Postcards From Last Summer by Roz Bailey Read Free Book Online Page B

hands over his face, as if rubbing away the memory. “You were there, right?”
    â€œI drove you home.”
    â€œRight, yeah. That was weird.”
    Did he really not remember that she drove him home, or was that just part of his smooth cover-up? “Feel better now?”
    â€œDefinitely. And you look great, Darcy. Really.” His pink tongue peeked out, teasing his bottom lip.
    â€œYeah, I know,” she said, though his comment warmed her like a hot-stone massage. She leaned back, pleased at the way her hipbones jutted out in her DK linen skirt.
    â€œTell me, Darce. Are Mommy and Daddy home tonight?”
    She smoothed the pencil-thin linen skirt over one hip, leaning away coyly. “Actually, I’ve got the whole house to myself tonight.”
    â€œAll alone in the Love Shack?” He leaned forward and cupped her butt, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Maybe I’d better keep you company.”
    Darcy swallowed hard as feelings of love and desire tugged deep inside her. She nuzzled his ear, leaning into the strong line of his body. Although she hadn’t seen him in months, she didn’t mind that he cut through the formalities, pushing their relationship along. She reached around his waist, loving the lean feel of him as she sidled into his arms, her lips veering close to his. “So . . . let’s get the hell out of here.”

6
    Lindsay
    W ith one phone call Tara and I reconnected, catching up on events over the school year and sharing our various experiences with Darcy. That first night at the movies, Tara could barely contain her anger toward our former friend, but a few days later she sort of forgot about Darcy’s bad karma. Tara’s brother Wayne, a soldier stationed in Korea, flew home with a friend, a guy named Charlie Migglesteen, and the idea of lusting for a guy under the same roof had delicious possibilities. Tara choked over his last name the first time she told me as we biked past an open market on Main Street.
    â€œMigglesteen. I can’t believe I like a guy named Migglesteen.”
    â€œAnd what’s wrong with that?” I asked.
    â€œIt just makes me smile. He’s Jewish, and very cute. Not too tall, but with chocolatey eyes and a really strong sense of himself. You should see him handle my parents. Manners that shut my mother right down.”
    â€œMr. Migglesteen sounds nice,” I said as we turned off Main Street onto a tree-lined avenue. “Are you thinking of changing your name to Mrs. Migglesteen?”
    â€œGet outta town.” Tara leaned over the handlebars and coasted, looking trim and sporty in her hot pink shorts, black tank, and black helmet with matching pink stripes. “I’m not even sure he likes me.”
    â€œI’ll bet he does,” I told her. “But what about the parents? How are they handling it?” Although Tara had gotten involved with white boys before, nothing had ever developed to a level that her parents learned of the relationship, but this was right under their noses.
    â€œI’m not sure how my parents would handle it,” Tara said thoughtfully. We were quiet as we passed tidy green lawns lined with flower beds of tall yellow tulips and lush red, purple, and orange impatiens with blossoms so thick they reached over the sidewalk. It was a sunny June afternoon, and the sleepy shingled colonial cottages of Southampton seemed not quite awake to the potential of full-blown summer yet.
    â€œI’m not going to worry about it now,” Tara said. “If something develops, then I’ll deal with it, but as it is, Wayne keeps pulling Charlie into these stupid Xbox competitions that go on all day long. And when Charlie manages to extract himself from my brother, there’s Mama watching us like a hawk.” She sighed. “I gotta tell you, it’s not easy falling for your big brother’s friend.”
    â€œOh, please.” I tucked a clump of dark hair into