The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [83]
“It is. Selling out pays well.”
“Better than the Peace Corps, certainly. Do you still sell pot?”
Dan, one hand on the key in the ignition, turned to look at her. “You buying?”
“Nah. Just curious.”
“No. Not anymore. If there’s anything more depressing than being the old guy who still lives a mile from campus, it’s the old guy who still lives a mile from campus and sells pot to students.”
“It could be worse. You could be the old guy who lives a mile from campus, sells pot, and hits on all the students.”
Easing the car out of the parking lot, Dan paused and checked for oncoming traffic. There was none. Cordy could hear the tires kicking up fountains of water as he pulled onto Main and headed west. The water sluiced down, mindless of the windshield wipers, which swished, futile against the deluge. “That’s something I definitely have no interest in. I look at them now and all I see are kids. You know? I mean, the difference between the freshmen and the seniors is big, but the difference between a senior and a thirty-year-old is like a chasm. Huge.”
“I don’t know. I keep waiting to feel old, to feel like a grown-up, but I don’t yet. Do you think that’s the big secret adults keep from you? That you never really feel grown-up?”
“I feel grown-up. I think buying the Beanery did it to me. Maybe that’s why I’m resisting buying a house. That’ll be like the ultimate surrender.”
The shadows cast by the sprays of water rolled down his face as they drove. He needed a shave, Cordy saw, though his dark hair made it more noticeable. Under his full bottom lip, he was growing a tiny soul patch, an affectation that on most men just seemed, well, affected, but on him looked both sweet and dangerous.
“I guess you’re right,” Cordy said, thinking of the lost twentysomethings who had surrounded her wanderings on the road, filtering in and out of her days. After all, hadn’t she given it up because she’d finally felt too old for it? “What I mean is, I still feel like me. It’s not like I wake up and think, I am a responsible adult. I just look in the mirror and see myself. The same stupid person I’ve been looking at for years.”
Without taking his eyes off the road, Dan reached over and stroked the curve of her face with the backs of his fingers. She could feel the tiny hairs, and the dryness of his skin from washing dishes. “There’s nothing stupid about you, Cordy.” He put his hand back on the wheel as he made the turn onto our street and pulled up in front of the house, stopping in front of the curb.
They turned toward each other, and Cordy knew he was going to kiss her. His eyes were dark and rich, the color swollen with desire, and something else she did not quite recognize. “I’m glad you came back,” he said. His hand rested on her knee, and the heat seeped through her faded jeans. “It’s good to have someone to talk to.”
Cordy stared at his hand for a moment, at the way his broad palm curved over her knee, his fingers spread slightly across her thighs, and then she pulled her gaze up to meet his. The rain pounded outside, the lights at the edges of the driveways on the street only barely breaking through the cloud-soaked darkness.
When they leaned toward each other—it was mutual, don’t let Cordy tell you any different—she felt her breath catch in her throat and then she exhaled as their lips met. His mouth was wide and strong and soft against hers, and that kiss felt deeper and sweeter than all the kisses she’d shared over the years.
And then she pulled back.
“I’m pregnant,” she told him.
“That was fast,” he said.
“Dan. Really. I’m pregnant,” she said, and her fingers went to her mouth, ripping at the nails. She turned away from him and stared out into the darkness.
“So . . . there’s someone else?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “There’s no one.” She turned to him and flashed him