“I…”
“At least you have many trees,” Honor offered.
Olivia ran a hand through her hair. “That’s true.”
“Your boyfriend is very nice. The teachers think he is handsome.”
“Oh yeah?” It was on the tip of her tongue to say that Jarek wasn’t her boyfriend, then she remembered that he, in fact, was.
“Yes. Very tall. It’s good.”
“How about Ritchie?” Olivia asked. “Do you like him?”
Honor blushed. “Yes,” she said. “I like him. But maybe…he does not like me. Not today.”
Olivia frowned. “He likes you. He told me.”
“Another day, yes. But now…maybe not.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I have another boyfriend. Three other boyfriends.”
Olivia’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Honor waved a hand dismissively. “Not real boyfriends. I’m old now, and my parents want me to find a husband. So they call their friends and they send their sons to see me, and say they are my boyfriend. So I must agree.”
“I—How old are you?”
“Twenty-three years old.”
“That is not old.”
“In China, maybe it is old. Almost old. Enough time to get married.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Maybe. If I find the right husband.”
“And these boyfriends…?”
“They are nothing. Not really.”
“And Ritchie?”
A shrug. Honor looked uncomfortable. “He is different. But he does not want to be my boyfriend if I have another three boyfriends.”
“Well…That’s fair.”
Two of the older Chinese teachers approached, neither of whom spoke English. They chatted with Honor, who translated, telling Olivia that they thought her hair was not shiny enough today, but that she had a handsome boyfriend. What was it with everybody and the need for brutal honesty?
“Thanks,” Olivia said. “I’ll tell him.”
More chatter. “Do you love him?” Honor asked.
Her brows shot up. “I—no. He’s just—It’s—I—No.” She looked around the courtyard in case he had somehow managed to sneak in. After the “she’s not my girlfriend” debacle, she didn’t want to have the tables turned, even if it was true. She didn’t love him. She might, if they had more time, which they didn’t.
There was more rapid fire conversation, of which she understood nothing. “They say he loves you,” Honor informed her. “He made so many trees for you.”
“That was just scrap wood.”
“What? Wood? Yes, I know.” The awkwardness was interrupted—or exacerbated—by the arrival of Zhang Laoshi, the school principal. Zhang Laoshi (Teacher Zhang, though she didn’t actually teach any classes) was a small, middle-aged woman with a perpetual smile. She beamed at Olivia then said something to Honor in Mandarin, and the other girl’s demeanor shifted slightly. Olivia had a moment of panic as she wondered if she was in trouble for having allowed four strange men onto the school grounds, but that was not the case. “Olivia,” Honor began, somewhat formally. “Zhang Laoshi says that you have a nice boyfriend.”
“Oh. Ah, thank you,” Olivia said. She repeated the thanks in Mandarin, and everyone tittered as though she had made a polite joke. She wondered briefly if Jarek would find it funny or horrifying.
More chatter, then another translation. “Do you like teaching at this school?” Honor inquired.
“Yes.” Olivia nodded, in case the answer wasn’t clear.
“And do you know that your contract will finish at the end of June?”
“Ah, yes.”
“And do you think you would like to stay for longer? Maybe to…how to say…December?”
Olivia hesitated, both surprised and on the spot. She knew it was difficult to find foreign teachers, particularly in the more rural areas, yet for some reason the concept of extending her contract had never really occurred to her. At the moment there was no reason for her to return to the States in late June as she had planned, but something made her hold back. The construction job would be done in mid-July, and Jarek and the other workers would leave, putting her back in the same friendless position she had started in.
“Can I think about it?” she asked.
Honor relayed the message to Zhang Laoshi, whose smile faltered slightly, then returned in full force. She nodded vigorously.
“Of course,” Honor translated.
“Okay, thank you.”
Zhang Laoshi waved good-bye as the bell rang to signal the start of the day. Olivia started for her classroom, but one of the Chinese teachers stopped her and said something to Honor.
“They invite you to come to the room and play mah-jongg at lunch.”
Olivia looked at them, pleased. “Really?” Maybe she could stay here, after all. She could continue to make friends and—
“Oh, sorry, no. Not play mah-jongg. But watch others play mah-jongg. Maybe you can make that paper bird, what’s the name?”
She tried not to show her disappointment. “A crane.”
“Yes. You are not good, but you can try again.”
Jarek ate lunch with Ritchie, Dale, and Brant. They sat in folding chairs and ate McDonald’s, since it was the easiest place to order from when you didn’t speak Mandarin and didn’t feel like miming. Plus Dale wasn’t a big fan of Chinese food, it turned out. “I’m telling you,” he said, not for the first time. “A big fucking steak, a baked potato, a pile of onion rings…I’d swim home to just to eat a proper meal with a fork and knife.”
“Stop,” Brant groaned. “I just ate and you’re making me hungry again.”
“Another couple months,” Ritchie pointed out. “Then you’ll be back home.”
Jarek watched something shift in Dale’s expression, something dark and sad drifting across his eyes. His shoulders slumped a little and he crumpled the takeout bag in one hand then sent it soaring toward an overflowing trash can, where it bounced off the rim. Jarek forced himself to focus on his meal and not ask what the problem was. He wasn’t in the business of learning people’s secrets anymore, and these guys gossiped like old women, anyway. Surely Brant or Ritchie would follow up on it.
