BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (66 page)

But then my day brightened.

Spider’s Range Rover was parked next to mine, the motor running. He must have driven like a maniac from the dorms to get here.

He rolled down the driver’s side window, and even though I was ticked, I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face as I checked out his
I’m ready to party look
.

“You’re gonna freeze,” I snarked, indicating his neon-blue mesh shirt.

He stuck out his tongue, flashing his stud.

“And you’re wearing eyeliner. Billy Idol as I live and breathe,” I said.

He stared humming a bar from
White Wedding
, and some of the weirdness between us melted away.

“Get in,” he said, “and I’ll sing the rest of it.”

I tossed my dance bag in his car and crawled in from the cold.

“Now, tell me what stick’s been up your arse all week,” he said, pulling out of the BA parking lot.

I sent him a glare. Seriously? He was the one who’d avoided me.

And maybe I should have kept my mouth shut right then. Maybe I should have lied to him like I had Cuba.

But I was exhausted.

And honestly—and this was completely irrational—I wanted his damn attention.

You asked for it, buddy
.

“Long story short, I gotta sell these eight-balls, but I can’t because I’m afraid I’ll make someone an addict or kill them if they overdose, or I could go to prison or hold that thought…
I could go to prison
.”

His eyes flared. He cursed, threw on the brakes, and we slid on the slick pavement, fishtailing and narrowly missing a guard rail. I clutched my seat as he finally gained control and pulled into an I Hop parking lot. I waited for him to detonate. Five, four, three, two…

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” he yelled, slamming the car in park. “This has to be a joke because you would not be that daft.”

I snapped. “You have no idea what’s been going on with me because you’ve had your face stuck up whoever you’re screwing this month. So just stop. You’re still mad at me because I—I don’t know what’s going on between us.” I totally did.

He sighed, his anger evaporating. “Shit. I had no idea you were in trouble, Dovey.”

I picked at the zipper on my gym bag.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

I took a breath. “Sarah owes money to the wrong people. To pay them back, they want me to get a foothold in selling coke to BA kids for them. I have to sell it by tomorrow or pay what she borrowed.”

“How much?” he asked, the talk of drugs and loan sharks not really surprising him like I thought it would.

I dug my teeth into my bottom lip. “Stop, Spider. I won’t let you help me.”

“What? I have money. You think I can’t do without for you?”

I shook my head. “No, I know you would, but I don’t want you involved with my problems. These are dangerous people.”

He shrugged. “I have five thousand in my account right now. It’s yours. I can live on my credit card the rest of the month.”

Oh, Spider
. He meant it, I could tell, and maybe paying down the debt might work with a regular loan shark—and how weird is that phrase—but with Alexander, it wasn’t entirely about the money. He wanted an in at BA. And my instincts said he wanted to test me, his own daughter.

“It’s not enough,” I said. “He wants the full amount.”

His hand went to my nape, softly rubbing, and I scooted over and lay my head on his chest, inhaling his expensive cologne. I sighed heavily, feeling emotional.

“It’s worth a shot,” he said. “I can go to the bank tomorrow, and it might hold them off for a bit.” He paused. “Or, I can sell the drugs for you?”

I pulled back so I could see his face. “That is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I said, trying to be funny, “but, I can’t drag you down. What if you went to prison? This is my problem, my mess.”

“Let me help,” he said, his fingers kneading my shoulders and massaging. I groaned at his touch. I’d missed him.

Would five thousand hold Alexander off
?

“If—if you’re absolutely sure, I’ll take the money. I promise to pay you back as soon as we sell our house.” Add him to the list.

“I don’t care if you ever pay me back, Dovey.” He tipped my chin up and gazed into my eyes, and I blinked. Whoa.

He continued. “My bank opens at ten. I can grab the cash and then meet you at your house? We can pay them together.”

“I’ll take the cash, but you are not coming with me,” I said emphatically, feeling panicky. “This is all on me, okay? And I’m not changing my mind, so leave it be.”

He didn’t look happy. “Fine,” he muttered and pulled back out into the main road.

