BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (19 page)

“Even after all that has happened to me, I’ve never given up wishing on stars.”

–
Nora Blakely

SOMETIMES, YOU JUST need a badass song to get you moving in the right direction, to pump you up. Like a theme song. All the superheroes have them. Even the Power Rangers have a hardcore guitar anthem. So, I may not be Wonder Woman with her invisible plane, but I have been called brilliant before. In fact, I have a collection of theme songs for different days, depending on what was going on in my life, and tonight my theme song was
“Perfect” by Pink. I blasted it in my car, listening to her sing about a girl who’d been mistreated and misunderstood.

It was Saturday night and Emma Easton’s party, but first I was swinging by Club Vita to pick up Sebastian and Mila. Sebastian and I had eaten lunch together every day at school this week, and I’d told him all about my passion for sewing and how I planned to wear one of my creations. Tonight I was wearing last year’s Dior black prom dress, or at least part of the dress, since I’d chopped off the long skirt and the sleeves. Now it was strapless and super short. I’d worn my hair braided and twirled up low in the back with loose curls hanging down the sides. I’d put on more make-up than usual, too, coating my eyes in dark liner and smoky eye shadow. On my lips I’d worn the deep red color that matched my hair. Did I look trashy? I shrugged. Who cared. Tonight’s goal was to get drunk and get fucked.

“Sweet,” Sebastian said, whistling as he let me in. “Got a hot date tonight?”

I wiggled my eyebrows like he always did. “I might get lucky.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, watching me with an interesting expression. I started to ask him what that look meant . . .

Just then the buzzer rang.

“That’ll be Mila,” I said eagerly. Since I’d been leaving school early, we hadn’t had a chance to catch up.

She bounced in, and I swear she looked like a teenage Laura Bush, wearing pearls, a pink velveteen tailored jacket and a pleated chiffon skirt. She’d flung a pink Coach bag over her arm, and I wanted to hug her she was so cute.

I introduced them and her eyes widened, taking in Sebastian’s tall form and blue eyes.

Wait until she met the full-sized version.

“Alrighty then, let’s head up to the loft. Leo’s date brought appetizers for us to try, and he wants to meet Mila,” he said. I noticed when he had said
date
, his eyes had locked on mine, like he was assessing my reaction.

“You didn’t mention how frickin’ hot Sebastian is. I’m pissed I don’t have any classes with him. By the way, your hair is
sweet
. So glad you went the Monte Carlo Red and not the blue,” Mila whispered to me as we followed Sebastian up the stairs.

“It was called Midnight Indigo.”

She scrunched her nose. “Whatever. Blue hair is strange.”

When we walked in the spacious kitchen, Leo was laughing down at the petite twenty-something-year-old that had been with him at the park. Up close, I could see she was pretty in polished, confident way, with lots of make-up and manicured nails. She looked relatively normal, too; I couldn’t compete with that.

I watched them, remembering how he didn’t want me. Even though he wasn’t mine, I wanted to pummel her with my fists; I wanted to rip out all her long dark hair. Which looked like extensions.

I stood there uncomfortably until Sebastian eased up beside me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I leaned back against him.

Leo saw us, stiffened, and quickly looked away. I wondered if it was going to be weird between us. It’d been a week since our movie. I’d seen him a couple of times, once when I’d dropped off Sebastian from eating out and once when I’d come to deliver some muffins he’d ordered from Aunt Portia’s. He’d been cordial then, yet detached, his eyes looking everywhere except at me.

He sat down his bottle of Corona. “Guys, this is Tiffany. She works for the catering company that’s doing the food for the grand opening,” he said. “Tiffany, this is Nora and her friend . . . Mila?”

Mila nodded, a dazed and goofy expression on her face. I wasn’t surprised my normally loquacious friend was suddenly struck quiet. Leo could do that.

“They’re both attending Briarcrest Academy with Sebastian.”

