Fall Guy (14 page)

Evan's eyes lock on me, and her complexion fades to ash, then bursts back to a sweet, excited pink.

I want her.

I want her so badly it shakes through me.

"I'm not Remington, and if Sal sent you, you can walk the fuck out the door right now." The people around the guy go quiet.

"Winch?"
Evan's face is going through a crazy stream of emotions, and the one that's clearest is confusion.

I turn my attention to her. "What are you doing here with him? I thought you were trying to stay the hell out of trouble."

"I...we just met. At an art show. He goes to Southern."

As she trips over her words, her blush gets deeper and her eyes burn bright with a rage that wakes up something in me that used to be
sound
asleep.

I swing my eyes
to
Jace
and say what it takes to get him to leave before I get my fists on him
.

"Hands off.
She's in high school. And her grandfather is Lee Early."

"Winch!" she gasps, and
Jace
puts five feet between the two of them in three seconds.

"Leave. I'll get her home." The music blares, but no one else is making any noise. I've
stopped this party like a
speedbump
on the Autobahn.

Jace
looks at Evan and says in a low voice, "If you want me to take you--"

"I said leave," I order, and
Jace
clamps his mouth tight and, with nothing more than a disg
usted shake of his head, he stalks out the nearest door
. I look around at the staring guests of Remington's fucked-up party. "Everyone can leave."

I flick off the sound system, and it's like popping a helium-filled balloon. Everyone starts to disperse immediately, and I can't get them out fast enough.

There's a lot of pissed-off murmuring and bitching, but I couldn't give a shit less. Evan stalks to the far railing of the deck, texting furiously, but I don't dare approach her until every other person is gone.

Lala
is the last to leave. "Who is she?" she demands, pointing to Evan.

"None of your business.
Party's over."
I grab her by the shoulders and turn her to the door.

She twists out of my grip.
"Take your fucking hands off
me! This is bullshit, Winch. I don't know what the hell happened to you, but you turned into a real dick."

"All the better reason to get away from me.
Good-bye,
Lala
."

I don't touch her again, but I
herd
her to the door, secretly thanking God that Evan never turned around and gave
Lala
a good look.

She tosses her blond hair and shakes it back from her face, licking her pouty lips and narrowing her eyes. "This isn't fucking over."

Her phone is already in her hand, and I'm willing to bet she's texting my sister.
Benelli
will keep her mouth shut until she talks to me, but she's definitely Team
Lala
, and I know she'll be curious about Evan. My head pounds with the migraine that's crawling in fast and strong as hell.

I watch as
Lala
stomps away and keep watching as her Audi squeals out of the driveway
and into the dark night. Finally the only sound is the crash of the waves, over and over, roaring and peaceful all at once.

Evan's back is to me, her long neck bent over her phone. I want to kiss her up and down that neck, make her moan my name the way she did on that stupid date so many days ago. The one I can't stop thinking about even though I know I should put it out of my head.

"Hey."

I had enough weight to stop a full blown
rager
in its tracks, but this girl leaves me feeling like I'm a gangly middle-
schooler
talking to his first crush.

She whirls around, the tight little dress clingy and perfect against her tanned curves. I imagine how much more perfect it would be peeled off
and dropped on the floor
.

"What's going on? Why did you kick
Jace
out? Why did you end the party? This is...I feel like..." She puts her hands up to her temples and squeezes her eyes shut.

I take a few steps toward her and have to cement myself where I am to keep from going further.

"Who are you texting?"

I point to her phone and am ripped between equal parts dread and hope that she called for a ride home.

"Brenna.
My best friend."

She stares at the lit
tle screen and furrows her brow
.

"You told her what happened?"

I kick some cans out of the way and sit a few feet away from her, head leaned back on the chair cushion so I can watch her from my half-closed e
yes without looking too obvious. She’s fucking gorgeous. I forgot just how gorgeous she is.

"Yes."

She shakes her head angrily at the phone and tosses it in her purse with a sharp motion of her wrist.

"What did she say?"

Despite the
shittines
of the night, something tells me her friend gave her advice I'm
gonna
be happy about.

"Brenna, who is a hopeless, insane romantic, told me that I should ask
why
you kicked
Jace
out with no explanation. She seems to think you're actually not an antisocial maniac."

She pulls herself up on the deck railing and the wind blows loose pieces of her hair around her neck and moves the skirt of her dress to her upper thighs.

"Do you want to ask me?" I close my eyes and wait.

"Is it a good reason?" Her voice is curious. I
shrug,
she sighs and asks, "W
inch, w
hy did you kick
Jace
out?"

"
Jace
cooks meth." I lift my head up for the satisfaction of seeing her mouth drop. "That's what he does with his fancy-ass
chem
degree. My brother is in a bad place. He's had some guys approach him, dealers. I've been working my ass off to keep them away from Remington."

