This Is the Wonder Page 4

  Finally he replies. It’s weirdly short for how long it took to get here.

  Bring them along. The guys you met at Oktoberfest will be there too.

  -Jax

  “So, not a date,” I grumble, feeling even dumber than before.

  I will. But only one.

  -Wren

  I’ll bring a car seat. So I’ll see you on Saturday? 5:30am?

  -Jax

  I cringe looking at that time but I type my response quickly, without hesitation.

  I can’t wait.

  -Wren

  Chapter Five

  Mel is not a tough sell on a trip across Germany with four single airmen, especially come Saturday when she’s three days deep in a freeze-out by Ben. As much as I want to be annoyed with the guy, I can’t be. He was upfront with her about what he wanted and what he was willing to give in return—nothing. She went into that with eyes wide open, fully knowing what the other side of a night with him looked like. I’m gonna be there for her and she can cry on my shoulder anytime, but I won’t deny what’s happening and I won’t pipe smoke into her asshole.

  He’s over her. Probably forever.

  “It’s cold,” Mel whines, stomping her booted feet on the cobbled sidewalk.

  We’re waiting outside the dorms for Jax to come pick us up. We’re early—about ten minutes or more. Mel isn’t complaining about the time because she knows I’m excited to see this guy, but apparently everything else is fair game.

  “Go grab a thicker coat,” I tell her, my eyes casually roaming the dark empty street.

  “I’ll be fine once we’re in his car. Where are we going again?”

  “His base first. Well, just outside it. The tour bus doesn’t go inside the gates, I guess.”

  “Can we go inside the gates?”

  “I don’t think so. Not without a sponsor and a pass.”

  Mel scowls, looking offended. “But we’re American.”

  “And we’re not military.”

  “Hmm.”

  I sigh. “Don’t start.”

  “It seems insane to me,” she starts, “that in a foreign country, United States citizens are not allowed on U.S. soil. That’s nuts.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s because we’re not supposed to see certain things. I bet you have to sign a secrecy agreement or something to go on base.”

  “What is a secrecy agreement?”

  “You know—something that says you won’t talk about what you’ve seen or heard.”

  “You mean a non-disclosure agreement?”

  “Whatever! A gag order is more like it.”

  “It’s for security reasons, that’s it. Take it down a notch, Fox News,” I tell her. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have brought Ben with me instead.

  “Am I going to embarrass you in front of your boyfriend?” she teases.

  “Not my boyfriend and I don’t know, are you?”

  “I’ll be good.”

  “That’s what you said when we left for Oktoberfest. Remember how that turned out?”

  “Not really.”

  “Exactly.”

  I spot headlights coming our way, the dark shape of a black car rolling up in front of us. I can see Jax’s face glowing in the light of the dashboard and it hits me hard just how handsome he is. It’s like I’d forgotten. Maybe I gave myself temporary amnesia just in case I never saw him again so I wouldn’t be spoiled for all other men for the rest of my life.

  When he stops in front of us, he leans over the passenger seat and opens the door. We’re greeted by a blast of warm air and a brilliant smile from him.

  “Ladies,” he says happily, sounding way too chipper for how early he must have gotten up.

  “Captain Hottie,” Mel replies.

  I death-glare the crap out of her.

  Jax chuckles. “A promotion, nice. I’ll take it.”

  I look at Mel pointedly, silently pleading with her to not humiliate me. She grins as she slips into the backseat. It is not reassuring.

  Once we’re settled in, Jax jets off down the narrow street and we head out of town. We have to weave through dark, quaint little streets before we get to the Autobahn, where all semblance of common decency flies out the window and disappears into the frosted air.

  There’s an American misconception that the Autobahn is completely free of speed limits. Not true. There are sections that are marked with small circular ‘It’s your funeral’ signs where you can go whatever speed you want, but you don’t have free reign everywhere. Other areas, mostly around cities or sharp turns, are marked with actual speed limits, and while a hundred and thirty kilometers an hour sounds insanely fast, it’s actually about eighty miles an hour. But factor that in with the predawn hour, a light fog blurring the air, and German drivers’ seemingly complete disregard for human life, and you’ll be white-knuckled, ass clenched all the way home.