I stared out the window as we headed to the center of town, feeling off-kilter, needing some semblance of normal.

“What’s on the agenda tonight? Am I keeping you from a date?” I asked.

“No. I want you to give us a chance, Dovey.”

This already? “What do you mean?” I asked, knowing full well.

He flicked his eyes at me. “You and me, we click. You know I’m crazy, and you still like me, and I know my accent gets you hot.”

I popped him in the arm, and he laughed.

“Ouch. Why you’d do that?”

“Because we’re friends and anything else would ruin in.” I made my voice light.

“What are you afraid of with us, Dovey?”

“Is this a stipulation on your loan?” I said. “You wanna pay me for a date? Like a whore?”

His nose flared. “I’m not an arsehole, Dovey. And if you really believe that, then you’re a bitch. ”

Yeah.

“All I want is a chance. We’ve been faffing around the possibility, so don’t deny you haven’t thought about it.”

I twisted my lips, feeling like he was putting too much pressure on me, just after he’d offered me money and I’d accepted. The silence bloomed bigger and bigger between us, and I just wanted it to end. I wanted my Spider back.

When in doubt, deny.

“Let’s go eat somewhere,” I announced. “How about Italian?”

He sighed, but then grinned, his shoulders dipping as he turned to me. “Vespucci’s sound good?”

Vespucci’s had been my first date with Cuba. But he didn’t matter. “Sounds great.”

Fifteen minutes later, we walked in to a packed restaurant.

He clasped my hand on the way to our table, and I let it ride, anxious to see where it led and how it made me feel. I mean, we’d held hands lots of times, but this smacked of something deeper.

And so. The waitress took us to our seats. Right next to Cuba and Emma’s table.

I stopped mid-stride, causing Spider to bump into me. He quickly apologized, then slid his eyes over to where mine stared.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Can we sit somewhere else?” he asked the hovering waitress.

She shrugged, looking around at the full tables. “It’s a Friday night. This is it.”

He turned to me. Letting me pick. “You wanna get out of here or stay?”

Cuba glanced up, a flicker of pleasure on his face as our eyes met. But when he saw my hand in Spider’s, he stiffened and glared.

“We’re staying,” I told Spider.

“I forgot you guys came here,” he murmured. “You sure?”

“Italian food trumps ex-boyfriends every time,” I muttered, sliding into the red vinyl booth.

The waitress stuck the menus under our noses and flounced off in her tailored black and white uniform. I studied the list of food, not seeing any of it really.

I tried to not look at them. I wasn’t successful.

And Cuba wasn’t either, because he stared at me way too long for it to be casual.

When Spider’s phone suddenly rang, he mouthed it was his father, and got up to take the call in the lobby. Leaving me alone.

I sneaked a glance at Cuba, not surprised to see he was making quick work of a filet. He was a big guy. Emma, who seemed unnaturally pale, ate plain pasta. Odd.

And because I couldn’t help myself, I tuned out the conversations to the left of me, focusing instead on Cuba and Emma’s seemingly intense discussion.

“…when did the doctor…” Cuba murmured, his voice going in and out.

“…ultrasound…only six weeks give or take…” she mumbled.

What?
Ultrasound? But that would mean…
no way
.

“…tell parents tonight…” he said.

“…don’t leave me…” she sniffed, weepy-like.

Not what I expected. And confusing. But I wasn’t slow, and as I recalled the way they’d been whispering at school and combined it with the conversation here, I came to an inevitable, horrible conclusion.

I sank down in the booth, legs weak, arms like jelly, and my chest aching.

And no. Just no. This couldn’t be happening.

Why did I care?

Because it was final, the huge THE END for me and him.

And as that thought settled in, I felt paper-thin, like a small breeze could blow me away and rip me apart, spreading bits of me all over the place.

I leaned my head back against the booth and closed my eyes. How perfectly fitting to find out Emma was pregnant at
this
restaurant. And even though I didn’t want to remember the night he’d brought me here, it all came back…

He’d sat down with me at lunch the next day after I’d left his jacket on his Porsche, an expectant look on his face.

