BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (92 page)

“She never makes over me like that, and she’s
my
pet,” Spider called from the pool.

I grunted. Spider
had
bought her from a roadie a few years ago, but I’m the one who ended up taking care of her. I fed her, walked her, took her to the puppy salon. Hell, I’d even taken her to a movie premiere once. “You’re my baby, aren’t you? The only girl I need,” I cooed to her as she licked my hand.

Spider climbed out, his lean body dripping water as he walked over to grab a towel. I flicked my eyes at Mila, who was still swimming. “Tell me you didn’t mess with Mila.” I kept my voice low.

He froze. “Sod off.”

I stiffened. “Fuck you. She’s too young—”

“Twenty-three, same as us.”

I scowled. “I feel responsible for her. Remember the drummer she met in Austin that screwed her over? Took her months to recover from catching him with another chick. Don’t be part of the problem, man.”

He settled back on the lounger and reached for his drink. “Nothing’s going on between us.”

“Dude. It’s nearly two in the morning. Nothing good happens late.”

He lit a cig. “She’s here because her apartment’s being painted. The fumes were making her sick. I would have told you, but you were already in the bed.”

If that was the whole story, then why did he keep looking at her like she was a slice of his favorite pie?

I exhaled and stood up, ready for my walk. “All I’m saying is
if
you touch her—well, then you gotta marry her or some shit.”

He eyed me carefully, a hard glint in his gaze. “I don’t see why you’d care. You had your chance with her and didn’t take it. Do you regret it? Do you want her now?”

I groaned. “I also used to wear loafers and button-downs. Things change, but she will always be one of my dearest friends. And that means protecting her from assholes who just want to get in her pants.”

He blew out a trail of smoke. “Like I said: sod off.”

I snapped at his nonchalance. “Don’t play with her. She deserves better.”

He jerked up and glared at me with clenched fists, a red flush on his cheeks. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”

My shoulders squared. Bigger and bulkier than him, I didn’t doubt that I could kick his ass, but he also had the wiry thing going for him. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, but take a good look at yourself. You drink too much, get in fights, and use girls. I don’t want Mila part of that. The truth is … you aren’t over Dovey.” Dovey was his best friend at Briarcrest Academy, the chick he’d loved desperately, only she’d chosen Cuba Hudson—the rich football player—over him.

I muttered, “Look, you brought up Emma and the reunion last week, but you’re going to have to face Dovey and Cuba when we go back. They’re going to be all over each other. Are you ready for that?”

He narrowed his eyes.

I nodded. “You’re in no shape to date Mila.”

His chest heaved, the veins in his neck causing his black widow tattoo to bulge. “You think I’m worthless. Just like everyone else.”

Pain sliced through me at the hurt in his voice, and I immediately deflated. “God, no. Never. You’re my number one. Me and you, we’re like G-strings and strippers, beer and pretzels. Hell, you’re the one who thought of us wearing the mink coats on stage. Just—she’s not like the girls on the road. She’s—”

“What’s going on?” Mila said, coming up next to us as she rubbed a towel over her face. Her eyes went from me to Spider. “Are you two arguing?”

We gave her nothing but silence. Except for Monster. Known to be spastic, she barked at Mila and then bolted across the yard—headed straight for Violin Girl’s property.

Dammit!
“Come back!” I yelled as she disappeared. I sprinted after her, dodging the shrubs and evergreen trees that separated our properties. I stepped in a hole and twisted my ankle but kept going. Breathing hard and near limping, I came to an abrupt halt when I reached Violin Girl’s patio area. Shock ran through me. I was exactly where I didn’t need to be. Then, Monster sent me a wild-eyed look from the edge of the pool and promptly took a flying leap into the water.

Fuck.

Her head kept going under and popping back up. She was tiny—too tiny to even get out if she got to the edge. I stripped my jeans off and dove in, reaching her just as she sank. I dove under, grabbed her and backstroked to the edge of the pool. I set her down on the concrete where she immediately coughed up water, her little body vibrating. Using my arms, I leveraged myself out of the pool and picked her up. She licked me and I let out a sigh of relief. “Dammit, Monster, you scared the shit out of me.”

Feeling eyes on me, I turned to face the owner of the house.

She stood on her upstairs balcony, wide eyes staring as water dripped down my chest, the imprint of my male anatomy obvious from my tight black boxers. Her pool was heated—
halleluiah
—and my manhood stood firm. At least I wouldn’t have to hold Monster in front of my crotch to hide my frozen balls.

She leaned over her ornate iron railing, her mouth a perfect
O
. She ran her eyes over my chest and abs and then to my package. Then, she clutched both sides of her robe and shoved it closed.

I grinned.

Too late, babe, I’d seen all of that
.

“This guy was some kind of dog superhero. Huh. Is there a Justice League for that?”

—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

HE
BURST ONTO the scene. With a crazy dog, no less.

Said dog spread its legs like an Olympic ski jumper and flung itself into my pool, barely even making a splash it was so tiny. Blond Guy knifed into the water like a pro, the roaring lion tattoo on his back getting most of my attention. Dark and dangerous, the ferocious animal took up most of his back right shoulder.

My mouth gaped. Where had he come from?

Was he even real?

Had I had a few too many shots?
Yes.

He rose up from his crouch, long and muscled, beads of water racing down his neck to his broad chest, calling attention to the tightly roped muscles of his abs to the delicious V of his hips. My eyes roamed over every inch of him, my mind wondering if what was under his boxers was as majestic as the rest of him.