Tiffany smiled at us, showing her super white teeth. She raked her gaze over me and Mila, and I assumed mentally dismissed us as no competition. “Oh, really! How charming!” she exclaimed in a true, slow-talking Texas drawl.

Charming.
Seriously, do people in their twenties use that word in conversation? I mean, I had a large vocabulary and used words no one else did, but
charming
just seemed pretentious. I cocked my head and studied her, trying to see what he saw in her.

She kept talking in her dulcet tones. “By the way, it’s Tiffani-with-an-i,” she said, giving us a smile that showcased her dimples. Gag.

As she chatted about her own years in high school, I did the calculations in my head and figured she was only three or four years older than me. I glared at Leo. This was the kind of girl he went for: fake with big tits?

He finally glanced at me, his eyes scanning over my skimpy dress and when he raked both hands through his blond hair furiously, I knew he was fuming about something. I shrugged and took a page from the stupid girl book and flicked my hair over my shoulder.

“Leo,” Tiffani-with-an-i purred, running her hand possessively across his shoulder and down to his bicep, “you’ve got to tell me what machines you use to get this defined. You feel so hard,” she told him teasingly and glanced over at me with a smug look. I looked back in confusion, not understanding her sudden animosity.

She pouted at Leo. “But I only want
you
to show me how to use them, not one of those mean trainers I’ve seen,” she said, shuddering theatrically.

“Tiffani here is a big fan of astrology,” Sebastian stated suddenly, his mouth twitching. “She’s getting an online license to be an accredited astrological consultant.”

“What like a psychic?” Mila scoffed. “Is that a real thing?”

Tiffani-with-an-i sniffed. “For your information, tarot cards
are
a science, and I
can
tell the future.”

“All for nineteen ninety-nine per minute,” Sebastian muttered under his breath, and I covered my laugh with a cough. Mila patted me on the back.

“Hey, aren’t you Ellen Blakely’s daughter, from
Good Morning, Dallas
?” she asked, her eyes squinting at me.

I stiffened. “Yes.”

“I knew it! I worked with your mother once when she did a cooking segment, and I got to make my spinach quiches on her show! She’s classy, absolutely divine.” She smirked, her eyes flashing over my dress. “Funny that you look nothing like her.”

“Yes.” Thank God.

“You were there that day,” she said as she shook her finger at me, “but I almost didn’t recognize you with the red hair. And, wow, you were a bit of a chunk then, no offense. How much weight did you lose?”

“I just got taller,” I said politely.

“Sorry if that came out all wrong,” she said in a sugary voice. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings?”

I laughed. Fat chance. She’d hurt me enough just by being with Leo. “No, I did have a big butt. I had buck teeth and braces, too,” I said as Sebastian started singing Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”
I reached over and popped him in the arm while he laughed and tried to get away.

When Mila grinned at Tiffani-with-an-i with a sly gleam in her eye, I knew her fur had been rubbed the wrong way by Tiffani’s comments. She was going to bite back. “Speaking of being classy, Nora would never tell you herself, but she won the Miss Texas Rose pageant last fall. I saw the whole thing. Big honking diamante crown on her head, and a big-ass sash over her shoulder. It was sweeeet.”

Sebastian’s mouth gaped. “No way. Nora’s no pageant princess.”

I shrugged, not sure what to say.

Sebastian grinned. “Are you going to be in the Miss America pageant because that would be kinda cool. You’d be famous. Which reminds me: do you really glue the bottoms of your swim suit to your ass cheeks? You know, so it doesn’t move?”

They all turned to stare at me, and Leo had the strangest expression on his face, and it frightened me because I couldn’t interpret it. I hated the thought of him thinking I liked pageants. I didn’t want him thinking I needed people constantly telling me I was pretty. I knew I wasn’t.

My pageant experience didn’t start when I was a child, like those freaky kids you see on
Toddlers and Tiaras
, who tap dance in cowboy gear to “I’m Bringing Sexy Back.” No, I was fat then and a total embarrassment to Mother. Instead, I’d have been a shoo-in for the dreaded title of Best Personality.

