in high school. Hel. I cheated on him, too, if you want to

count the times he thought we were on and I thought we

were off and vice versa. But not since graduating, not since

we both got ful-time jobs and a ful-time relationship.

we both got ful-time jobs and a ful-time relationship.

He fumbles for the rubbers I keep in the box in my

nightstand and puts one on. I could help him, but I'd rather

watch just now. He rols it on over his cock, his teeth

clamped onto his lower lip in concentration. Then he

moves up my body and centers himself before pushing

inside me.

I groan; I can't help it. I fucking love this, the sex. His

weight. His prick so hard and thick and long inside me,

so long it hurts sometimes when he fucks me, but I like

that, too. He's got muscles in his arms from all the

heavy lifting and I grab one as he thrusts inside me.

I lift my hips to meet him and his bely presses my clit

every time we move together. Orgasm doesn't build, it

tears me down. I'm coming again when he starts to move

harder and faster, and I know Austin's coming, too.

It doesn't always happen that way, that we finish

together, so it's sort of magical and leaves me sleepy

and contented and cuddly, after. He loops an arm

around me when he's thrown away the condom. We lay

on my bed, spooning, and his breath ruffles my hair.

"Paige," Austin says. "I want to ask you something

important."

And then we're on the ocean, in a boat that's going

down.

As the cold, dark sea closed over my head, the sound of

the alarm bels ripped into my ears. I took a deep breath,

even though I was underwater. I kicked, the tight clutch of

the waves around my ankles becoming the tangled grasp

of sheets around my feet as I opened my eyes and

fumbled, without seeing, for the phone.

"What?" At this hour I couldn't be expected to be polite,

could I?

"Paige?"

I blinked, not wanting to look at my bedside clock's

numbers. It was way too fucking early to be up. "Arty.

What's the matter? Where's Mama?"

"Mama's stil sleeping. And Leo's at work," he added,

though I hadn't asked. "I'm hungry."

"Make yourself some cereal." I stifled a yawn and

"Make yourself some cereal." I stifled a yawn and

pondered giving in to a hangover that wouldn't have

bothered me with just a few more hours' sleep.

"There isn't any."

"No Cheerios? No Raisin Bran?"

My little brother, the only other sibling I'd ever actualy

lived with, made a familiar noise of disgust. "I don't like

those kind."

"Then I guess you must not be that hungry." I was hungry,

but didn't feel like getting out of bed at the butt-crack of

dawn to fix toast. "Arty, it's too early to cal me. What did

I tel you about that?"

"Can't you come over and make me some pancakes?" His

little-boy voice sounded very far away. I pictured him in

his Spider-Man pajamas, bare feet swinging because his

legs weren't long enough to reach the floor. "Please?"

Maybe if I kept my eyes closed I'd fal back to sleep. I

snuggled deeper under my soft blankets. "Buddy, I don't

live there anymore. I told you that. I told you I couldn't just

come over whenever you caled."

Silence.

"But I miss you," Arthur said in a tiny voice.

I sighed. "I miss you, too, buddy. How about I come

down and take you to the movies sometime soon?"

"When?" At nearly seven, the kid had been reading since

he was four and could tel time on an analogue clock, a

skil that sometimes stumped me. There wasn't much that

slipped past him. "Today?"

"Not today, no. Maybe later this week."

"When? When?"

I couldn't think straight and just tossed out a day.

"Wednesday?"

"Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday.

That's a week!"

He sounded so dismayed I hated to laugh. Laughing, in

fact, hurt my head. "Not quite. Five days."

"That's too long!" Arthur's voice pitched high enough to

"That's too long!" Arthur's voice pitched high enough to

dril my tender ears.

"You've got gymnastics on Tuesday, and Monday I've got

an appointment in the evening. Sorry, buddy. You have to

wait until Wednesday. Besides," I said, offering an

incentive against despair, "the new Power Heroes movie

comes out on Wednesday. How about that?"

"Okay." He didn't sound convinced, only resigned. "But I'm hungry now, Paige."

