Collateral Damage (31 page)

What if she's not in her room?

What if this isn't her room at all?

I knock again, louder this time.

A moment later, she draws the curtain aside. She smiles at me from behind the glass, and my heart stutters, missing a beat or two, as relief washes over me.

I point up, signaling the attic, then slip to the other side of the house, climb on top of that dormer, and wait.

It feels like forever before the window finally lifts, before she grabs my shoes, before she hisses, "What are you doing here?" as I climb inside. But there's a smile in her voice. She's happy I came. She's glad I'm here. She wanted to see me as badly as I wanted to see her.

"I would've called, except I don't have your number," I whisper. "That complicates things." As she lowers the sash I'm struck by the thin pajama pants slung low on her hips. The stripe of skin visible just above the elastic. The tank top hugging every curve. I rip my eyes away from her, focusing on boxes. Old furniture. Shadows of things crammed into corners. Anything but that bare skin.

"It wouldn't have mattered, because I'm not allowed to answer the phone ever again," she says.

She got caught.

"I figured. How bad was it?" I take the beanbag chair this time, and Jaden sits on the floor beside me, wrapping her comforter around her shoulders even though the attic is still warm from the afternoon sun.

 
"Honestly? I've never really been in trouble, so it was bad...but it could've been worse, I guess. I have nothing to base it on."

"What are the terms?"

"I'm grounded for the rest of the school year. I can't go anywhere with anyone, or do anything. No fundraisers or walks...no phone calls. Oh, and I'm never supposed to see you ever again," she adds.

There's irony here, somewhere, in that I just called off my engagement to be with this girl, and she's forbidden to see me. "That bites. Good thing our project is almost due."

"Are you finished?"

"No. You?"

"No."

I'm not exactly sure where this conversation can go from here.

Hey. I drove thirty minutes to see you. I broke up with my fiancée—called a whole wedding off—because I think I might be in love with you.

"So, um, are you grounded or anything?" she asks.

Grounded.

There's a safer topic.

But still, I have to stop myself from saying the first thing that pops into my head:
Why would I be grounded?

Because I remember the lies. It doesn't matter that I'm free to feel whatever I want to feel for this girl. I'm still undercover. I still have a job to do.

I swallow back a frustrated sigh.

Relax, Whalen. It's only for a few more weeks….

"Nah. I got home expecting hell, but the old man wasn't there. He didn't say anything about it tonight, so I figure he doesn't know, or doesn't care. Tomorrow I'll just forge a note saying I was sick or something. My absence won't even be unexcused." I force a smile.

"You are so lucky."

I'm lucky, all right. I'm lucky that none of this matters. That I can skip school if I want. That I can fake my own notes. I'm lucky that my job requires lying to people who matter every goddamn day—this job that I owe to my ex-fiancée's father when my own dad was ready to hang me out to dry. "That my dad doesn't know enough to realize I skipped school? Or the fact that he might know but doesn't care?"

She bites her lower lip.

"
You're
lucky, Jade. Lucky to have people around you who give a shit. Don't ever underestimate that." A pervasive silence descends. I can't do this anymore. I can't handle another night in this attic talking about me. I don't want to make things up to keep the conversation flowing. Or try to remember stories I've told (or haven't told) before. "So...what did they say about Harvard?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Nothing. I couldn't do it."

"You
have
to tell them," I insist.

"I know." She groans, feels her forehead. "I just...I don't know how, or what to say. It's not the right time."

"If you're waiting for perfect timing, you're gonna be waiting a long time," I say. "There is no such thing, even. You just do what you have to do and hope for the best." It's nothing—this news. It's disappointing, yes, but it's not
getting a phone call in the middle of the night to come pick your son up from jail
disappointing. It's not
having to buy your son a new suit for his court appearance
disappointing. "They love you, Jade," I remind her. "They aren't going to be mad at you, or disappointed, despite what you may think."

"I know." She shifts closer to me, body leaning against the beanbag chair, chin propped up with her free hand. "It's a good thing our project is almost over, I guess," she continues. "No more hanging out in the library. Or ditching school."

She's right. Our project is due soon. But something in her words—her tone—sends a chill skittering up my spine.

She doesn't want this to end any more than I do.

"We can always have a third floor rendezvous," I remind her. "They can't take that away from us."

But she doesn't seem to hear what I'm saying—she doesn't get it. She doesn't get that I don't want this—us—to end, either. She fidgets with her fingernails, and, watching her—this black cloud hanging between us—I realize it doesn't have to be this way.

I'm sitting with Jaden McEntyre, for God's sake. She would never tell anyone—my secret would be safe with her.

