Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [100]
Jessica counts the loop-de-loops on the cupcake—one two three four five six seven—then stuffs the whole damn thing in her mouth. Her cheeks balloon with synthetic chocolate and artificial cream.
“We’ve never celebrated a birthday together before,” Marcus says, coming toward her with the bag of gifts.
Jessica chokes down a spit-thickened wad of synthetic chocolate and artificial cream. “Uhhuunnhh?”
He perches himself cross-legged beside her on the bed, then very deliberately places the shopping bag between them. “We were never together for our birthdays.”
The mattress is quivering. At first Jessica thinks her pent-up sexual energy is manifesting itself as a geotectonic phenomenon. After a moment, however, she realizes that she’s not the one responsible for this involuntary bedquake.
nineteen
Marcus is flapping his knees in and out and up and down faster-faster-faster than the suicidal moths on The Queen’s dilapidated doorstep. He wonders if he might have to excuse himself to the bathroom and rub another one out.
I will prove to her that I’ve only got the best intentions, he promises himself. I will prove to her that this is not just about sex. That this is not just about tonight.
Jessica dances her chocolate-covered fingertips along his bicep. He blanches.
“What did I do?” Jessica asks innocently.
“Nothing,” Marcus says, composing himself. “I just zoned out there for a moment…” He trails off.
“Can I have my present now?” Jessica asks, eyes aflutter. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear that she was sort of… maybe … perhaps … coming on to him? No, this is another test. She’s just hopped up on sugar. This isn’t sexual. He squirms and pulls his T-shirt down over his crotch. Ohhhhhh, maaaaan. He hasn’t been this torqued up since he was a twelve-year-old virgin popping boners whichever way the wind blew.
“Pleeeeeeeeease?” Jessica whines.
Marcus opens the bag just slightly, takes a peek, removes the boxer shorts he bought for himself.
“These are mine,” he says. “But the rest…”
“Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” Jessica lunges, grabbing more of Marcus than the bag. To defend himself, Marcus releases the bag into her arms, rolls off the bed, and stands militarily (ahem) erect.
“Er,” he says, his hands jangling around inside his front pockets. “So there’s a T-shirt and boxers in there because I thought you might need them to sleep in. And a toothbrush because I assumed you packed yours and it arrived in the Virgin Islands without you. And a shot glass for, er, well… doing shots. Not that I’m suggesting we get drunk or anything, but…” He’s filibustering madly. “And there’s a deck of cards in there because I thought I could maybe, I don’t know, teach you how to play hearts. Remember? That was the game your grandmother Gladdie always played … It was weird, but I thought of her when I was with The Queen. It was a memory I hadn’t thought of in a long time. She was such a great woman, your grandmother. Oh, man. Oh, shit. I just realized that you need four players for hearts. Maybe we can play rummy or something instead. I don’t know. That Barrytini really scrambled my brain and … I… uh … gotta excuse myself to use the bathroom, okay? So you might want to turn on the TV or something, because I might be in there a while and …”
Midramble, he backs himself into the bathroom, shuts the door, and locks it behind him. He collapses against the door like the sole horror-movie survivor of the scythe-slashing psycho