  “Does my driving make you nervous?” Jax asks, glancing over at me briefly.

  I want to scream, ‘Eyes on the road, asshole!’, but I also don’t want to look crazier than I actually am.

  “No, I’m fine,” I reply calmly.

  “Your hands are clenched.”

  I hadn’t noticed that. I flex them out, feeling the sweat that had built in my palms going cold against the air. “It’s nothing. You’re driving is fine. It’s great. I just…”

  I don’t want to finish that sentence. I don’t want to talk about this.

  “She’s deathly afraid of car crashes,” Mel finishes for me.

  “I’m not deathly afraid of them,” I argue indignantly. “I’m deathly afraid of death. It’s a reasonable fear.”

  “Yeah, but you’re convinced you’re going to die in a car crash. You dream about it.”

  I turn around in my seat to glare at her, but the change in perspective and the lack of sight out the windshield makes me both nauseous and paranoid. I sit forward again feeling tense. Caged.

  I take a deep breath. “I don’t dream about dying in a car crash. You make it sound like I’m crazy. Like I think my dreams are telling my future.”

  “It’s as the gypsy woman foretold…” Mel intones ominously.

  I bite my tongue, fighting the urge to call her a bitch.

  “I have nightmares about car crashes,” I admit. “That’s all it is. It’s not a big deal.”

  The car falls silent and I want to snap my seat backwards until I’m crushing Mel’s knees into her chest for making me talk about this. The guy just met me. I hadn’t planned on cracking my can of crazy on him just yet. Although the fact that I’m afraid of moving vehicles bursting into fiery deathballs is probably something I would be hard-pressed to hide on an all-day road trip.

  “I dream about falling,” Jax says suddenly, his deep voice pouring thickly into the air and filling the interior of the car, settling over me like a warm blanket.

  I glance at him skeptically. “You do?”

  He nods, his eyes staying intent on the road and his hands at a perfect ten and two. I try to remember if they were always positioned there or if he’s doing it for my benefit. “Yeah. I’m afraid of heights. It’s really bad. Sometimes I dream I’m falling, but I don’t know what I fell off of. It’s just the feeling. It sucks.”

  I nod, not sure what to say but appreciating the solidarity. He’s a good guy. He’s such a good guy it’s fucking stupid and I’m worried all of the sudden. Dude can’t be real. Guys like him, they just don’t exist—and they certainly don’t fall into your lap out of nowhere. You have to be one of those amazing good girls to get them, one who built up karma for years feeding the hungry and washing the feet of the homeless on the weekends.

  I go to slasher flicks and read erotic romances in the wee hours of the morning. My karma is crap.

  “I had a sex dream about Jason Biggs,” Mel blurts out.

  I turn slowly to look at her, my brows drawn together in confusion.

  “What?” she asks defensively. “We were sharing weird dreams,
right?”

  “That is a weird one,” Jax agrees.

  “It was like a month ago. Not even when he was popular. I have no idea where he came from.”

  “Canada, I think,” I tell her, sitting forward.

  “Really?”

  “He’s from Jersey,” Jax corrects.

  Now I’m frowning at him. “How do you know that?”

  “Are you a member of his fan club? Did you have a sex dream about him too?!” Mel asks excitedly.

  He smiles. “No, sorry. You’re alone. I know because I’m from Jersey too. We’re proud of our celebrities.”

  “Like Snooki?” I ask wryly.

  He casts me a sideways glance, quick but scathing. “I said celebrities. Not train wrecks.”

  “Not a Jersey Shore fan. Marking that down.”

  “Where does it go? Pros or cons column?”

  I grin. “You don’t have a cons column, Jax.”

  He chuckles lightly. “That’s not true, but I’m glad I’ve got you fooled so far.”

