BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (31 page)

“Just tell me. Get it over with.”

He squirmed. “She’s got this guy sending her texts,” he said and stopped, not elaborating.

“Cuba?” I bit out unsure whether to be relieved or angry Nora was sleeping with some other guy. Or maybe both?

Sebastian must have seen the conflict on my face, because he sputtered. “Jesus . . . someone . . . I can’t say who . . . keeps sending her texts and trying to scare her.”

“Scare?” I rose up from my desk and braced my arms on top. “How?”

His face whitened.

I rapped my fist against the hard wood of the desk. “Tell me, Sebastian.”

He stood and backed toward the door, his eyes wary. “This was a really bad idea. I’m breaking Nora’s confidence, and I shouldn’t have. It’s not a big deal anyway.” He ran his eyes over me dismissively. “I’ll protect her.”

“Yeah, because you love her, right? You guys gonna go steady now? Get married someday? I hope you’re using protection, Sebastian.”

He let a small smile slip out, like he had a secret.

“What’s with the smile?” I snapped.

“We use protection, don’t worry,” he said, his eyes trained on my face as blood drained from it.

I swallowed painfully and closed my eyes, trying to get the mental picture of them together out of my head.

He snorted. “We don’t have sex, Leo. You’re so stupid, man. And you’re right, I do love her. Like a
sister
.”

“These boots were made for staggering.”

–
Nora Blakely

ON SUNDAY, I woke up at five when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Finn.

--If you won’t call me, then I’m coming to you.

If he was up texting that early, I knew he had to be either drunk or high and that made him unpredictable. I immediately scooped up my purse from the side table next to my bed and took out my knife, assuring myself it was still there. Fear, sharp and pungent, made me weak, and he wasn’t even here. What would happen when he showed up? Had I changed enough to fight him off?

I had to be ready.

Later, I made my way downstairs to help Aunt Portia get the breakfast crowd started. I cleaned the kitchen from the morning muffins, make the daily coffees, and prepped the stations. At eight, I called the Piano and Friends studio and told them I wouldn’t be back. They’d been calling my phone and leaving voicemails, asking if I was returning for lessons. For the past several years, I’d spent many weekends there, sometimes hours at a time if I was preparing for a recital or a pageant. Would I miss those lessons? No. I’d never had a choice in taking them.

At noon I was upstairs when my dad called and asked if I wanted to come by and pick up some of my things. He said he would meet me there to help load up. I got excited thinking about my sewing machine and laptop, so I threw on some jean shorts, a tank, and flip-flops. I decided to head over to the gym to see if Sebastian would mind following me so we could load both vehicles.

When I got downstairs, I noticed a package sitting inside by the front door. It was a large brown box and addressed to me with no return name on it. I pulled it past a couple of staring customers and back to the kitchen where Aunt Portia was cleaning up from the lunch crowd.

“Oh, glad you found it. It was delivered by courier while you were upstairs. What do you think it is?” she asked, washing a baking pan.

“Don’t know,” I said, pulling some scissors from the utility drawer. I cut through the taped-up box. When I had it open, I peered inside and saw a shoe box with the words
Texas Traditions Customs
written on it. TTC was a boot-making company in Dallas owned by Scott Ryan, who made boots for people like Lyle Lovett and Mick Jagger. The average cost for a pair was around a thousand dollars with wait times up to a year.

I opened the lid and inside was a pair of vintage-style, amber-colored boots made of distressed sharkskin. I stroked my hands across the surface, tracing my fingers over the delicately stitched blue angel wings with a red heart in the center. I pulled a small note out of the box, unfolded it, and read aloud,
“For Nora, who flies with her own wings.”

He’d left it unsigned.

“How did he know what size?” I mused.

“Leo? He called me, and I told him.”

“I thought you didn’t know who sent them?”

She flicked a towel at me. “I didn’t know it was boots in there, silly. Plus, it was weeks ago when he asked about your size.”

She gave me a considering look. “Those are expensive boots. Is there something going on between you two?”

“He got me these because of a bet we made when we first met. And no, there’s nothing going on between us. We’re just friends,” I said.

I kicked off my flip-flops and put the boots on. They slid on perfectly. “I’m wearing these all day.”

She smiled at me.

I gathered up the packing material, took it out back to the dumpster, and then carried the boot box up to my room for safe keeping.

I walked over to the gym, and the decorators let me in. The opening was only a few days away, and they were there putting on the finishing touches. I didn’t see Sebastian or Leo, and I thought about heading up to the loft, but images of Tiffani coming out of Leo’s room stopped me. I sat down at the desk and sent Sebastian a text, but when he still hadn’t responded after a few minutes, I decided to check the music room.

I heard guitar music as I walked down the hall. I peeked in and saw Leo. He didn’t see me, and since I’d been avoiding looking at him lately, I took the time to stare at him greedily.

He sat on a stiff folding chair with his head bent low over his guitar as he hesitantly strummed some chords that didn’t sound like anything we’d been practicing. I saw he hadn’t shaved yet, and my eyes caressed the dark shadow that covered his jaw. He looked pensive, and I wondered what he was thinking about so heavily.