But, when I was sixteen and finally slim, she’d suggested pageants. I’d done them to please her, reasoning that if other people thought I was pretty and loved me, then maybe she would, too.

I cleared my throat and looked at Leo and Sebastian. “Before you judge—little pun there—let me explain that in Texas, big hair and pageants are part of our heritage. And, I only won because of my piano talent. Those girls I competed against were beautiful and way out of my league.”

Tiffani-with-an-i shook her head as her eyes ran over me. “I just can’t see it.”

“I can see it,” Leo said softly.

Tiffani-with-an-i’s face tightened, but she kept talking. “Your mom talked non-stop about her son in Houston. Does he still live there? She liked me so well she wanted to set us up on a date, but of course, we don’t live in the same town,” she said with a little giggle.

“No . . . no, he lives in Houston, but he’s moving back at Christmas.”

“Oh. Tell your mother hello for me, will you? I’d love to meet up with her for lunch. Maybe I could get another spot on her show?” she said, her little piggy fingers rubbing Leo’s arm.

He smiled down at her. “Would you guys like some soda or water before you go?” he asked, looking back at us, and while Mila and Sebastian said no, I flicked my eyes at Tiffani-with-an-i’s wine glass.

Alcohol was just a party away.

He followed my eyes. “No alcohol tonight, Nora.”

Anger seared through me. He was
not
my father.

Sebastian chuckled, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “No problem, bro. These two hot babes are my dates, and I have a rep for taking care of my ladies.”

Hurt by Leo’s comment, I excused myself and went to the bathroom, mentally reciting words that helped me the most, repeating the definition and etymology. When that didn’t seem to work like it usually did, I opened my purse and stared at the coke I still had there. What would it be like to take it again? Would it make me feel good inside?

Maybe later tonight.

Leo was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom. He grabbed my elbow firmly, steered me back inside, and locked the door.

“This is becoming a habit for you,” I seethed, jerking my arm away.

“What do you have on?” he seethed back, glaring at my dress.

“You don’t like it? I didn’t think you noticed.”

He rubbed his face with his hands and then stared at dress. “If there was ever a fucking dress I’ve ever noticed, it’s that one,” he muttered out. “You’re not wearing it to the party.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” I snipped.

“Nora. Please. You can’t go out like that without me,” he demanded more urgently, with less anger, and I dreamed I heard a bit of a plea in his words.

I chewed on my bottom lip. “You said you had to let me go. You walked away from me so easily,” I reminded him, feeling all the fight drain away, leaving only sadness behind. “If that’s true, then why do you care? Why are you trying to stop me?”

He groaned out loud and closed the distance between us fast, thrusting his hands deep into my hair. “I can’t stop this anymore,” he ground out hoarsely, pulling me against him. He tugged my face up by my hair. “This mouth is all I think about,” he whispered and pressed his lips to mine. While his hands held my head, his mouth dominated. Wild and raw, his lips sought mine over and over, claiming my mouth desperately, his hot tongue sucking and then dueling with mine. He bit at my lips, and I responded, our tongues in an erotic, open-mouthed tango. His lips glided across my jaw and down to my neck where he sucked harder and harder and then soothed the hurt with his tongue. I moaned.

This . . . this was a kiss. I never wanted it to stop. I never wanted his lips to leave my body. This was like when Prince Charming kissed Cinderella, only this prince was no gentleman; he was sexy and hot and played a guitar. Instead of riding on a black stallion, he drove a bad-boy Escalade. Instead of wearing a princely cloak, he wore tight True Religion jeans.

It was fairytale fucking worthy.

“I want you like I’ve never wanted anything,” he said roughly, his lips moving to kiss my collarbone and the tops of my breasts.

“I’m yours,” I told him, arching my body closer to him, aching to feel him against my skin.

He pulled back and looked at me with hot, half-lidded eyes. “Show me,” he commanded, and I knew what he wanted.

With trembling hands, I reached up and eased the dress down until my breasts spilled out. I wanted to give him everything.