  We make it to the base intact. No fire-filled death crash. No one falls to their doom. No one fucks Jason Biggs.

  Today is a good day to be alive.

  Jax parks his car next to a big Chevy truck and I watch as familiar faces come piling out. Sanchez and his sour mug, Birchart, and Haskins stretching and squinting in the light of the slowly rising sun. They look rough, probably hungover or still drunk. Only Birchart, who was driving, looks alert.

  “What’s up, man?” he asks Jax gruffly, gripping his hand and pulling him into one of those guy hugs that’s more of a body slam and a back slap than anything else.

  “Not much. Surprised you guys made it.”

  “Ha,” Birchart laughs, rubbing his hand over his head once. “I can’t believe you drove all the way to Heidelberg and back already. I’d have passed out and crashed halfway there.”

  I feel my body tense aggressively, vivid images flashing in front of my eyes before I can lock them down.

  “Yeah, no, I’m good,” Jax says quickly. He turns to me and Mel, gesturing to us. “You guys remember Wren?”

  “What’s up, Baby Bird?” Sanchez greets me with a nod.

  I smile, nodding back. Mel waves weakly and I introduce her to the guys. I catch Birchart eyeing her a little too long and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Not knowing the ending of his dubious story about the German girl in the bar, I don’t have a solid read on him yet. Haskins only nods, not saying a word to us, and it’s then that I realize I’ve never heard him speak. He’s tall and thin with blond hair and a firm jawline, but his eyes are hidden in the shadow being cast by the truck and I can’t get a good look at them. They’re not on us, that’s for sure. He’s looking at the bus, eyeing it like he’s dying to get inside—probably to fall asleep.

  Jax hands us all our tickets and leads the way to the big bus. I expected a school bus type of ride, but it’s one of those charter buses with a bathroom in the back and individual cloth seats instead of pleather-coated benches. It’s also warm inside and we hurry in, heading straight for the back. It’s awkward for a second as I decide who to sit next to. Obviously I want to cozy up to Jax, but I can’t leave Mel alone or sitting next to one of these random guys that she just met.

  To my surprise—and Mel’s—Sanchez takes hold of Mel’s arm and pulls her into the seat next to him. “Perch with your boy, Baby Bird,” he tells me. “I got your girl.”

  Mel gives me an inquisitive look, not sure if this is a good thing or not. Neither am I, not where she’s concerned, so I smile encouragingly to put her at ease even though I might have just totally screwed her.

  “Does he always talk like that?” I whisper to Jax, settling in next to him.

  “You mean like Eminem?” he chuckles. “Yeah. I hope the ‘baby bird’ bit doesn’t bother you because I can’t get him to stop. Once you have a nickname with him, it’s all over. It’s how I became Jax.”

  “I’m good with it. Don’t worry about it. With my name, I’ve heard worse. Believe me.”

  “So why did you only bring one of your kids? The guy didn’t want to come along?”

  He asks so casually, so smoothly, I almost don’t think anything of it, but something about his tone is tight. Measured. Like he’s trying really hard not to sound like his question means anything at all, which of course makes him sound kind of weird. But I know what he’s asking without really asking.

  I glance over at Mel. She’s turned toward Sanchez, deep in conversation—probably about Jesus pieces. “No, um, they had a falling out recently and they’re not speaking. And to be honest, given the choice between hanging out with Ben or Mel, I’ll choose Mel every time.”

  “You and Ben aren’t close?”

  “It’s not that. Actually, the problem is that Ben is a little too close with everybody, if you get what I’m saying.”

  “I think I do. So that’s what they had the falling out about.”

  “Yep. And I’m caught in the crossfire.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Yeah.” I turn to face him, thrown by how close he is. I suddenly become aware of all of the points on his body in contact with mine: his shoulder, his elbow, his thigh, his foot. I feel flushed as I catalogue each spot, my body tensing and then melting in one smooth motion that probably looks like a stroke on my face. I smile to cover up my moment. “Thanks for inviting me to come along on this trip. I needed to get out. I think Mel did too.”