“What?” I’d snipped, trying to eat. Again. “You didn’t think I’d give in that easily did you? Guys give me their jackets all the time.”

He smirked. “Just enjoying the chase is all, Dovey. I like it.”

My patience evaporated, and I leaned over the table, invading his space this time. “Catch a clue. I am not interested. Capisce.”

He gave me a heavy-lidded look, “Ah, Italian. Which reminds me, there’s this restaurant called Vespucci’s. Would you like to go sometime?”

I stood. Too much. I wanted to say yes, and it frightened me. “Thank you but no.”

He followed me as I walked to class, and once again the entire female population watched us leave. And, I let him walk with me, his gait seeming to match mine. Spider was still in detention, so I didn’t have anyone else to keep me company.

The next three days were the same, him sitting at my lunch table, me talking in monosyllables, and then him walking me to class. I blew him off at the door each time, not giving him a chance to hand over his jacket or suggest I wait for him after football practice.

Slowly but steadily though, I got used to him sitting across from me, his hungry gaze watching every move I made, like I fascinated him. When he wasn’t paying attention, I’d run my eyes over him, taking in the bunched muscles and messy hair.

But, like a dangerous jungle cat, he played me.

On Friday, and after the fifth day of him pursuing me, he didn’t show as usual. I got antsy, my eyes searching the cafeteria, looking for him. He wasn’t at the jock table or in line for lunch. But, I knew he was at school because he’d cornered me first thing when I walked in the door this morning, asking if he could borrow my notes from class. Cuba had perfect notes. And he knew that I knew he had perfect notes. It was just his way of getting up close to me.

And then in class, he’d sat behind me, using the tip of his pencil to trace little designs on my back. And even though it had sent tingly chills all over me, I’d told him to stop. He did. And perhaps I’d seen a flicker of defeat on his face when I told him, so yeah, now, I wondered what had happened to him.

Turned out a bleached blonde with pink highlights named Bridget happened to him. I passed by them on my way to Geometry, lounging outside in the quad, eating lunch together. I stopped and stared and my heart did a little jerk. What the hell? Already?

He was a quitter. I hated quitters.

He looked up, saw me in the glass door, and waved. Like we were freaking besties. I gritted my teeth, tossed my ponytail, and stormed off. He’d given up. Ha. So much for that connection he kept going on about.

I got to my locker and opened it, not seeing a thing. I stared into it for a good five minutes, trying to rein in my disappointment.

Footsteps sounded behind me and came to a stop. I inhaled and knew it was him. His body hovered just behind mine and warm breath skipped across my nape as he leaned down, pushed my hair out of the way and brushed his lips across my neck. Just barely, but enough to send electric shocks through my entire body.

In a deep voice, he said, “Show me you want me, Dovey. Meet me on the football field. Five o’clock or it’s over.” And then he walked away to class, leaving me as weak and useless as a wet noodle.

Oh, I saw through him alright. Dangling some girl in front of me as if he were tired of chasing me, when in fact, he was manipulating me. Upping the stakes.

He was good. Very good.

And I wanted him with every fiber of my being.

But no way was I meeting him after practice. Never in a gazillion years. NEVER.

And so. At approximately five o’clock when my practice was over, I lingered, dragging out my closing stretches. Mr. Keller and the other dancers eventually left, and I went to the big window that looked out over the football field, but it was bare.

Was he showering off after his workout? And that brought an image to mind.

Next thing I knew, I found myself bolting out the door and straight onto the field, running down the sidelines the entire one hundred yards, all the way to the doors of the athletic center.

I came to a stop when I reached the concession stand, noting how empty the place looked. No one was here. I was too late.

I realized he’d really given up on me.

Feeling dejected, I turned the corner and bam there he was, leaning against the building, still attired in those white football pants I’d dreamed about. I took in the whole picture, not missing how his navy jersey with pads accentuated his already broad chest. With his helmet in one hand, he looked down at his phone, a pensive expression on his face.

He looked delicious.

He looked like trouble.

“Cuba,” I called out, feeling a lot like the heroine in some stupid romantic comedy where the girl finally shows up to claim her guy.