"Cabot, Meg - 1-800-Where-R-You 04 - Sanctuary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cabot Meg)

had some baby pictures of Rob on the wall that I admired for a few seconds,
after I'd found her apron on the bed. That, I thought to myself, is how my kid
with Rob would look. If we ever had kids. Which would have to wait until I had a
career, first. Oh, and for Rob to propose. Or take me out on a real date.
In one of the photos, Rob, who was still young enough to be in diapers, was
being held by a man whom I didn't recognize. He didn't look like any of Rob's
uncles, who, like Rob's mom, were all redheaded. In fact, this man looked more
like Rob, with the same dark hair and smokey gray eyes.
This, I decided, had to be Rob's dad. Rob never wanted to talk about his dad, I
guess because he was still mad at him for walking out on Rob and his mom. Still,
I could see why Rob's mom would have gone for the guy. He was something of a
hottie.
Back downstairs, I handed Mrs. Wilkins her apron. She was still giggling over
something Just-Call-Me-Gary had said. Just-Call-Me-Gary looked pretty happy,
too. In fact the only person who didn't look very happy was Rob.
Mrs. Wilkins must have noticed, since she went, "Rob, why don't you show Jessica
the progress you've made on your bike?"
I perked up at this. Rob kept the bike he was currently working on, a totally
choice but ancient Harley, in the barn. This was practically an invitation from
Rob's mom to go and make out with her son. I could not believe my good fortune.
But once we got into the barn, Rob didn't look very inclined to make out. Not
that he ever does. He is unfortunately very good at resisting his carnal urges.
In fact, I would almost say that he doesn't have any carnal urges, except that
every once in a while, and all too rarely for my tastes, I am able to wear him
down with my charm and cherry Chap Stick.
Or maybe he just gets so sick of me talking all the time that he kisses me in
order to shut me up. Who knows?
In any case, he didn't seem particularly inclined to take advantage of my
vulnerable femininity there in the barn. Maybe I should have worn a skirt, or
something.
"Is this just because I drove out here?" I asked, as I watched him tinker around
with the bike.
Rob, looking up at the bike, which rested on a worktable in the middle of the
barn, tightened something with a wrench. "What are you talking about?"
"This," I said. "I mean, if I'd known you were going to be so crabby about it,
I'd have called you to come pick me up, I swear."
"No, you wouldn't have," Rob said, doing something with the wrench that made the
muscles in his upper arms bunch up beneath the gray sweater he wore. Which was
way more entertaining than watching sports on TV, let me tell you.
"What are you talking about? I just said—"
"You didn't even tell your parents you were coming here, Mastriani," Rob said.
"So cut the crap."
"What do you mean?" I tried to sound offended, even though of course he was
telling the truth. "They know where I am."
Rob put down the wrench, folded his arms across his chest, leaned his butt
against the work-table, and said, "Then why, when you called to tell them you
got here, did you say you were at somebody Joanne's?"
Damn! I hadn't realized he'd been in the room when I'd made that call.
"Look, Mastriani," he said. "You know I've had my doubts from the start about
this—you and me, I mean. And not just because I've graduated and you're still in