Balancing his guitar on his legs, he reached over for a pen and paper he had on the end table next to him. He jotted down something and then picked up the guitar again. He strummed more chords, and the melody he sang was soft, making me strain to hear the words:

Girl, you show up uninvited,

You’re crazy good, beautiful.

Baby, I tried, but I can’t fight it.

Girl, you got some bad secrets to keep,

You’re a chaos I want, it’s so deep.

Baby, use your wings to fly, fly, fly.

Why do you want me in your life?

Could you love me, love me, love me . . .

He suddenly stopped and murmured to himself, working to find the right chord.

I eased back out and propped myself against the wall in the hall, feeling one part thrilled he’d written a song for me and the other part pissed because he was so damn hardheaded about me.

Why wouldn’t he let me in?

I took a deep breath and walked back in the room.

“Hello, Leo? Are you in here?” I called out nonchalantly, knocking on the wall.

“Hey, come on in,” he said as he put down his guitar and picked up his notes, stuffing them inside a notebook.

“Are you practicing?”

“Nah, just messing around with a song,” he said, unfurling himself from his seat and stretching his long body. He sat back down on the couch with a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

I walked closer, relishing the pounding of my heels against the floor. “New song?”

“Nothing any good,” he said, flicking his eyes at my boots.

“Sounded good to me,” I said, arching my brows at him. “And I think you wrote it about me. Crazy girl with secrets shows up uninvited? Yeah, that’s me.”

He tugged on his ear and looked away, not admitting to anything.

“You’re ignoring me now?”

He smirked. “Kinda hard to do when you’re standing there right in front of me.”

I twisted my lips, recalling an article I’d read. One that reminded me of him. “Little side story here, Leo, but it’s important, so pay attention,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Most people think of rats as greedy and mean, and maybe they are to a certain extent. But here’s the interesting part: scientists have proven rats are intelligent, socially benevolent creatures who even
laugh
when you tickle them. Amazing to think about one actually giggling, huh?” I shrugged. “Of course, these are lab rats we’re talking about, not those feral things you see in a dumpster.”

I pointed my finger at him. “But, they’re also
stubborn
and
inflexible
, sometimes refusing to run a maze or eat if they don’t get their way.”

He blinked. “Good God, woman, are you comparing me to a
rat
?”

“It’s better than a donkey, which is the stereotypical choice for a stubborn ass, but anyway, yes, my point is to be so damn smart, you can be stupid when it comes to admitting how you feel. All you do is avoid.”

He shook his head, wearing a bemused expression. “Fuck, I love how you think.”

My heart jumped as I stared at him. He didn’t give a shit about how weird I was. He accepted me.

His eyes skimmed my body. “I like seeing you in boots, Buttercup.”

“It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“I owed you a pair,” he shrugged. “Boots look hot on you.”

I cocked my head, wondering where this was going.

He ran his hands through his hair furiously, and I knew what that meant. He was randy as hell but was gearing up to shove me away.

I wasn’t going to let him do it. Not today.

“As soon as I slipped them on, I thought about you.”

He got tense and turned to pick his guitar up, pretending like I hadn’t just put it all out there.

I went over to the door, locked it, and went back to stand in front of him, my body vibrating with need.

“Why did you lock the door?” he asked.

I swallowed. “Spread your legs.”

He startled and fumbled as he dropped his guitar on the floor. “Nora?”

“Just shut up and do it, okay. Do this one thing for me.” I clenched my nervous hands. I didn’t know what I was doing here, but my gut was telling me to try . . . one more time.

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch and after a minute, he spread his legs a little. Not enough.

“Don’t be a pussy, Leo,” I said. “I need more.”

He exhaled a deep breath. “What are you doing? You know how you affect me,” he said huskily.

He sat there for a few moments, and I didn’t think he was going to move, but he did. He spread them wide, his black athletic shorts stretching easily, giving him plenty of room to get comfortable. I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his long muscular legs, opened just for me. His body were tense and tight, his length hard and peeking out of his shorts. He wanted me. Obviously. That had never been a problem between us.

I dropped my purse to the ground unceremoniously and took the straight chair he’d been sitting in and pulled it to me, easing down and not taking my eyes off him.

He watched me and his hands twitched, like he wanted to grab me. “Nora . . .”

“Do you want me?” I asked, interrupting, needing to hear him say it.

He tossed his head back against the couch and said in a dazed voice, “Always when I look at you, I get hard. Harder than I’ve ever been. All for you.”

“Take your shirt off,” I said, dying to trace his dragon with my eyes.

He shot me a heavy-lidded look, pulled off his tank and leaned back, showing me his washboard abs and defined chest. My mouth dried.

He arched a brow at my perusal. “You’re really into this stripping thing, aren’t you?”

“Take your shorts off and stroke yourself,” I said.

His head jerked up.

“Teach me how you’d want me to do it. I need to know what feels good to you,” I said.

“You don’t know what you’re fucking with, Nora,” he warned softly.

“Show me.”

With burning eyes, he pushed his shorts down and off until I could see all of him. Splayed out, he was mouth-watering, showing me his massive size, his thickness. I licked my lips at the sight and squirmed, feeling the warmth settle in my body and tingle up my spine.