Collateral Damage (4 page)

I know it.

"The pictures are just...
stunning
," she goes on. "Remember Bonnie Tyndall? She got married there last year. It's one of the top ten event facilities in the state."

I hear nothing after the word "married." Because the word "married" raises every red flag, sounds every alarm. There are strings attached to this word. Always. "So, this reservation thing. Is this about dinner or a wedding?" I ask.

"Both," she confesses. "But mostly dinner. I just want you to see it—to tell me what you think." She heaves a sigh. "The thing is...it books really fast. If we're pushing for next spring..."

"But we haven't set a date," I interrupt.

"We agreed next year would be perfect. You'll be finished with this assignment and back at the station."

I can almost see her shoulders lift, a happy shrug, like this is no big deal. And it's not a big deal, I guess, aside from the fact that I have no intention of going to Hamilton this weekend, and that I'm not ready to talk menus or number of guests or set a date. "Callie, things are really crazy right now..." I begin.

"I know, but if we both like this place, then we should go ahead and reserve it. And Daddy was fine with it," she assures me. "If this is what we want, he said he'd go ahead and make the deposit."

I grab a soda from the refrigerator and let the door fall shut.

Daddy
.

Mr. Donovan.
And
his checkbook.

Shit.

"You're quiet. What are you thinking?" she asks.

I can't tell her what I'm thinking. She's just pulled the one card I can't compete with. The one hand I'm powerless against.

"Nothing," I lie. "This weekend sounds...perfect."

When Callie finally hangs up, I dial the house.

Dad answers. "Hey. Where's Mom?" I ask.

"Already gone to bed."

"Oh. Well, tell her that something came up, and I'll be home this weekend after all. Callie and I will meet you guys at the family dinner."

"Will do," he replies.

"Okay." I wait for a moment, thinking he'll ask about work. What I'm up to. How I'm doing. But I get nothing. Less than ten words in ten seconds, and the conversation is already written off. Over. "Whatever. Thanks."

I press END, disconnecting us.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

She's sitting at the far end of the library when I arrive, at a table near the window, framed by panes of glass and a sky deep with winter clouds. I turn the handle and push my way inside, ignoring the frown on the librarian's face as I pass the counter, the rows and rows of bookshelves. Jaden
would
pick a table in the middle of the room—where everyone can see us.

I wonder who that says more about. Me or her.

I let my bookbag fall to the ground and pull out the chair across from her. She doesn't lift her head. She doesn't say hello. All I hear is a pointed "It's about time" as she flips to another page in that blue project packet.

And it's at that moment I decide Callie was onto something. Maybe I
should
let her do this whole project. Maybe I should prove her every assumption right—be the slacker she knows I am.

"You said three," I remind her.

She reaches for her cell phone, checks the screen. "I have five after."

Of course she does. I force my eyes not to roll. "I'm sorry. I assumed this was an informal meeting. I didn't realize you were passing out tardies. Oh, wait. You wouldn't know a thing about that, what with your infinite supply of 'get out of class free' cards and all."

She opens her mouth to respond, and it's like the bathroom all over again. What did I ever do to this girl? Anyway, I thought she was friendlier than this—one of those people who tries to get along with everyone. She is clearly not as righteous as she wants us to believe. Two minutes in and she's already on my jock. I'll bet she'd like me better if I didn't have any shoes. If I was a stray cat. If I needed access to malaria meds.

But whatever she planned to say disappears between mind and mouth. She sighs, scowls, and sits taller, her whole body rigid—on the defensive.

It's good, in a way. At least we know where we stand. I don't want to be her partner. She doesn't want to be mine. I'm about to suggest we forget the whole thing and turn in our own projects when...

"Let's just get this over with, okay? The sooner we pick a book the sooner we can get to work." She slides the list of recommended books across the table like she's doing me a favor. Like I wouldn't bring my own list to a meeting thats sole purpose is to pick a book for our project. I shove my hand in my pocket and produce the exact same sheet. Like magic. I unfold it and lay it on the table, then watch the realization dawn.

"All right. I get it," she says. "You're prepared. I'm wrong."

She grabs her list, runs fingers through her straight brown hair, and tucks it behind her ears, focusing. "Okay. So the question is do we want to stick with what we know...and pick a book we're familiar with? Or go for something entirely new."

I can't hide my laughter. Is Jaden McEntyre really trying to cut corners? And she thinks
I'm
the slacker? "What's the point in doing a project on a book you've already read?"