He pushed wet hair out of his eyes, his hand continuing its journey to the nape of his neck. Then, his eyes met mine, making my stomach flutter.

I may have squeaked; I’m not a squeaker.

I clutched my robe closed, my hands tight against my chest.

“Sorry about disturbing you. Monster has dreams of being a Doberman. She won’t hurt you, just likes to make her presence known.”

Hurt
me
? She nearly killed herself.

“Oh? You realize it’s late, right? Most dogs and humans are asleep.” I pointed to the towels I’d stacked up on a shelf. “Help yourself to a towel over there. Looks like you need one.”

He stalked over, moving with an easy grace of a born athlete.

Okay, play it cool. Act nonchalant. Don’t say stupid stuff … like
wiener
or babble on about sex metaphors.

He dried the dog first, scrubbing her hair in the opposite direction and then brushing it back down. His fierce lion head tattoo winked in and out of view, its jaws open wide, the mane stretching out over his shoulder. For some reason, perhaps because this guy seemed able to pull emotion from me, his tattoo reminded me of a favorite memory. I’d always had a thing for lions, partly because our name was Lyons and it was part of our family crest, but also because of the lion at the Central Park Zoo in New York. I’d loved to hang out at his enclosure, waiting for him to spear me with those yellow eyes or chase one of his lionesses. He was majestic. He was strong. Alpha. I shivered.

I suspected Blond Guy was as well.

Finally, after what seemed liked forever of him rubbing the towel across his skin, he tugged back on low-slung jeans and re-buckled a skull belt buckle—my eyes flared at that little tidbit. He wasn’t your everyday average guy.

“You dried your dog first,” I said, scintillating conversationalist that I am.

“Yep.”

Okay
. He seemed tightlipped as well.

But then he walked closer until he stood underneath me, his eyes gleaming up at me, their pale blue color reflected in the patio lights. His gaze lingered over his necklace, and I fingered the shark tooth. I hoped he didn’t want it back.

“You know, I could have shot you when you ran onto my property like that.” I don’t even own a gun. I didn’t know what to say. My last memory of him was with Blair.

“Glad you didn’t. Maybe not you, but thousands would mourn my death.” He grinned. “Or would you?”

“You’re an incorrigible flirt, aren’t you?”

He did a snort/smirk thing. “You’re a gorgeous girl—so yeah,
I was flirting
, but when you call me out like that, it kinda ruins the moment.”

My lips twitched. “What’s your name?” I was dying to know.

“Romeo?” His lips curled up in a grin.

“That’s unfortunate.”

He let out a husky laugh. “No, it’s a joke, see, because the moon is out, and I’m standing here below your balcony and you’re dressed—” he waved his hand at my robe “—like that. This isn’t going well, is it?”

I shook my head.

“You do know the famous balcony scene in
Romeo and Juliet
, right? Shakespeare wrote it? He’s kinda famous.”

“I’ve heard of it.” I kept my eye roll inside.

He took a bow. “Senior year I played Romeo in our school production to a packed house. Critics said it was the best production they’d seen in Highland Park, Texas in twenty years—although that critic may have been fourteen and wrote for the school newspaper.” He shrugged and grinned. “She also had a terrible crush on me.”

“Yeah?” I imagined him on stage, dressed in some type of gold-threaded medieval outfit. “Did you wear tights?”

“My big sword made up for the girly clothes.”

“Really?” I kept my eyes firmly in place, refusing to look where I knew he wanted me to. At his Big Man Stick. Because I’d noticed it already.

Straighten up, Violet!
This guy was a Hollywood player and way out of your depth. “I’ve always wanted to see
Romeo and Juliet
on stage. I’m sure you and your sword were great.”

“Well, this sure isn’t Broadway, but here goes.” He bent down on one knee and lifted his right hand up theatrically. He cleared his throat. “‘But soft, what light from yonder window breaks. It is the east and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon which is already sick and pale with grief—’” He stopped, covering his eyes. “Ah hell, I can’t remember the rest of it.” He sighed. “And now the romantic moment is ruined.”

I stifled my laugh.

“Technically, I make a better singer.” He stood back up. “And I apologize for my poor flirting skills.”

“You haven’t lost your charm,” I murmured.

“Thank you,” he said, his gaze lingering on my face, then landing on my lips. I nibbled on them, and he froze, something primal flickering across his face.

I took a leap of faith. “My name’s Violet, but I prefer to be called V.”

He nodded. “I’m Sebastian, front guy for the Vital Rejects. Ever heard of us?”

Something niggled at my mind, but was I unable to figure it out. “You’re part of a boy band then? Like One Direction?”

He made a choking sound. “God, no. We’re rock alternative with some punk thrown in. We’re edgy, not bubble gum.”

“Yeah, you look more like a Kurt Cobain kind of guy.”

His lips kicked up. “Yeah? You like Nirvana, right?”

He should know. He’d probably heard me play them. “He’s a rock god. Once, for a contemporary music class, I redid his ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ on the violin. It was epic. My professor totally freaked out.” I laughed at the memory.

Then things just kinda happened.

I leaned over the balcony, put my chin in my hand, and we began talking about music, the Dallas Cowboys football team,
The Vampire Diaries
—go figure—and just about everything we could think of.

“Here’s a question for you. Do you happen to have a thing for guys with blue hair? Or do you prefer blonds?” he asked.