I could make her swear not to tell anyone about what she knows. I can be honest with her. For
once
, I can be truthful with this girl. I can tell her who I really am. How I feel. What she means to me.

"How did you know I'd be up?" she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"I had a hunch you'd have trouble sleeping. I figured I could at least keep you company."

Her lips twist into a smile. "Admit it," she says, pleased. "You
like
me."

I laugh, feeling the heat in my cheeks, thankful for dark shadows and pale moonlight. "I'm not admitting anything."

I can't admit I like this girl. I
more
than like her.

I
want
her. I want to kiss her. I want to sleep with her. Not have sex with her—though God that would be amazing. I want to sleep with her in the same bed. I want to share the same blanket. I want to wake up with our bodies tangled together in the sheets, my arms wrapped around her, chest to chest, sharing a single heartbeat. I want her eyes gazing back at me forever.

Those sexy, sinful eyes.

"You wanted so badly to hate my guts, and you can't do it. I think it's awesome." She leans in further, teasing, flirting.

"I didn't want to
hate
you. I just didn't want to
like
you," I clarify.

A humming energy radiates from every turn of her body—the Jade I imagined crawling out of my dreams. My eyes drift to her lips, heart kicking to double-time.

"There's a difference?" she asks, eyebrow lifting as she inches closer.

I shiver with anticipation, knowing this is what I've been wanting from the moment I met this girl.

"Like you wouldn't believe," I whisper, just before her lips reach the edge of mine. And as sweet and as gentle as it is—as long as I've waited for this kiss to happen—it's not enough. Not anymore. I slide my fingers through her silky hair, pull her into me, and our lips connect, sending fiery jolts of electricity coursing through my veins.

The tiniest gasp escapes her mouth, and I'm completely undone.

My lips travel to her cheek, her jaw line, to the curve of her ear.

Her fists tighten around my jacket, and before I can think, breathe, react, she's on the beanbag chair with me, straddling my lap. It rustles beneath us. Shifting. My hands slip beneath her tank top, feeling her smooth skin, the small of her back, as she hovers over me, lips crushing mine. It's like, everything she's held back for the last eighteen years come alive. The kisses deepen, and I melt beneath her.

Damn.
This girl owns me.

She runs fingers through my hair, down my neck, setting my skin on fire in her wake.

I sit taller, slide the strap to her tank top aside, and gently kiss her shoulder. She leans into me, neck tilting. My heart flips nervously, accelerating.

She wants this.

I want this.

I want her.

God. I want her. I want her so freaking bad I can't think. I can't breathe. And I can't think or breathe or.... Because there is no one else. There is
nothing
else. As long as this girl is in my arms, I have every fucking thing I could ever need.

She tugs at my leather jacket, so I shrug my arms out of the sleeves and toss it to the floor. I pick her up and her legs tighten around my waist. I lower her to the comforter crumpled beneath us.

I pause, hovering over her, lips inches apart.

Are you sure?

Her eyes find mine in the darkness. She sucks in a quick breath. "I think...I might...." Her voice—the words are like music.

I think I might love you, too, Jaden McEntyre.

I lean in slowly, heart beating out of my chest as my face bends toward hers. Her eyes close as I brush her lips with kisses, as I slide the hair away from her face, my fingers dancing across her skin.

She pulls at my t-shirt, so I grab the collar and yank it over my head.

And when I do her eyes widen in something that might be horror. "Oh my God," she chokes. She wriggles beneath me, struggling to sit up. "Parker. What
happened
to you?"

I glance down at my chest.

The bruises.

And I don't know if it's because she called me Parker when I have always been Christopher. I don't know if it's because it finally hits me—what's about to happen. I don't know if it's because of the welts spread across my chest, still healing.

I run my hands over my face, uneasiness clawing at my gut. "Jade...I'm not...."

Who you think I am.

I don't know how this happened. How it came to this—me risking my job, risking
everything
to be with this girl. "I can't." I reach for my shirt, desperate to find my footing, to put it back on. To get the hell away from her. "It's nothing," I promise. "Don't worry about it."

"You have to tell me what happened," she begs, standing.

I snatch my jacket off the floor, shove my arms back into the sleeves. I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here before something happens. Something that shouldn't. Something we can't take back.

"Parker!" she hisses.

All the times I fantasized hearing my name on her lips, it never once sounded like that—a mix of panic and concern and anger in one.

I lift the window. "We can't do this."

This time she does the ignoring, moving in front of me, blocking my path out. "Did your dad do it? Did this happen today? Because of me?"