  He smiles, watching me for a moment with those stupid blue eyes of his, and then he coughs lightly, clearing his throat. “I gotta be honest with you, I didn’t plan on having the guys here. I bribed them to come when you asked if you could bring friends.”

  “You meant for it to be just you and I? Like a date?”

  His smile widens, going crooked, and I feel my lips stretch to mirror it.

  The bus lurches forward, the door slamming closed, and a voice booms over the intercom.

  “Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!” an overly chipper man says in a thick accent. “I am Aren, your guide for the day. Welcome! This bus is going to the Neuschwanstein Castle, yes? We are all in the correct place? Hands?”

  We raise our hands to signal that yes, we are in the right place. I have to glance at Jax to make sure it’s true because I’m only just now finding out where we’re going.

  He smiles encouragingly.

  “Good, good,” Aren continues. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m going to give you a little history on the castle and the prince who had it built.”

  “Is this the lunatic?” I whisper to Jax.

  “No, this is Aren.”

  I turn to glare at him, making him chuckle.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I had to. Yes. The prince is the lunatic.”

  “What was so crazy about him?”

  “You don’t want to let Aren tell you?”

  “I’d rather hear it from you.”

  He smiles and I want to kiss him. The urge is so strong I actually feel myself sweat from the effort of not leaning forward and pressing my mouth to his. There’s something about his smile—definitely something to his laugh—that makes me so happy I want to touch it somehow. I want to feel it on my skin, that warmth that radiates off of him.

  But I keep my shit in check as I listen to him tell me about the crazy prince who wouldn’t let his subjects look him in the face. About the scandal over the spending on castles, his obsession with Wagner, the swan gondola in a hidden grotto in his second palace, his ‘romance’ with a young woman, the rumors of his homosexuality, and the shady way he died in a lake with his doctor, their bodies found floating together. I listen intently to Jax as he describes it all to me in incredible detail, his love of history obvious in his attention and excitement. I try to focus on the details he’s giving me but I’m distracted by his deep voice vibrating through my shoulder and his eyes intent on mine, his heat pulsing beside me and his smile crooked and endearing, and by the time we reach the castle I know the whole tr
agic story along with one very obvious fact.

  I don’t just want to kiss this boy. I have to.

  Chapter Six

  I didn’t get to kiss him. Despite sitting next to him on a tour bus for hours, spending an entire day with him inside a fairy-tale-style castle—the very one that inspired Cinderella’s Castle at Disneyland—there was never a good time. It was more of a hangout than a date, and I have no one to blame for that but myself. I shouldn’t have questioned it in the e-mail because I made it weird. I left us both unsure of what was happening.

  One thing I am sure of is the fact that I like Jax. A lot. A lot. I’ve had crushes before, I’ve been in love before, but this is something different. This is something so simple, so perfectly ingrained in the fabric of the universe that I barely notice it when I find it. It’s like it’s always been there, always just waiting for me to notice it. Waiting for us to find each other.

  It’s natural and just so good. Everything about him is so freakin’ good.

  He holds open doors for me, he tries in vain not to swear around me, he tried to pay for everything I did on the tour because I think he wanted to make it as much of a date as I wanted it to be one. He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s sweet, he’s a dork. He’s amazing.

  “So, now, this is your friend Ben?” my mom asks, not following my story about the trip to the castle at all.

  I can picture her in the kitchen or out in the garden doing three other things while talking to me, and I roll my eyes impatiently. “No, this is so definitely not Ben. Ben is a creeper.”

  “What’s a creeper?”

  “A skeeze.”

  “What’s a skeeze?”

  “He’s slutty,” I tell her, exasperated.

  She tsks with disapproval. “I’m sure he’s not… easy.”

  “Like Sunday morning, Mom.”

  “Well, that’s his choice, I guess. So this guy, the castle guy…”

  “This is Jax,” I tell her clearly. “He’s in the military. Air Force.”