Filthy English

Once his taillights disappeared, I pulled up in the drive and hopped out of the car. I went inside, clicked on the den light and made my rounds around the house.

Feeling like hell.

I dropped down on the couch and turned on the telly, not really noticing as I flipped through the guide looking for something.

My mind kept jumping around.

Antsy, I jerked back up, went into the kitchen, grabbed some water, and guzzled it. Wiped my mouth. Debating.

Fuck it. Maybe I should go to his place.

Back off. That’s stalker territory, I told myself.

God, but when it came to Remi, I didn’t care. She made me into someone I didn’t recognize. She made me crazy. She made me fucking ridiculous.

I toyed with my keys. It would be easy to find his address on Google.

But she isn’t yours. Stop interfering with her happiness.

I took another shower, a long one. I got out when my phone kept going off. I checked it—Alexandria. I tossed it back on the bed. No interest.

I went back to the den, turned off all the lights, and plopped down on the couch to watch the late show.

At midnight, Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo and Juliet came on.

Stupid movie. There had to be something better on; even the news was better than this.

But I watched. Remembering London.

Remi unlocked the front door and entered the foyer. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw me. Her hands rubbed her eyes, leaving black streaks of mascara on her cheeks. She gazed around the room, looking dazed. “All the lights were off. I assumed you were asleep.”

I nodded and paused the movie. “Where’s Hartford?” I flicked my eyes down at her ring. Still fucking there.

“He went home.”

I straightened. “He didn’t hurt you did he?”

She shook her head, her expression sad. “Where’s Alexandria?”

“Not with me.”

A few ticks went by.

“Are you moving out?” I asked.

She started. “No.”

I nodded. I wanted to ask her more about what had happened with Hartford, but I was afraid of her answers.

She moved, coming around the couch and sitting down a few seats away.

“Wanna watch with me?” I asked, hearing hope in my voice. Not caring.

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“Come here.” I motioned with my hand and she slid next to me, tucking her legs under her body.

“I’ve seen this one a hundred times with Malcolm,” she said, resting her head against my shoulder as we watched Romeo kiss Juliet at the masquerade party. “The beginning is always my favorite part. When he sees her and wants to know who she is.”

I put my hand in her hair, playing with the strands. “They’re going to fall madly in love,” I said, keeping my eyes on the screen.

“And have a secret wedding at a church . . .” Her voice halted, a little catch in it.

“But they can’t see what’s about to crash into them.”

“What’s that?”

“She leaves . . . dies. Then he dies because he can’t live without her. Love sucks.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes and leaned back into my caress. I’d long given up watching the movie, my need to look at her too great.

She snuggled in more, her hand over my heart, tracing the lines of my tattoo under my shirt. Leaning down, I adjusted her until we lay side by side, our heads on a couch cushion together, her back to my front. My arm snaked around her waist. She laced her fingers with mine.

And the movie played on as the scenes played out, two star-crossed lovers—fated by the universe, but separated by the world.

The movie ended. Remi had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle, the soft rise of her chest apparent against my hand.

I rubbed her shoulder. “Love, you need to go to bed.”

God, I didn’t want her to go. I could hold her forever.

“M’kay,” she murmured but didn’t move.

I whispered, “You know you want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the first day of class.”

I got nothing, but a soft snore.

Her face was serene, her lashes dark against her face, and I allowed myself to kiss her on the lips. Just a touch. Then I eased away from her, maneuvering up to my knees and away from the couch. I stood.

She stirred and turned back over, confusion flickering across her face. “Is it over?”

I nodded, bent down, and like at the club in London, I scooped her up in my arms and lifted her off the couch. She hid her head in my neck as I carried her up the stairs and into her room.

I eased her down to her bed, pulled the covers back over her, and left.

The next day, I got up at six, ran to the bakery for Remi, came back, and showered. My first class was at eight, and I was out of the house by seven forty-five.

My morning classes were good—two upper-level psychology classes that I thought I could handle with some serious class attendance. My noon class was a science credit I needed, and I’d opted for zoology. As a senior, I’d been able to get early registration, plus my choice of teacher, and I’d chosen the easiest one.

I made my way to the Fanfield Science Building. I eased into class and Remi was there in the front row, scribbling notes that the teacher had already written on the board. It was early still and most of the seats were empty, and the professor had yet to walk in.

I sat down across from her in the next row over. “The view from the front row looks different—odd.”

She looked over at me in surprise, a slow blush rising.