay, here's what I want to know," she said. "Do you feel like the inside of your head matches the outside of you? I mean, do you think people see who you are when they look at you, or somebody entirely different?"

It was something she wondered about a lot.

"Deep thoughts, bunny."

"Don't call me bunny.' I'm not an infant."

Amber did a mental stutter step. She never would have said that to him in the light. She never would have said it to anyone.

But Tony didn't seem to recognize the audacity of her remark. He just said, "Sorry." Then he exhaled, considering her question. "No. Not really."

"So who are you, really?"

"Who do you think I am?"

She felt her face heating, but she ignored it. "You're strong. I mean, your body, of course, but that's not the main thing. You walk around like you know where you're going, and like that's all you're thinking about. You don't care who sees you or what they think about you. You're ... centered in yourself, I guess. And everyone else is irrelevant."

"You're seeing the job."

"No, it's you. I mean, it's what you look like. To me."

"And you have a thing for that guy."

He didn't say it like a question. It was just that obvious. She didn't try to perk up whenever he was around, but she felt it happening-the way her spine straightened and her chin lifted and her eyes went all wide and excited.

He must have seen her staring at him. Must have read her mind when she followed him out to the parking lot each night, hoping that tonight would be the night she'd get something other than Have a good one as a goodbye.

Amber closed her eyes against the sick discomfort of her embarra.s.sment, but eyes open or closed, it was the same. The blackness didn't change. She could shrink away from it or expand into it.

She decided she would rather expand.

There was nothing wrong with having a thing for him. It wasn't illegal. It wasn't even pathetic, though it felt that way. It was human. She was human.

And she was tired of shrinking.

She looked straight at the spot where she knew he was and said, "Yes. I do have a thing for that guy."

"He's not me. I'm a lot more f.u.c.ked-up than he is."

"I think everybody is. I mean, everybody is more complicated than they look, when you actually get to know them."

"Yeah, maybe so. You want me to tell you what you look like? From the outside, I mean?"

"I think you already did," she said.

"You tell me, then."

Amber considered how to put it. "Sweet. Nice. Ordinary nice, and ordinary pretty, all the way through. Like a Girl Scout, or Maria in The Sound of Music."

A huff of laughter. "There's some of that, I'll be honest. But you got the whistle, too."

"What about the whistle?"

"You round up those kids with the whistle. When you've got your clipboard and you're barking orders at them out on the soccer field you look tough as nails."

Tough as nails. She liked that.

"You look s.e.xy."

Something dark and dangerous in his voice made her nipples p.r.i.c.kle.

"Don't."

"No, it's true. You look like you know what you want. Like the way you seem to think I am." A pause. "This chair is wicked uncomfortable."

Metal sc.r.a.ped against the floor, and he rustled around for a moment. She felt him move closer, then farther away.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to sit by the wall. Want to join me?"

"Sure." The chair was getting kind of painful. She stood and pushed it aside. "I don't want to trip over you."

"I've got my hand out."

She waved her arm around until she connected with skin. Soft hair and hard muscle. His forearm. She followed it down to his wrist, then his hand.

His fingers wrapped around hers, damp but strong, and he used his grip to guide her to the right spot. "Sit right there."

She sank to the ground. Her thigh brushed his, and she moved over a few inches to lean against the cold cement wall.

"Better?"

"Better."

She took a few moments to get used to the new position. It felt cooler, the chill of the concrete moving through the backs of her thighs. Closer to him, too. More intimate.

"How are you doing now?" she asked. "With the dark, I mean."

"I'm hanging in. Keep talking to me."

"Why do you hate it so much?"

She felt his shrug as a disturbance against her shoulder. "There weren't a lot of dark places at my house growing up, or a lot of alone time. I'm not real fond of either."

It didn't feel like a complete answer. She waited, hoping she'd get more from him.

He sighed. "It's easier to ignore all the bad s.h.i.t in the light. Distract yourself with work and TV and other people. The dark is just ... bad memories. Bad dreams. I don't like to be left alone with all that."

Trouble, Rosalie had said. Amber remembered her mother's question, cut off before she could complete it. Is he the one who ...?

Whatever had happened to Tony-whatever he did or didn't do-it had left its mark on him.

"I hate spiders," she volunteered.

"All girls hate spiders."

"I don't mind the little ones. Just the big, hairy ones."

"I hate them, too. But don't tell anybody."

"It'll be our little secret."

"You any good at keeping secrets?"

"Should've asked me before you told me your secrets."

"Yeah."

She pulled up her knees and leaned her head back against the wall. "What are you most afraid of?"

"I've already told you two things that scare me. If you think I'm going to make you a list, you don't know men."

"We already established that."

He chuckled.

"I have a brother, you know. And a dad. I'm not a complete innocent."

"Having a brother won't get you very far. Having a boyfriend, on the other hand ..."

"I've had boyfriends."

"How come you don't have one now?"

She thought about how to answer.

Because I'm tired of getting matched up with men who are exactly as good as I am, and exactly as uninteresting as I feel.

Because the first guy I slept with cried afterward, and while the other one was an improvement, s.e.x hasn't exactly knocked my socks off.

She settled on "I haven't met the right type of guy, I guess."

"Which is ...?"