The Smart One Read Online Free PDF

answer. His blue-green eyes were now framed by a bronze face and a body that looked carefully sculpted, machine-enhanced pectorals straining elegantly against the fabric of his shirt. He was handsome, sure, but it was instantly clear to me that his penchant for drugs had been replaced by an obsession with fitness. He had, I figured, become a shallow Los Angelino, his values shifting from self-immolation to self-worship. But his nose was still a bit too large for his face, so at least he hadn’t given in to the Hollywood plastic surgery epidemic, which was sucking the humanity from perfectly good faces.
    I thanked him for lying and went to shake his hand. He gave me a hug instead. His hair smelled like vanilla.
    “I never lie,” he said. “I’m much more likely to piss people off with my honesty.”
    “What are you doing here?” I tried to sound detached. I didn’t want him to think he could charm me. “I thought you were in Los Angeles.”
    “I came in for business. I’m staying in the city but I promised Renee I’d help out with the house while I was in town.”
    Renee. Kenny hadn’t quit the habit of referring to his parents by their first names. He looked at the mangled phone in my hand. “Did I do that?”
    I nodded.
    “You’ll let me pay for it, of course.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” I said, wishing he’d be a prick about it so I could be angry with him.
    “I know you’d rather stay mad,” he said, “but I’m going to buy you another one.”
    How smug of him to think he could still read me so easily. That he was right chafed me even more.
    Kenny went on to explain that he had spoken to a realtor who would be stopping by any minute with a couple that wanted to see the house. I folded my arms.
    “I’ll leave it to you, then,” I said, annoyed that I hadn’t been kept in the loop on this. What was I there for if someone else was taking care of the damned real estate matters?
    “Wait,” he grabbed my arm with his big bronze mitt. “Stick around. Make sure I behave myself.”
    “I don’t seem to be very good at that,” I blurted, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Now he’d think he still had some meaning in my life.
    Kenny, of course, wasn’t about to let that slide by. He took a deep breath and stared hard at my face. I cringed.
    “That was eighteen Yom Kippurs ago,” he said, referring to the day Jews atone for their sins. “You think we can move on?”
    I could have shrugged him off, pretending I didn’t care, but he’d see through that. Besides, why should I let him off the hook? He’d kicked in my heart and never even gave a damn.
    “Not everything has a statute of limitations,” I said.
    “You’re as prissy as ever.”
    Screw you , I thought, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing me say it.
    He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. I wanted to move away. I meant to move away. But it felt so heavenly to be leaning against him that something in me liquefied, which in turn short-circuited my under-insulated wiring.
    “I missed you,” he said.
    I smelled his shirt. Dear God, did he wash it in pheromones?
    “Let’s go inside,” he said softly.
    “Inside?” I repeated, wondering if he meant it as a proposition. I was so flummoxed I couldn’t trust my own perceptions.
    “I want to make sure the place is presentable,” he said.
    I took a step back and regained my wits. “I’d, uh… better wait here for the moving truck,” I said. No sense putting myself in a position where my hormones could get the better of me.
    “Isn’t this the whole reason you’re here—to help sell the house?”
    He played the responsibility card. No fair. I followed him into the house, where everything looked still and vacant, as if the Waxmans had been living there going about their business one second and vanished the next. Then I noticed a coating of dust on the surfaces and a musty smell in the air.
    “Open the windows,” I said, and went into the