Any Red-Blooded Girl by Maggie Bloom Read Free Book Online Page A

still standing in front of him in protest. I mean, he
shouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t really willing to deliver.
    “I am. This is it,” he said, grinning
playfully. “This folds flat.” He pointed at the back of the couch.
“I sleep right here. Come on. Sit with me.”
    “It’s not really what I expected,” I
admitted, disheartened. “But why not?”
    Even though there was plenty of room for me
to sit beside him, I stretched out horizontally and rested my head
in his lap instead. And the cool thing was, he didn’t act
surprised. He just dug right in for a deep, relaxing backrub. I
guess it was another benefit of having a boyfriend with big, strong
hands: He could turn my muscles to Silly Putty.
    Now I know this sounds pretty goofy, but the
backrub was so pleasurable I had to just about glue my lips shut to
avoid moaning out loud. After all, I didn’t want Mick thinking I
was some horny tramp getting all revved up over him touching
me.
    “So tomorrow’s your birthday?” he asked, as I
started to slip into a sleepy dream.
    I sort of half nodded.
    “We should do something special,” he
declared. “Something memorable. It is your sweet sixteen,
after all.”
    I’m not gonna lie. The idea of a sweet
sixteen grossed me out a little. I mean, all I could picture were
phony, overdressed debutantes—dripping with money and
attitude—partying it up at some ritzy, star-studded venue.
Definitely not my thing.
    “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about
it.”
    “Then think about it,” he ordered. “I want
you to remember this birthday for the rest of your life.”
    Well, that was a tall order. How the
hell was I going to think of something so fantastically original to
do that it would stick in my memory forever, especially here at
good ol’ Wild Acres? And by the way, shouldn’t my awesome new
boyfriend be in charge of the thinking anyway? I mean, I hated to
turn into such a bossy nag so early in our relationship, but…
    “Isn’t that your job?” I teased. “Why don’t
you surprise me? I love surprises.”
    Okay, so I might have misrepresented my
feelings about surprises. But at least maybe I wouldn’t get stuck
doing all the dirty work.
    “A surprise it is,” Mick declared.
    Out of the blue, the RV’s door jumped open,
causing me to develop an immediate case of rigor mortis.
    “Eh, Mick. Cy’s lookin’ for ya,” one of the
card-playing, internet-surfing dudes said, poking just his head
through the doorway.
    It was the first time I’d gotten even a
halfway decent look at the guy, since he always seemed to be
staring at the ground. And even though I assumed he was one of
Mick’s relatives, he was absolutely nothing like Mick. He had flat,
greasy hair, a bunch of ready-to-pop zits, and such slouchy posture
he resembled an invertebrate.
    “Thanks, Cal. I’ll be there in a few
minutes,” Mick said.
    For less than half a second, the mystery guy
made eye contact with me. Then he shut the door and left. “Who’s
that?” I asked.
    “Oh, that’s my cousin. My Aunt Billie’s
kid.”
    “Kid? How old is he?” I said, sort of
confused. Honestly, the guy looked about thirty.
    “Cal? Hmm… I think he’s about four years
older than me. So about twenty. It’s hard to keep track, since we
don’t go to school. We don’t really measure time the same way you
do.”
    “Huh?”
    “We gauge time mostly by the seasons,” he
explained. “By the rhythm of nature. Every few months, things
shift. And then there are events too. Special experiences that mark
new chapters, like meeting you.”
    It could not possibly be true that meeting me was a serious turning point in this sweet, gorgeous boy’s
life. “Really? I’m a new chapter?”
    Mick leaned in and delivered a French kiss
that literally curled my toes. “Best one yet,” he whispered. “But
let’s keep writing.” And on that sappy note, a rap on the door
interrupted us again. “Oops, I forgot. My dad’s looking for me. You are