BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (64 page)

“I can’t tell my parents. They’ll lock me away. My dad will never forgive me.” She buried her nose in my chest.

An image of her father came to mind. Being a televangelist, you’d think he’d be the epitome of love for mankind, but he wasn’t. His messages were hateful and loud, honing in on sinners, warning them about hell. He was not an easy man.

I sighed. “You won’t be alone. We’ll tell them together.”

She sniffed. “You’d do that for me?”

The enormity of what lay ahead settled on my shoulders.

“Yeah, of course. I want to take care of what’s mine.”

And for once, I’d be doing the right thing.

“You believe you’ll never fall, but then you wake-up,

just another notch on his bedpost
.”

–
Dovey

EARLY THE NEXT day, I woke up to my car being delivered by a man from a service station in Highland Park. I tried to pay him, but he said it had been taken care of. Cuba. Of course, it hurt my pride, but what could I do? I needed every penny now until I could figure out the Alexander situation.

Giving in and operating in a daze, I tucked the eight balls into an inside pocket of my dance bag and waltzed into school like it was an ordinary day. It made me jittery and twitchy. I pictured me in handcuffs being led out to a police car. Or me watching an ambulance take away one of my classmates who’d overdosed.

I was a criminal.

I trudged to my locker and Cuba was already there, leaning against it, his eyes skimming through the crowd, as if he were looking for someone.

I didn’t fool myself into thinking it was me.

Sweat immediately popped out all over my body.

Would he speak to me today or would we resume our stand-off?

And then I got dizzy at the thought of him finding out I was dealing dope.

His eyes landed on me and stayed, skating over my yellow and navy argyle printed tights and blue miniskirt. I’d paired it with a pair of neon yellow two inch heels from Heather-Lynn’s closet. A throw back from the sixties, they were a tad clunky, but I’d wear anything.

“You’re a fashion disaster, you know that?” he said with a small smile when I opened my locker.

“Not a blind slut?”

He paled. “Shit. I’m sorry for saying that.”

I shrugged. “You have to admit, my outfits do make it hard not to look, huh?”

He did a double-take at my remark, and I couldn’t have made it any plainer to him. But, he let it go.

“Did the Mercedes come back? Or the men?” he inquired, eyes intent on my face.

I blinked, racking my brain for what to tell him.

Here’s the thing, last night I’d lain in bed after leaving the warehouse, debating on whether or not I could ask Cuba for the money. I was tempted to, but telling him meant I’d have to explain I was the unwanted child of a mobster and his whore. Yet, at the end of the day, I could swallow my pride and reveal my secrets for Sarah. But, on the other hand, Cuba didn’t get my world. He’d never ransacked his house searching for food; he’d never walked the streets with a sock full of rocks; he’d never been
cold
. Scenarios flashed through my mind of him calling the police or perhaps even something as simple as telling his father who then called the police. I just didn’t trust him, not after last year.

And most importantly, involving him might put him in serious danger. They
were
following me now.

I sighed. No. I was on my own.

I waved my hand. “Huge misunderstanding. Sarah woke up and explained the whole thing. She never borrowed the money. They actually had us confused with one of the renters.” Which could only be Heather-Lynn, but he didn’t know that. “So, we passed along their message this morning, and the person who borrowed the money is taking care of it. See, no biggie.”

He nodded, a relieved expression on his face. “Cool. That’s good. But, if you need money or anything, I’m here. I can always ask my dad or—”

I cringed and held my hand up. “Stop. Thank you for getting my car fixed and having it delivered to me. I appreciate that, but I’m making it, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, shifting from one foot to the next. His eyes darted around the hall.

What was up with him?

“How are you doing?” I asked, remembering Cara and his mother.

“Anything is better than yesterday,” he said on a derisive laugh.

I nibbled on my lips, dying to ask him where we stood. Did he want us to be friends? Was it possible?

His shoulders flexed underneath his black knit shirt, and my eyes got tangled up on his roses and thorns that ran up his left arm. I knew exactly how far that tattoo went because I’d traced it with my fingers, kissed every inch of it with my mouth. Now, blood dripped from the thorns. Something new. And didn’t that thought just bring a world of regret. An entire year had passed between us, where he’d gotten new tattoos, been with other girls.

He edged away from me slightly, as if he’d thought he’d been too close before. And I got it. I did. He’d seen a glimpse of how messed up my situation was in Ratcliffe. Maybe it was Sarah, maybe it was the wackiness of Heather-Lynn, and it damn sure was the fact I was familiar with shady people.

Whatever small moment we’d shared in Sarah’s bedroom, it had evaporated.

But, it was still Cuba, and we hadn’t even been talking at all until yesterday.

Not knowing what to say, I twirled my hair over and over, looping the strands through my finger.

He smiled sadly. “I dig the blue. I didn’t think I would.”

Ah, small talk. Reserved for people who made you feel uncomfortable. Next, he’d comment about the…

“I hear it’s going to snow,” he murmured. Bingo.

The bell rang, giving us two minutes, and I felt a bit desperate, as if something important was slipping away from me. I opened my mouth to say something…I don’t know what…but clamped it shut.

He seemed antsy as he straightened up from the wall, ready to leave. I had to force my hand from reaching out to him. Which was crazy.

Something I didn’t intend to say came out. “Maybe we can get together sometime and talk.” I mentally groaned. Had I sorta-kinda asked him out?

