Free Beyond the Pale Motel by Francesca Lia Block Page B

dangled by that monster, Love, was better than the slow agony of psychologically hemorrhaging to death alone. And now that Cyan was gone and my neighbor was dead, I’d probably be safer with Jarell in my bed than without him anyway.
    Not to mention, I needed all the comfort I could get. And sex was comfort. Short of drinking, which I knew I couldn’t do, it was the quickest way I knew to feel better, at least for a while.
    *   *   *
    Jarell looked even taller in my house. He probably had at least three inches on Dash and was much leaner, but I was used to seeing Dash crammed in there. Jarell—everything about him was big: eyes, nose, lips, hands, feet. He bent down to hug me lightly. He smelled like weed and, maybe, shea butter? Some expensive and natural cream. I did not believe at all in the sending of angels, but if I did, I would have thought he was one.
    I offered him some sparkling water, which I brought in and poured in the best wineglasses with the gold rims. He sat on the couch, which looked like playhouse furnishing.
    I joined him and we clinked and sipped the water. Up this close he resembled a movie star; his features were so symmetrical it made me uneasy.
    â€œI hope you don’t mind just having water.”
    â€œNo, that’s cool. That’s cool.”
    â€œSo Skylar’s doing okay so far?” I asked.
    Jarell leaned forward, legs spread, elbows on knees, and looked at me sideways. “Yeah, he’s doing good. He’s a good kid. A little hard on himself, but, yeah.”
    â€œHe really loves baseball. It’s this total passion.”
    â€œYeah. It’s a tough road, though. You know, I was in the minors. It was all I thought about, all I did. Well, almost.” His gaze was predatory.
    There were more things I had wanted to ask him—about his career, his childhood, the interests listed on his Facebook page, his son, Skylar—but everything had flown out of my head.
    â€œIs this your mala?” Jarell pointed out my beads in a gauze bag. I’d moved them into the living room one day but hadn’t actually used them. “Do you meditate?”
    â€œI should more often,” I said. To be honest I hadn’t meditated since the morning after I’d read about Darcy London’s baby. In spite of my early interest in rosaries, I guess maybe it was Dash who’d been the spiritual one in the family. Or at least he knew how to appear that way. “Do you?” Of course I knew the answer from stalking Jarell’s Facebook page.
    â€œIt helps me stay cool. But the room’s heating up right now.” He finished his water, held out his glass, and I refilled it.
    â€œIf I knew this morning that the hottest man I’d ever seen was coming over, I’d have picked up something else besides Perrier.”
    â€œThe hottest?” He frowned at me. “Who you talking about?”
    I shook my hair out of my eyes (it still smelled vaguely like hot metal from the flatiron) and met his. “Who do you think?”
    He flashed his best head-shot smile. “Okay, well, I hope you’re telling me the truth because otherwise none of it matters.”
    â€œOkay, maybe not the hottest ever, but the hottest I’ve seen up this close.“
    â€œNow that I’ll take.” Jarell leaned over and kissed me on the lips. His were twice the size of mine. “How’s that?” he asked.
    I grabbed his face and pulled him into me. We were mad kissing, or I was; his mouth was slow, not urgent. I felt his hands on my waist and I only had a second to worry about the flesh there before he had hoisted me onto his lap, his hands on my ass. The way he did that wasn’t slow or calm at all, though his mouth seemed almost lazy. I felt his hardness pressing up against me, and it made me shiver so much it was a convulsion.
    â€œYou like the feel of that?” he whispered.
    He moved me aside slightly and unzipped