She eyes me curiously, disbelief written into every feature—the curve of her mouth, her green eyes. I can almost read her thoughts. I'm dangerous. A loner. I wear dark clothes and drive a motorcycle and associate with no one. So why is the new guy with the bad rap prepared? And why wouldn't he want to pick a book he's already read? Why wouldn't he take the easy way out?

I'm screwing with every pre-conceived notion in that pretty little head of hers.

This project might not be so bad after all. If I play my cards right, it might even be fun.

"Well?"

She snaps to attention, cheeks burning a deeper shade of pink. "Um, yeah, okay. So we'll pick something we haven't read."

"Are you implying that you typically do projects on books you already know about?" I ask.

"I'm just saying that if we pick a book we're already familiar with then this project might not be so complicated. We'd at least have some vague idea of what we're doing."

"Are you saying you're clueless? Because I don't want an idiot for a partner."

Her jaw tightens, but she ignores the dig. I struggle not to laugh. It's so easy to incite this girl. I'm already under her skin and we haven't even started this thing yet.

Parker: Two.

Jaden: One.

"How about
Pride and Prejudice
?" she suggests, studying the list of titles.

God. That's not predictable.

"No."

"Why not?"

I lean closer, confident. "Because you've already read it."

"You don't know that," she mumbles, but the guilt is woven into those deep green eyes of hers.

"Please. A senior girl in high school. Somewhat...'bookish,' I guess you'd say..."

"You can call me a nerd if you want," she interrupts, arms folding across her chest. "I don't take offense."

Nah. She's too cute to be a nerd. Too feisty. "No...not a nerd, but 'nerdy'.... Not that it's a bad thing, so don't go all hostile on me, all right?"

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."

"I'm just saying that you can't expect me to believe you haven't read one of the supposed greatest romances in all of literature. Even if your tenth grade Honors teacher didn't assign it...you read it on your own."

Unfortunately, I was forced to read it junior year, and there is
no way
I'm reading it again. She can whine and cry all she wants.

"Okay, whatever. What about
Jane Eyre
?"

"You've read that one, too."

She tosses the list to the table, leans back in her chair. "Then why don't you start naming books you think I haven't read and we'll go from there."

 
This should be easy. I examine the list of titles. "Books you haven't read.... Let's see.
Catcher in the Rye. The Color Purple. Lord of the Flies
." I glance up at her. "Am I getting warmer?"

Her lips remain pressed in a firm line.

"
The Jungle. 1984
.... Basically anything on this list that isn't a romance you haven't read. So we can throw out Austen, most of the Shakespearean Comedies, the Bronte sisters..."

"
Wuthering Heights
is not a romance," she interrupts.

"That depends on how you look at it."

"Heathcliff is totally depraved. There are no redeeming qualities. None."

"His love for Cathy is a redeeming quality," I remind her.

"He made everyone's lives miserable. He's insane."

"Maybe love drives people insane." My fiancée just started planning our wedding and I'm already going crazy.

She scoffs. "What are you smoking? Because I can recommend an awesome twelve-step program."

Ouch. That was below the belt.

I'll give the girl credit. She's ruthless.

Parker: Two.

Jaden: Two.

"Yeah, I'm aware of it. Thanks. I just don't understand why it's so hard to believe a person could love someone so much it would drive him insane."

"Because. It's...it's not...normal."

I laugh. "And Mr. Darcy is what you'd call
normal
?"

"Mr. Darcy is a gentleman."

"Mr. Darcy is a narcissist."

Her eyes narrow, and I'm sure she's about to go another round with me, but then her expression softens, and she doesn't. She closes her eyes for a moment—a moment longer than she should, because I see her, in that moment. And even though she's kind of pretty when she's fired up, she's also kind of pretty when she's not.

When she opens her eyes, I'm caught staring.

"Look, as much as you'd love to, I'm not gonna sit here and argue with you all afternoon. Pick a book, and let's get out of here," she demands.

Fine.

I skim titles on the wrinkled paper. There's no way to know what she's read in relation to what I've read, and some of these books I've never even heard of. This has to be as fair as possible. "Okay. I'm going to pick one randomly."

"Go for it."

I close my eyes and run my finger up and down the page. Whatever I land on, if we haven't both read it, will be our book. I stop, open my eyes. "
A Midsummer Night's Dream
," I announce.

"A Shakespearean Comedy," she replies.