Love Lies Beneath by Ellen Hopkins Page A

custard. “Your father says you go to school in the Bay Area.”
    â€œYeah. The Athenian. Lucky me. My mom figured I needed better grooming if I wanted half a chance at Stanford.”
    â€œI see. Stanford’s tough, all right. It’s very ambitious of you.”
    â€œUh, Stanford is her idea. Not mine.”
    â€œOh. Well, I happen to be acquainted with the Athenian.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œIn a roundabout way. I have a friend whose son goes there. Do you, by any chance, know Taylor Andaman?”
    â€œEveryone knows everyone at the Athenian.” Which doesn’t exactly answer my question. “So, are all your friends rich?”
    â€œEli . . .” warns Cavin.
    â€œThat’s okay,” I soothe. “Actually, most of the people I know are well-off, yes.”
    â€œIncluding you?”
    â€œWhy? Is that important?”
    He heaves his shoulders. “Nope. Not to me. But it’s a prerequisite if you want to date Dad.”
    â€œEli!” Cavin shifts his weight as if to rise.
    I put a hand on his knee to stop him and lock eyes with the brat. “Nothing wrong with having high standards, is there?”
    Eli smiles, revealing teeth that must be the product of excellent orthodontia. “Personally, I prefer slumming. Rich women are boring.”
    â€œNot nearly as boring as privileged kids.”
    His grin dissolves. “You just might have a point. Well, if you’ll excuse me, pudding has a laxative effect on me.”
    Nice. He leaves his bowl, brown sugar shards crusting the sides, on the coffee table, starts toward the door. “Great meeting you, Eli.” And he’s gone. I turn to Cavin and smile. “That went well, don’t you think?”
    He grimaces. “At least you didn’t run. Finish your drink while I load the dishwasher. Then I’d better get you back to your hotel.”
    By the time we’re on our way, maybe three inches of snow have accumulated on the roads. It’s slow going, and I’m grateful that Cavin chose to play designated driver. One small lapse of judgment could lead to serious consequences. Unlike most of the other men in my life, this one is cautious, and while that might once have bothered me, tonight I appreciate his prudence.
    â€œThank you for a great day.” I don’t want to distract him, but I need him to know I’m interested in pursuing something more, so I rest my hand on his leg, just above his knee.
    â€œNo. Thank you. ” He lifts my hand to his lips and then replaces it, a bit closer to his inner thigh. “Meeting you was quite unexpected, and absolutely my pleasure.”
    â€œWould that I could pleasure you more. But this is definitely a case of wrong time, wrong place.”
    â€œNo apology necessary. I’m happy to accept your IOU. Tomorrow’s your last day here, yes?”
    â€œThat’s right. We’ll probably just kick back. Melody’s done a lot more skiing than she’s used to. And I . . . Well, I don’t really have much of a choice. Just so you know, Doc Lattimore, this injury really stinks.”
    â€œIt’s a bad one. If you have any questions about presurgical rehab, don’t hesitate to call. You’ve got my number.”
    â€œCan I call even if I don’t have any questions?”
    â€œIf you don’t call me, I’ll call you.”
    He pulls up in front of the hotel and parks. I’m reluctant to say good-bye. “If you ever decide to give up doctoring, you could become a tour guide. Thanks for the private excursion.”
    â€œAnytime. And the encore will be even better.”
    His kiss good-bye is filled with promise.

Enigma
    You are roused into the dark
    soup of morning, crawl your way out
    of a green dream of summer.
    One foot explores the far side
    of the quilts, withdraws again, stung
    by subzero tentacles that have infiltrated
    the weather stripping.
    You want to slip