Blindsided (7 page)

I turn back to my pad, grab another Cheeto, and put my pencil to the page. “And I will still not be here.” I shove the fluffy, orange chip in my mouth.

“Good grief,” Mom mutters before shutting my door.

I don’t even glance over my shoulder. I focus on the scratch of my pencil against the page, of the forming of the dress as it filters out of my mind and into reality. The shape of the skirt, the flare of the hem, the tuck of the waist, the dip of the neckline. I watch it take shape, become a real design, something I can change and manipulate until it resembles black-and-white perfection.

But it’s not right.

I tear the page off, ball it up, and throw it toward my trash can. This time, I sketch a jumpsuit. Flaring the pant legs, I scratch up the page until I reach the neckline. Low, low, lower… I bring it back up, adding some structure to the neckline.

Not right.

Another—this time, a jacket.

Not right.

This time, a pant suit.

Not right.

Not right, not right, not fucking right!

I throw my pencil across the room and grab my cell. Then I dial Cole’s number and drop back onto my bed, opening a package of Sour Patch Kids.

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“I hate Corey Jackson.”

“Intense,” Cole replies. “What’d he do?”

“He kissed me again. Right after he told me he always gets what he wants.”

“That’s not the response one would usually expect from a girl he’s kissed.”

“Well, one isn’t a girl he kisses. Until I am. Except I am. Except I don’t know!”

Cole laughs. “He’s obviously stopping you from doing something. You only get all bitchy when you’re interrupted.”

Shit. “I’m trying to find a job,” I lie. “And I can’t concentrate on writing my résumé.”

“Really? Can’t you just put ‘Grace Veronica’s daughter’ down?”

And that right there is why I work in secret. “Yes, because that’s my ticket to an easy life. Going off my mom’s name.”

“Wow. Do you have your regular visitor or something?”

“You’re an asshole, Cole.” I sniff. “No, I’m not on my period. Corey’s just throwing me off, okay?”

“He must have done something big if you’re this fucked up.”

“Well, hey, I didn’t know I was talking to Captain Obvious.” I roll my eyes. “He said he isn’t going to give up until I let him fuck me.”

Cole laughs loudly.

“This isn’t funny!”

“I’m sorry, Leah, but it kinda is. You’re twenty-two and all flustered over him saying that. Just fuck him! Because, girl, he means it. You’re not getting out of it until you let him stick it up in you.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Tell that to my date.”

“You’re on a date? A lunch date?”

“I get dates, you know.”

“Uh, are you talking to me with her there?”

“No. She thinks I’m talking to my agent, so I’m gonna have to go or you’re gonna earn yourself the title of ‘Cockblocker.’”

“Fuck you, Cole.” I hang up and drop the phone on the floor.

A lot of good that conversation did. He’s such a fantastic friend—confirming what I already knew.

I slide to the floor and grab the phone. This time, though, I dial Macey’s number.

“What?”

“Are you coming over?”

“About to. Why?”

“Bring alcohol with you.”

“Who is
that
?”

“Who’s who?” I roll my head to the side and look at Macey.

“That.” She jabs at the screen on her tablet.

“Don’t you mean ‘him’?” I ask, squinting. “Jack Carr. He plays for the Vipers, too.”

“Mmm. Do you think your new toy could hook me up?”

“Corey is not my toy,” I protest with a sigh. “He’s a very large, very hot, pain in my backside.”

“Yes. Yes, he is.” Ryann lies back on the bed next to me and puts her feet on the wall. “Hot, that is. And probably large. I don’t want to know about the butt pain thing.”

I slap her hip with the back of my fingers. “Ew.”

“Right. Now back to Jack…” Macey shoves the iPad in my face. “Do we know where this guy lives?”

Ryann shrieks a laugh. “What, are you gonna go over there, knock on his door, and declare yourself available for a good fucking?”

Macey blinks. “I was considering it.”

I briefly close my eyes and grab the wine glass sippy cup from my nightstand. Then I lie back down, drinking from the bright-pink spout. “You should,” I say, resting the cup on my stomach. “God knows one of us three needs to get some.”

“You have ‘some’ offered on a plate, sweetcheeks,” Ryann offers helpfully.

“Some? No, Ry. She has fucking ‘all’ lying on a chaise lounge begging to be drawn like a French girl.” Macey snorts, grabbing her own cup.

I laugh into my hand. “What? Oh my God. Now I have this horrific image of him lying on his side with his legs open and his head thrown back.”

None of us speaks for a few seconds. Then we all laugh loudly. Seriously—I can’t. I just… Oh my God.

The phone rings on the nightstand, and Macey rolls onto her side. “We should probably put the wine down now.”

I grab the phone and tip my cup up to show her what I think of that idea.

“Agreed.” Ryann tips hers up, too, giggling, then chokes.

I snort as I answer. “Hell—o?”

“Leah? That you?”

I slam the phone down the bed, my eyes widening. “Oh, fuck!” I whisper harshly.

“What?” Ryann hisses.

“Corey. Phone. Now.”

“I want Jack’s number!” Macey shrieks, diving over me to grab it.

“What? No, you crazy bitch!” I hold the phone over my head and scramble down the bed.

She grabs my leg. I respond by tugging myself away hard, and she lets go…leaving me to fall on my ass on the floor.

“Uh, hello?”