His eyes widened, and I caught a mix of emotions across his face, maybe pleasure, but then dismay as his mouth dipped.

“Forget it. You’re right. Dumb idea. Talking is completely stupid and over-rated,” I said. “I mean, you have rowing coming up, and I have an audition, so yeah, I’m sure you’re too busy—” my idiocy stopped as Emma swooped in.

“I’m never too busy for you, my love,” Emma chimed in, her perfume stinking up my air. She wrapped her arms around Cuba’s waist, her eyes now leveled on me, a look on her face that said,
Back off, bitch.

She rubbed his chest like she owned him. He pulled her hand away, his eyes still on me, as if he were sorry she’d interrupted us, but it was too late.

I got angry. Mostly at myself.

Why did he have this stupid power over me?

He was a liar and a cheat and a user. Was I the kind of girl who got dumped by a guy but kept going back time and time again, begging for another chance? No, no, no. I was not that girl, had never been that girl. Because I had better things to do. Like ballet…and sell drugs.

Wake up, Dovey
, I yelled at myself. Dude is a loser.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it. “See you in Lit,” I pronounced in a bright voice. I practically ran to class and to my seat, cursing myself for entertaining the idea of spending time with him. I sucked.

Mrs. Weinstein made a bee line for me. “Dovey, I’m putting you with Sebastian today, and Emma with Cuba. You good with that?” she asked, a tentative tone to her voice.

“Why?”

She sighed. “You both seemed agitated yesterday, and after class, Cuba came to me and requested—”

“Fine,” I said, getting up and going over to the desk Emma had had the day before.

Cuba really couldn’t stand to be near me.

The three of them came in together, of course. Cuba avoided my eyes, but Emma didn’t. She smirked and glared at me triumphantly. Whatever.

Weinstein informed Sebastian I was his new partner, and he flashed me a big smile and a wink. He eased his muscular build in his seat, looking hot in his tight jeans and Vital Rejects shirt. Yep, another rich jock who had it all: looks, money, and charm. Great.

“So, me and you babe?” he asked, hitting me with those ice blue eyes.

I arched a brow. “Don’t call me babe, or I may kill you. It’s Dovey.”

He chuckled. “Touché.”

I decided to dig a little.

“So, April Novak, huh? You and Cuba dating best friends. Very cute.”

He grinned. “I don’t have a girlfriend if that’s what you’re asking. You interested in the position?”

“Um, no.”

He pretended to be crushed. Then he flung a glance at Emma. “And FYI, Emma is
not
Cuba’s girl.”

Indeed. “She wants to be,” I commented under my breath.

Even though I knew it wasn’t a good idea—when would I ever learn?—I cocked my head enough so that I could watch them. Emma had scooted her desk over to Cuba’s until they were situated side-by-side, their arms resting against each other as they kept their heads low and whispered. And his face…I don’t know…it was just different from any of the other times I’d observed him with a girl. More soft, almost gentle. It pierced my heart. Because he’d been that way with
me
. That unbreakable gaze he was giving to her had belonged to me first, dammit.

My hands bunched up, and I blinked rapidly, pushing back the emotion. Had he finally fallen in love? Was it really over between us? Because I’ll be honest, since yesterday when he’d looked at me, a tiny part of me had been toying with the idea—and there I go again. Being ridiculous.
Get a grip
, Dovey. He broke up with you. He’s moved on.

In the background, Weistein mentioned something about Samuel Taylor Coleridge, so I followed Sebastian’s lead, turning to the same page he did, attempting to keep my eyes off Cuba. This class wasn’t for slackers.

A few minutes later, Sebastian tapped his pencil against my head.

“Ouch,” I said. “What was that for?”

“I’ve been talking to you about this
Rime of the Ancient Mariner
, and you haven’t heard a word I said. Partners help each other, Tiny Dancer.”

I ignored that and fumbled around with the book, trying to see where we were.

I found it. “Yeah, I love this one. It’s where the old sailor kills an albatross and everyone on the ship gets upset.”

He pointed his pencil at me. “We haven’t gotten to that part yet. You can’t fool me. Who were you thinking about in La La Land?”

I cut my eyes at Cuba.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s not into relationships. You know that, right?” he murmured, coming in closer so we could talk more privately. I leaned in.

“Don’t care about him,” I said softly.

He nodded. “No matter what your mouth says, the heart wants what the heart wants.”

“And how do you know what my heart wants?”

He grinned. “I got skills when it comes to relationships. Trust me. If it wasn’t for me, my bro never would have gotten with the love of his life.”

I arched a brow. “Really? So you’re like Mr. Cupid?”

He busted out with a guffaw. “I love that. Call me that from now on. I insist.”

“You’re really full of yourself.” And I kinda liked it. And him. “Here’s the deal: you
don’t
call me Tiny Dancer, and I will call you Mr. Cupid.”

He grinned and cocked an eyebrow. “Can I tell you a secret?”

My lips twitched. “Maybe I already know it.”

“How?”

I shrugged. So not telling him how I like to listen in on convos.

He continued, “I want you to come to the dance.”

“I don’t date guys from BA.” Now.

“I would love to take you out,” he flicked his eyes to Cuba, “but that guy would beat the shit out of me, so not gonna happen.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not true. There’s nothing between us but a rotten history.”

“Ha. I saw him react to you this week when most stuff never fazes him. That guy can mow down the fastest quarterback and never miss a beat. You on the other hand, sent him off. Crazy that.”