Claudia Silver to the Rescue (9780547985602) Read Online Free

having forfeited his own. But also, she didn’t give a shit, he was
beyond
beyond mad hot—that was the twisted magic of Ruben Hyacinth.
    â€œWhat you doing tonight?” he asked her, indifferently.
    â€œI don’t know.” Claudia pushed Ruben’s heavy leather legs out of her way and reached for the takeout bags.
    â€œPlaying paper dolls?”
    â€œYeah,” Claudia replied, “And then I’m going to whip up some killer stumble biscuits with my Easy-Bake oven and start an empire.”
    Ruben frowned. “Come see my show.”
    â€œPuppets?” Claudia made one out of her hand and flapped its fingertip gums. “It’s the Ruben show!” her hand announced in a squeak as Ruben’s grin vanished. “Starring me, Ruben Hyacinth, as Ruben! Special guest star . . . Ruben!” Teasing Ruben frightened Claudia, but she made her puppet hand kiss Ruben’s cheek with a
mmmmwWAAH!
    Ruben whipped his legs back under the desk in a gesture of disgust. “Shut the fuck up.”
    Claudia’s heart pounded. “Sorry, Angry,” she said lightly.
    â€œYeah, well, don’t mess with my shit,” Ruben warned.
    Claudia raised her right hand in a solemn oath. “I hereby will not mess with your shit,” she intoned. “Where’s the show?”
    Ruben made a petulant display of rearranging the papers on his clipboard. “It’s a JustUs thing,” he said, “at Wetlands.” The Ministry of JustUs, a coalition of black rock musicians, was Ruben Hyacinth’s brotherhood of choice, although his fealty to the Ministry was fueled less by cultural politics and more by his desire for a starring role in an MTV music video and sexual release, in that order.
    â€œWell, I’ll pass the paper-bag test, that’s
fo sho,
” said Claudia.
    Ruben narrowed his eyes, provoked. Claudia couldn’t tell if Ruben knew what a paper-bag test was or not. “What I’m saying is,” she persisted, “are white girls actually allowed at JustUs events?”
    Ruben shrugged. “It’s a free country, ain’t it?”
    â€œIf it was a free country, you wouldn’t need a Ministry of JustUs,” Claudia countered. “What the hell kind of revolutionary
are
you?”
    Ruben just shook his head. “I’ll put you on the list,” he decided.
    â€œCool,” said Claudia.
    Ruben rose from the desk, and Claudia remembered that he was never as tall as he seemed. “Lemme get you an invite,” he said. The heavy ring of building keys jangled loudly as he opened the gate to the service hallway off the lobby. “C’mere.” Claudia glanced guiltily at the lunch bags and followed him.
    Ruben closed the gate behind them and jogged up a small flight of stairs, through a shaft of dusty sunlight that poured from a high window, to the coatrack where his jacket hung. He wore a black nylon bomber, lined in quilted orange, just like the one Claudia had recently bought.
    Claudia leaned against the wall as Ruben dug in his jacket pockets. He pulled out a stack of invites, a violent font sprawled on fluorescent card stock, and turned. He shoved the invites back in his pocket and came down a step. Slowly, in a gesture evoking both the vaudevillian seduction of a male stripper and the grave ceremony of a religious rite, Ruben pulled his scarf from his neck and arranged it around Claudia’s throat. The scarf was cheap, with loose, scratchy metallic threads, a find from a stall on St. Marks or from the closet floor of another conquest, yet a thrilling vapor of vetiver eau de toilette rose from it. Ruben pitched his body forward, letting his tan palms smack against the wall on either side of Claudia’s head.
    Claudia’s body flooded with warmth.
    Arousal and triumph. Coupled.
    Ruben was a
man.
    She knew he felt nothing, but at least he desired the same thing she did.
    Claudia could have cared less;