Crescendo Read Free Page B

and fluttery inside, because I knew exactly what he had in mind.
    “Your place.”
    I shook my head. “Not going to happen. My mom’s home. We could go to
your
place,” I hinted.
    We’d been together two months, and I still didn’t know where Patch lived. And not for lack of trying. Two weeks into a relationship seemed long enough to be invited over, especially since Patch lived alone. Two months felt like overkill. I was trying to be patient, but my curiosity kept getting in the way. I knew nothing about the private, intimate details of Patch’s life, like the color of paint on his walls. If his can opener was electric or manual. The brand of soap he showered with. If his sheets were cotton or silk.
    “Let me guess,” I said. “You live in a secret compound buried in the underbelly of the city.”
    “Angel.”
    “Are there dishes in the sink? Dirty underwear on the floor? It’s a lot more private than my place.”
    “True, but the answer’s still no.”
    “Has Rixon seen your place?”
    “Rixon is need-to-know.”
    “I’m not need-to-know?”
    His mouth twitched. “There’s a dark side to need-to-know.”
    “If you showed me, you’d have to kill me?” I guessed.
    He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. “Close enough. What time’s curfew?”
    “Ten. Summer school starts tomorrow.” That, and my mom had practically taken a part-time job finding opportunities to drop the knife between me and Patch. If I’d been out with Vee, I could say with absolute certainty that my curfew would have stretched to ten thirty. I couldn’t blame my mom for not trusting Patch—there was a point in my life when I’d felt similarly—but it would have been extremely convenient if every now and then she relaxed her vigilance.
    Like, say, tonight. Besides, nothing was going to happen. Not with my guardian angel standing inches away.
    Patch looked at his watch. “Time to roll.”
    At 10:04, Patch flipped a U-turn in front of the farmhouse and parked by the mailbox. He cut the engine and the headlights, leaving us alone in the dark countryside. We sat that way for several moments before he said, “Why so quiet, Angel?”
    I instantly snapped to attention. “Am I being quiet? Just lost in thought.”
    A barely-there smile curved Patch’s mouth. “Liar. What’s wrong?”
    “You’re good,” I said.
    His smile widened a fraction. “Really good.”
    “I ran into Marcie Millar at the hamburger stand,” I admitted. So much for keeping my troubles to myself. Obviously they were still smoldering under the surface. On the other hand, if I couldn’t talk to Patch, who could I talk to? Two months ago our relationship involved a lot of spontaneous kissing inside our cars, outside our cars, under the bleachers, and on top of the kitchen table. It also involved a lot of wandering hands, tousled hair, and smudged lip gloss. But it was so much more than that now. I felt connected to Patch emotionally. His friendship meant more to me than a hundred casual acquaintances. When my dad died, he’d left a huge hollowness inside me that threatened to eat me from the inside out. The emptiness was still there, but the ache didn’t cut half as deep. I didn’t see the point in staying frozen in the past, when I had everything I wanted
right now
. And I had Patch to thank for that. “She was thoughtful enough to remind me my dad is dead.”
    “Want me to talk to her?”
    “That sounds a bit
The Godfather
.”
    “What started the war between the two of you?”
    “That’s the thing. I don’t even know. It used to be over who gotthe last chocolate milk in the lunch crate. Then one day in junior high, Marcie marched into school and spray-painted ‘whore’ on my locker. She didn’t even try to be sneaky about it. The whole school was looking on.”
    “She went postal just like that? No reason?”
    “Yup.” No reason I was aware of, anyway.
    He tucked one of my curls behind my ear. “Who’s winning the