"Cereal. Or have a snack from the drawer."

"Mama says no snacks from the drawer until after

breakfast."

"Aren't there any cereal bars in the drawer?" I bit back

another yawn. If I didn't get back to sleep in the next ten

minutes I was not going to be a happy camper.

"Yesss…" Even Arthur knew where I was going with this,

but he sounded like it might be too good to be true.

"Have one of those. They're cereal, right?"

"Can I tel Mama you said it was okay?"

"Can I tel Mama you said it was okay?"

"Sure." It wouldn't be the first time she'd holer at me for giving the kid permission to do something she'd have

refused. On the other hand, this was the woman who'd

alowed me to go to school in a pair of hand-me-down,

slip-on Candie's shoes in the sixth grade and bought me

my first package of rubbers in the tenth. She was a

different sort of mother to Arthur than she'd been to me.

"Now let me go back to sleep, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, Paige."

"Bye."

"I love you," my little brother said before I could hang up.

It wasn't the first time he'd ever said it, but suddenly the

memory of how he'd smeled as a baby washed over me

with enough force to push my eyelids open like snapped-

open blinds. How his hair had been so soft against my lips

when I kissed his little baby head, and how the heavy

weight of him had filed my arms and lap. How I used to

hold him while I watched hour after hour of bad TV, just

because he was so smal and sweet. Just because he loved

me.

me.

"I love you, too, buddy. I'l see you on Wednesday."

He had a seven-year-old's social graces and didn't say

goodbye again, just hung up. I put the phone back in the

cradle of its receiver and my head back in the cradle of my

pilow, but sleep had vanished and there was no getting it

back.

With a groan, I looked at the clock. Almost eight. And I'd

gone to sleep, what, just before six this morning? God. I

was so going to pay that kid back one day, maybe when

he was a teenager and prone to sleeping as late as he

could…yeah. I'd wake him up.

Unfortunately, my revenge was far-flung and I was stil

awake. I stretched and sat up, waiting for the rush and boil

of acid stomach or the pound of a headache, but aside

from a gnawing hunger, I felt al right. At least until I heard

the muted beep from my cel phone, which I'd left

abandoned in my sparkly purse under the pile of my

discarded clothes. I had to dig past my Steve Madden

pumps to reach it.

Five missed cals.

Five? Crap. I thumbed the keypad to check out the

numbers. I had voice mails, too, though without dialing in I

couldn't tel how many. Kira had caled me around 4:00

a.m. but hadn't left a message. That could be good or bad,

depending. One was an old cal from my mother I hadn't

deleted. The other three were from Austin.

Triple crap.

The voice mails were from him, too, half an hour apart.

The first two were brief "when are you going to get here?"

messages. The last one had come in around six-fifteen,

after I'd already gone to bed. It turned the corners of my

mouth down.

"Look, I know I've been an asshole to you in the past."

Then fifteen seconds of awkward silence, punctuated only

by the soft in-out of his breathing. "I'm sorry. I just…I was

a fuckwad, and I'm sorry. Cal me, okay? Please."

A few more seconds of silence and he added, "Please."

Is there anything more simultaneously pathetic and

arousing than a pleading man?

I couldn't bring myself to delete that message. I thought I

might want to listen to it a couple-twenty more times. I

thought I might want to get that statement, "Sorry, I'm a

fuckwad.—Austin Miller" embroidered on a tea towel

and wipe my hands with it.

It was the only time Austin had ever apologized to me for

anything he'd ever done. I wasn't sure it meant anything

now. Not after al this time had passed.

I didn't delete the message, but I didn't cal him back,

either. Instead, I hauled my sorry ass out of bed and

stumbled to the bathroom where I peed for what felt like

an hour and brushed my teeth and puled my hair on top of

my head in a messy ponytail.

I wanted to go back to sleep, but I knew better than to

expect to be able to. I was up for the day now. My

stomach rumbled and I took my last two slices of wheat

bread from the fridge, where I kept it to prevent mold, and

popped them into my toaster oven. I needed to hit the