Page 40 of A Scandal in Homeroom
That Same Night
Locke
The doorbell rang and I hated the jolt to the stomach it gave me. I knew who it was. There was no reason I should have a physical reaction to her presence.
I took a deep breath, walked to the door and opened it.
She’d tried to unsexy herself. It was the first thought that registered. Messy hair, bulky hoodie. It only made me want to strip her bare.
I hated that. Hated that I had those thoughts. I wasn’t a physical creature. Never had been. I lived in my head, not my body, but Irene challenged me on all levels.
“I’m here,” she said, with a shrug of her shoulders and a bored look on her face, although I could see her cheeks were flushed. “What do you want?”
Saying nothing, I backed away from the door to let her inside. Her eyes narrowed, but she moved passed me into the living room.
“Do I at least get tea?”
“Sorry?” I said.
“Tea,” she repeated. “You’re British, aren’t you? On all the TV shows there is always tea and stuff. Like scones and jam.”
“Well, we’re in America, aren’t we? I have Diet Coke. My brother is addicted.”
“Okay.”
I left her and walked to the kitchen. Pulling out two cans, I returned to find her checking out the space. Probably noting the lack of personality.
“We rented it furnished,” I said, as I handed her the can of soda. “You won’t find any family photos if that’s what you were looking for.”
To my knowledge there weren’t any family photos in the Holmes’ residence in London for that matter.
She took the can and sat on the yellow embroidered settee.
I sat across from her nearly three feet away and I had this crazy urge to apologize to her. I just didn’t know for what.
“Well?” she asked, even as she opened her soda and took a sip. I watched her face change then. Like she couldn’t stop herself from enjoying it so much.
“You don’t get soda at home, do you?”
Her lips firmed and she put the can on the glass table at the end of the settee.
“You won’t drink it now, just to be spiteful. Awfully immature, wouldn’t you say?”
“I won’t drink it when every expression I have is being evaluated,” she countered. “Spending time with you is like being under a microscope.”
“I had the impression you liked spending time with me. Until you didn’t.”
She shifted in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”
You.
Of course I didn’t say it. It would only scare her. But that was the puzzle, wasn’t it? Why was Irene Adler, the sexiest girl in school, who promoted that sexuality easily and casually, afraid of sex?
“I want to know about Thornfield Home.”
She burst out with a sharp laugh like I’d said something utterly ridiculous.
“That’s not going to happen,” she finally said.