No such luck.
“What’s Olivia up to today?” Brant asked, stuffing the remainder of his burger into his mouth.
Jarek kept his eyes on his meal. “She’s working.”
“And later?”
“Beats me. We don’t hang out every day.”
“What does she do instead?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What do you do?”
Another shrug. “Whatever.”
Dale snickered. “He jerks off and thinks about her tits.”
The guys laughed but Jarek didn’t. “Don’t talk about her, Dale.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because she’s his girlfriend,” Brant piped up. “And he loves her.”
Jarek finished his fries and stuck the container in the paper bag they’d come in. He wasn’t talking about this. He didn’t know when he’d gone from being the guy people avoided to the one they teased. “I’m getting back to work.”
Dale rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t go. We can talk about something else. Like how this guy’s making out with his girlfriend.” He jerked a thumb toward Ritchie. “What is it with you two and teachers?”
Jarek looked at Ritchie speculatively. The younger man’s cheeks were pink and the corners of his mouth turned down. “To take a page out of Jarek’s book, she’s not my girlfriend,” Ritchie said, nodding at him. “She’s already got a boyfriend. Three, in fact.”
Dale and Brant sat up straighter. “What? Really?”
“Yeah. Her parents want her married off, and I guess they’re all better than me. Actually, they don’t know I exist. They’re better than the idea of me, apparently.”
“Think it’s because you’re white?” Da
le asked, cutting, as always, to the chase.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Jarek couldn’t help himself. “I thought you saw her all the time.”
“I did. And then she told me she had three boyfriends.”
“What’d you do?” Brant asked.
“What do you think I did? I left. I can’t compete with guys her parents handpicked.”
Dale slapped his knee. “You just gave up?”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Take her out, man! Show her a good time. Impress her. Take her to karaoke. It’s cliché, but it fucking works, especially here. People here love karaoke.”
“I’m not going to karaoke. I don’t know any Chinese songs.”
“Jarek’ll go with you. You can double date. Two teachers, the two of you. It’s perfect.”
“No,” Jarek interjected. “No double dates. No karaoke.”
But Ritchie was looking at him hopefully.
“No,” he repeated. “Don’t look at me.” When had he gotten so fucking weak? Olivia looked at him from under her lashes and he caved. Ritchie peered at him from behind his glasses and he ended up singing songs in public? Absolutely not.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Olivia whispered. She was pressed up close against him, crammed as they all were into a small private room in one of Lazhou’s extremely popular karaoke bars on Friday night. The room was dim and lined on three sides with a red velvet bench packed shoulder-to-shoulder with Olivia, Jarek, Ritchie, Honor, and a dozen teachers from her school.
The fourth wall housed a large TV that showed an Asian woman singing an extremely high-pitched song as Chinese characters scrolled across the bottom of the screen. One of the older teachers was singing along as the others clapped, and Jarek sipped his beer and tried not to kill himself.
Ritchie had looked so downtrodden after his lunchtime confession that Jarek found himself giving advice on how to win Honor’s heart, as though he had any real experience. But Ritchie seemed to think he was some type of Don Juan and ate up the information like it might actually help. Jarek didn’t point out that he’d never so much as called Olivia on the phone or brought her flowers. That the first time they’d kissed he’d walked away terrified, that the second time had been after he’d bullied his way into her apartment and fingered her to a mediocre orgasm. He didn’t know fuck all about romance, but every time he looked at Ritchie and Honor, they seemed happy.
He couldn’t say the same for Olivia. On several occasions he’d caught her studying the other couple, Honor sniffing the flowers Ritchie had bought her, noting how he held her hand and told her she was pretty. He’d given the advice, but Lord knew he didn’t know how to follow it. He’d feel like such a fucking idiot telling her she had soft hair and a nice smile, even if it were true. And he couldn’t just show up with flowers for no reason, could he? Who did that? He’d look like a lunatic.
A server came in to see if they wanted more drinks, and Jarek ordered another two bottles of beer.
“I’ve had enough!” Olivia had to shout to be heard over the deafening music, and he turned to press his lips to her ear.
“They’re both mine. Just hold one for me.”
She smiled, showing too many teeth, and he leaned in again and told her she was pretty.
“What?” She covered one ear and squinted at him.
“I said—” The music reached a crescendo, then, making them both rock back, startled by the shrieking volume.
Olivia laughed and he shook his head and finished the drink he had in his hand.
“What did you say?” she asked when it got a tiny bit quieter.
“Nothing. I forget.”
She studied him for a second, then grinned at something over his shoulder. He followed her gaze to see the microphone coming his way, and he froze. No. Absolutely not.
“Jarek,” Honor said formally. “Will you please sing a song?”
They were all looking at him. A dozen eager faces on one side, Olivia squeezing his knee on the other.
“Say yes,” she whispered in his ear. He felt her breath on his skin and goose bumps sprung up on his arms, though that could have been pure terror as the torture device was pressed into his hand. He’d been scared before. He’d certainly been in far worse situations than this. He just couldn’t think of any right now.