"Do your parents know?" H
er voice is a bare-bones whisper, almost lost in the screeching wind.

"My parents...it's--"
I stop before I say "complicated" again. "My parents leave these things to me. My brother and I have been close since we were real young, so it makes sense for me to handle all this."

"Sense?"
She chews on the word, shakes her head, puts a hand up, drops it
,
and sighs. "Listen, can you just take me home? I would have left with
Jace
. I didn't know this was your place
or anything.
Tonight has been so bizarre. This is honestly the weirdest freaking night ever.
"

Her eyes drop and her shoulders sag like she's exhausted. I'm half afraid she's going to fall
off the railing, so I get up and
move next to her.

"I know you didn't realize this was my place. But I'm glad you're here."

I stand right next to her, close enough to smell her and feel the heat coming off her skin.
Her laugh is so devoid of happiness, it sounds like a bunch of rocks shaken in a tin can.

"Glad?
Really?
I didn't hear a word from you all week long, Winch." I look up at her face when she says my name, and I can see the torn, hurt frustration that I put there. It
stabs
like a hunting knife in my intestines. "I hate games, and I feel like I'm getting played by you big time. You're happy now because I walked in here and fell into your lap. But you never would have come to get me, you never would--"

"I wanted to," I interrupt and run my fingers over her hand. She stares down at my hand on hers. "I wanted to call you. See you. You have no idea how bad I wanted to."

"Oh, I have an idea." Her voice is low and husky. "I
wish
I could stop thinking about you. I wish I never met you, actually. Because all week long, all I thought about was you. And when
Jace
came up to me, the only reason I was remotely interested was because I hoped he might make me think about anything else for a few minutes."

This time her laugh is real and so loud and sweet, it claws with a sharp need low in my gut. "And he brought me here.
Right to you.
Define fucking irony."

She pulls her hand away.

I take it
back again.

"Maybe it's fate or something."

This is an unbelievably bad idea. She hops down off the railing and she's immediately fitted
against me, right where she belongs, right where I want her.

Her eyebrows
raise
up high and her smile is forced. "You believe in fate?
Or something?"

"You make me believe in a lot of things I never thought I would."

This is crazy talk. This is the result of too many nights thinking about her and not getting any sleep, too many days imagining I see her right around every corner, and too many attempts to deny how much I want her.

Now she's right in my arms for a second time, and I realize I'm not going to get a third chance to make this right. I have to make a decision.

Winchester Youngblood doesn't want me.

He didn't call me all week.

He didn't come by and try to see me.

No
Facebook
messages, pigeons with notes tied to their little pink claws, pebbles clattering against my windowpane.

But when I wind up at his party with another guy, he's suddenly ready to be my gallant defender. It's all cheekbones and soft blue eyes and that accent I still can't place that fills my ears up and blocks every other sound out, like the full spill of ocean water when you jump in the waves too fast, too deep.

"This isn't a good idea,"
says
me, Queen of Colossally Stupid Ideas.

I know the exact determination of how bad it is by how incredibly good it feels. When his hands coast just a hair of an inch away from my skin, I arch into them.

And I want more.

"We're not exactly known for our good ideas," he says, his voice low, his
lips hovering just above my lips
, and I want them to commit.

Commit to every hot, sweet thing I know we both want, no matter how stupid it is to want it all.

His mouth
hit
s its
target and
his lips
drag
s
along my neck
so
slowly,
it makes
me shiver with naked desire for him. He opens his mouth, and the wet pr
ess of his tongue makes
me jump
.

"You weren't even interested in me," I argue,
unclouding
my stupid thoughts and hauling him a few inches away.

"That's r
idiculous."

He talks like he's some blue-face-painted
warrior used to commanding legions. This is the same voice he used when he told a few dozen
drunk
debauched party-goers to get the hell out of his house
,
and every single one of them listened and scurried away.

I twirl out of his arms and grab onto the railing, digging my fingernails into the wood so I can anchor myself.

"It's not ridiculous at all. Actually, it makes total sense. You can't just have me now, because you decided
you want me when
I'm here and available."

Clouds slipped over the moon while he was turning me into a pool of
Jello
, so it's too dark to see much on the beach, but I search for anything else to fix my eyes on anyway.

Winch's body mirrors mine, and he wraps one arm around my waist.

"It's getting cold. Come on inside, we can talk. I swear to God, all we'll do is talk."

He's the path lined with wildflowers
,
and I'm Red Riding Hood. I've been warned, but I just can't resist the blossom and perfume that calls me over.

The party-silent house creaks and groans in the wind that picks up and rattles the windows, and I nearly trip over a couple of glasses, knocked on their side
s
, as I follow him through the labyrinth. When I bend to right them, Winch tugs at my hand and shakes his head.