“Hello.” I giggle into the phone. “I’m sorry. My friends are assholes.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Ryann shouts.

“Shut up!” I hiss across the room. “Hold on,” I say to Corey.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to him?” Macey questions. Extra loud.

I shoot her a warning stare. Geez, what are we, sixteen? Can’t I even get away with pretending I’m in my twenties?

I shut my bedroom door behind me and run into Mom’s room. “Hello. Sorry. They’re crazy.”

“Hey,” he replies, and I can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Um, that depends.”

“Can you let me in?”

Eyes. Widening. “I’m not home.”

“Liar. Your car is outside.”

“Macey gave me a ride to her place.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I nod. Because if I nod, I’ll convince myself.

“You know we’re not talking on your cell, don’t you?”

I snap my head around to look at the phone. Sure as shit, I stare right at the silver house phone. “Oh. Um. Well, this is slightly awkward.”

I pad down the stairs and through the house to the front door. His reflection is blurred by the glass of the doors, but he’s definitely there. I swallow hard. Wow. He really did mean he wouldn’t give up.

I pull the door open and look straight into his blue-green eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” His lips pull up to one side. “You can put the phone down now.”

“Right.” I step back and set the phone in its holder. “What are you, um, doing here?”

Corey shuts the front door behind him and runs his hand through his messy, wet hair. “Are you drunk?”

“No!” I purse my lips when he raises an eyebrow at me. “Maybe a little. A tiny bit.”

He grins.

“Wine sippy cups,” I explain unnecessarily.
C’mon, Leah. Does he care how you drink your wine?

“Right.” His grin doesn’t falter. “I came to ask you something.”

“Can I say at this point that I’d rather you didn’t? Your questions generally don’t lead anywhere good.”

“Fine.” He leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest.
Mmm, biceps.

Eyes up, girl.
Fuck it.

“So you’ll go? Fabulous.” I grab for the door handle, but he’s quicker, his fingers closing around my arm.

“No,” he says quieter. “If you won’t let me ask you, I’ll tell you.”

“Really?” I stand up straight, snapping my eyes to his. “You’re gonna tell me, huh? And how well do you think that’s gonna work out for you, cowboy?”

“Probably as well as my attempts to fuck the hell out of you.” He drops his voice and leans forward. “But I’m gonna give it a good fuckin’ shot.”

I stare at him stonily. Shit. Five minutes in his presence and I already wanna carve a satanic ritual into his balls or something. “I dare you.”

“It’s Reid’s birthday tomorrow. His mom is putting on this fancy dinner at the Beverly Hills Hotel tomorrow night.” He stops.

“Well, happy birthday to Reid.”

“Funny girl,” Corey murmurs, tugging me closer to him. “I want you to come.”

“Translation: you need a date and you want me to be it.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it, babe?”

“Not a damn thing.” I smile sweetly. “And I’m sorry, but I’m busy tomorrow night.”

“Doing what?!” Macey shrieks from the front room.

“Macey! Fucking hell!” Ryann cries. “What’d you do that for?”

“Uh, I wonder why!”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Of course,” I say under my breath. “Why wouldn’t they be there?” I tug my arm from Corey’s hold and step away from him. “You might as well come out, eavesdropping bitches.”

They fight their way through the doorway then untangle themselves. Such a ‘Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters’ moment. Sheesh.

“Hi.” Macey grins. Widely.

“Hi.” Ryann echoes, grinning, too.

“Hey.” Corey smirks.

“Anyway,” I interject, drawing the word out. “Sorry, cowboy, but I’m busy. Maybe never, okay?”

“Maybe never? Ouch. You wound me, Leah.”

“I’m sure there’s some wannabe actress downtown who will kiss that better.”

“Hold up.” Macey steps forward. “This dinner. Is Jack going to be there?”

“We woke the beast,” Ryann mutters.

“Yeah,” Corey replies. “Why?”

Macey smiles widely. “’Scuse us.” She snatches my arm and yanks me after her. Then she drags me into the front room, and Ryann shuts the door behind us.

“What the hell?” I look at Macey.

“Leah! Jack will be there!”

“I am not going to dinner with Corey just so you can get your panties wet.” I fold my arms across my chest.

“Maybe you’ll get yours wet.” Ryann’s eyebrows shoot up suggestively and she swigs from her wine cup.

I snatch the cup from her and finish it. “Nope. Still not feeling the urge.”

“Please, Leah. We’ll come with you and we’ll keep you away from him,” Macey begs. “I mean, Ryann will keep you away from him. Okay? It’s kind of the same thing.”

“You weren’t even invited. I was. And I have no desire to do this.” I feel like the sixteen-year-old I thought about earlier. God. Privately talking about hot guys like we’re still virgins and wondering who’ll get kissed first at this prom.

Except this time, it’s who’ll get fucked first.

And I don’t mean in the sexual sense.

Dates with Corey Jackson—hell, one date with Corey Jackson—are a fucking in the literal sense. What if we went on a date, then I happened to like his arrogant ass, and one day, he discovers who I am? What I do?

That I’m that new chick in the fashion world with the most anticipated new line at New York Fashion Week?

That I’m the one every fashion designer wants? That I’m the one who is the future of the fashion world?

What if he finds out that I live every day in completely secrecy, determined to unnecessarily take the hard path?