“I don’t sing,” he said. The microphone picked up the words and his voice boomed through the room, though absolutely everyone ignored him.
Honor translated for the teacher punching buttons on the karaoke machine. “It’s an English song,” she assured him. “Very easy.”
“No, I—” He turned. “Olivia, tell them.”
She was accepting the drinks from the server, and returned with a bottle in each hand. “I’d love to hear you sing.”
“I don’t fucking sing,” he hissed. “You should know that.”
“Not even a very English song?”
“No.”
“He doesn’t want to sing,” she informed the group, shooting him an exaggerated look of disappointment.
They bemoaned his reluctance and he tried to pass off the microphone, but no one would take it. Then the opening strains of “Unchained Melody” began to play.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he muttered. He shot Olivia a warning glare, as though she had selected the song or forced him to come tonight, even though the whole thing had been his idea. He had made a huge mistake helping Ritchie. This was why he didn’t get involved in other people’s lives. This was why he preferred to be alone. He didn’t make himself do terrible, stupid things.
The room was dim enough that when Olivia slid her hand up his thigh and he tensed, no one noticed. She nipped his earlobe. “Sing, and I’ll do anything you want later.”
He shot her a warning look. “You don’t want to know the shit I’d make you do.”
She arched a brow and began to sing. She had a terrible voice, it turned out. It sounded like whale calls, but if she cared, it didn’t show. Maybe umpteen rounds of children’s songs erased all shame in a person.
Ritchie chimed in. Jarek elbowed him in the side but he wouldn’t be deterred. The guy actually could sing, it turned out. Though perhaps next to Olivia, everyone sounded good. Behind Ritchie Jarek could see Honor grinning, hands clasped together proudly as she mouthed the words. In fact, everyone was mouthing the words, or something that looked like the words and sort of sounded like them, and he was the only one who wasn’t participating.
He regarded Olivia, drinking one of the beers she’d said she didn’t want, and singing along with that knowing look on her face, the one that said she knew she drove him crazy and didn’t give a damn. He took the beer, lowered the microphone, and sang a few lines, leaning in so close that her eyes lost focus and she tipped back against the cushions. “Anything I want,” he murmured against her lips.
She blinked, then smiled slowly. “Me first.”
Much later, ears still ringing from the music and later the loud chatter as they’d sat around an enormous table eating copious amounts of fried food for two hours, Jarek herded Olivia into his apartment. She stumbled in her high heels, long legs scrambling to keep her upright. It was tempting to let her fall and see her splayed out on his floor, short skirt hiked up over her hips, but he didn’t have the heart. Not even after her idea of “me first” meant three more English songs and one Chinese pop song. Jarek gripped her arm to steady her, then tugged her into the bathroom and started the shower.
“What’s going on?” Olivia demanded, hands on her hips. Her cheeks were red, eyes glassy, and she was drunk. He’d never seen her this way, figuring maybe she’d gotten it out of her system in college, partying with her equally blond friends, making frat boys drool. But the more he thought about it, as he’d watched her tonight, laughing and singing and dancing, he realized it was more likely she just hadn’t had anyone to do it with in a very long time.
“Get undressed,” he ordered, helping her out of he
r jacket.
“I don’t want to take a shower.”
“Okay. Hold on to me and step out of your shoes.”
She gripped his wrist for balance and sighed as her feet met the cool floor. She flexed her toes and rested her forehead against his shoulder. “I danced a lot.”
“I know you did.”
He tugged the sparkling tank top over her head and allowed himself one meager, lustful fantasy when her lace-covered breasts came into view.
“This is your apartment,” Olivia said.
“That’s right.”
“I’ve been here before.”
“You have.”
“Ritchie said he’s never been invited. Dale either. He lives across the hall.”
He unzipped her skirt and let it pool around her ankles. Her back was to the mirror and he swallowed painfully as he saw the tiny black thong disappear between her ass cheeks. She swayed against him, breasts bumping his chest, and his hardening cock jumped to attention.
“C’mon,” he murmured, unfastening her bra and setting it on the counter. “Take your panties off.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want you to take a shower.”
“And then?”
And then she was probably going to pass out. “And then we’ll see.”
“I don’t want to take a shower.”
“Take your panties off.”
She heaved an aggrieved sigh and did her best to glare at him as she hooked her thumbs under the lacy scrap of fabric and worked it down her tan thighs. He suspected her slow progress and artless shimmy had more to do with trying to keep her balance than trying to seduce him, but either way, it was having a very unfortunate effect on his dick.
“Good,” he said, taking her hand. “Now get in the shower.”
“I don’t want to get my hair wet.”
“That’s a byproduct of standing in the water.” He gripped her waist and guided her in. He didn’t have a tub, just a tile-enclosed shower with a heavy glass door. He leaned against the open door and watched her wince as the lukewarm water hit her head. She shivered, eyes closed, and wrapped her arms around herself, but didn’t move.
“Why am I in here?” she asked after a moment.
He ran a hand over his mouth and tried not to smile. “Because you smell bad.”
Going the Distance Page 16
