Perfectly Broken (2 page)

Peyton slipped her hand into Reed’s, and a sudden electrical charge shot between them. She flinched at the contact, her baby blue eyes flying wide open, but he gently closed his fingers around hers, never letting slip a chance to hold a pretty girl’s hand, even if he didn’t believe any of her pie witchcraft bullshit. Quinn cleared her throat to voice her disapproval. But Peyton and Reed both ignored her, leaving Quinn to frown and grab a nearby table with Bret.

Reed studied her as she worked, or whatever the hell she was doing. She was a natural beauty — her baby blue eyes, long brown hair, and fair skin, without a stitch of makeup — a far cry from the overtly sexy model he usually went for. He memorized her perfect pink lips, knowing what they could do for him, and the curve of her neck, a silver locket dangling from it. He saw something else, too — at least he thought he did. There appeared to be some complication about her, some sadness behind her pretty eyes, something she was trying to hide.
I could make you happy.

Peyton examined the shape and lines of his hands but found it hard to focus, a part of her wanting to run and hide, another wanting to run her hands through his dark, messy hair, to feel the slight stubble on his face, imagining his hands running down her body, her breasts against his washboard abs. Then she caught herself and drew a deep breath, her stomach churning, a million butterflies floating around. She looked up from his hands, into his steel blue eyes, shocked by her attraction to a man she knew nothing about. “You are devil’s food chocolate praline.”

“We’ll see.”

Peyton dipped into her ice boxes. “So how do you and Bret know each other?”

“We’re old friends from high school. I just moved back to town, partly to design some projects he’s working on with his family. I’m an architect.”

* * *

“I don’t like the way Reed’s looking at Peyton,” Quinn said softly. “I don’t trust him.”

“The only stuff you know,” Bret whispered, “is gossip you’ve heard through the Junior League or wherever.”

“I’ve heard
a lot
.”

“Keep your voice down.” Bret turned to make sure Peyton and Reed weren’t listening.

“Well, I have several sources.” Quinn thought her journalism degree made her some fancy investigative reporter and a good judge of character, though her columns typically focused on the latest fashion trends.

“Look, he puts up with a lot of shit being Richard Langston’s son. People always judge him.”

“It seems with good reason.”

“He’s a good guy. He’s even mentoring this black kid in the projects.”

“Is there some woman he’s trying to impress out there?” Quinn asked. “I’m not surprised he hangs out with kids; he has the maturity of a teenager. It’s time he grows up — both of you actually.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Now that he’s back in town, I just don’t want him rubbing off on you, OK?”

“He likes to have fun, and so do I. That’s not going to change.”

Quinn sat back in her chair, sensing a losing battle. “Why are you so loyal to him?”

“I never told you how Reed and I met?” She shook her head. “We played high school baseball together. We knew each other but weren’t real close. On a road trip — I don’t even remember where we were — I snuck a bottle of scotch into the hotel. Of course, the coaches found out about it — half the team was drunk. A few guys pointed the finger at me. Reed knew my parents were strict and would kill me. So he took the heat instead — said the bottle was his — even though he didn’t even drink that night. He never really drinks. Funny thing is that Reed is a terrible liar — always has been — but the coaches believed him because of who his father is. He ended up getting suspended from school for three days.” Bret paused for a moment. “And that isn’t the only time he’s taken the heat for me. He’s saved my ass more times than I can count. And I’ve never had to save his.”

“His family is a disaster.”

“But he’s not. So be nice.”

* * *

Peyton plated two slices of pie. “Here you go, let me know what you think.”

Reed thanked her and sat down with Bret and Quinn. He took one bite of the apple pie and glanced over his shoulder at Peyton cleaning up, a little smile across her pink lips. An elderly gentleman came in, and Peyton gave him her full attention. “Strawberry, right?”

Quinn slapped Reed’s forearm. “Hey, slick, don’t get any ideas about Peyton. She’s a nice girl, not one of your frequent hook-ups.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not always frequent.”

Bret laughed out loud, nearly choking on his pie, but came to order with Quinn’s side-eye.

“I thought I was training you better than that,” she said.

Reed raised his eyebrows. “Training?”

“That’s the old me, baby,” Bret assured her and kicked Reed under the table.

“It better be,” Quinn said then turned to Reed. “Peyton’s too sweet for you.”

Reed bit his tongue, if only for the sake of Bret. He was used to people judging him — everyone seemed to have a preconceived notion about the son of Richard Langston — but he hated it coming from Quinn, a spoiled, debutante princess from the Dupuis clan. He wasn’t sure what Bret even saw in Quinn — other than perhaps a hot body — which Reed suspected she probably didn’t even know how to use.

“Now, honey,” Bret said, “you can ask any of the dozens of women....”

“Just dozens?” Reed quipped.

“Whatever the number,” Bret continued, trying not to laugh, “all his women love him.”

“
My women.
I like the sound of that.” Reed winked at Quinn then took a huge bite.

She wrinkled her nose but knew Bret was right. All of Reed’s girls never had a bad word to say about him. They all seemed to love him, even though he’d never been in a serious, committed relationship.

Peyton checked on her friends. “So how are we doing?” She looked down at Reed’s plates.

His eyes followed hers, finding he’d eaten every last bite of the devil’s food chocolate praline and only one small bite of the apple. “They distracted me!”

“Right,” Peyton said.

Reed pulled out a chair for her. “How’d you know?”

“I can just always tell.” Peyton took a seat. “It’s weird.”

“You have any other talents?” Reed asked, then cringed at perhaps the lamest shit he’d ever said.

“Of course,” she teased, “but I’m not sure about sharing them with you.”

PEYTON SLIPPED ON
some cotton pajamas and plopped down on her bed, a vintage French-inspired piece with fluted bed posts carved with delicate rosettes. With a carton of ice cream beside her, she turned on the television and waited, expecting the phone to ring any minute. It always seemed to ring around this time each week, right before a new
House Hunters
came on.

The phone rang on schedule. Peyton smiled and put down her spoon. “Is my baby sister there?” Griffin asked.

“No, I tell you the same thing every time. Quinn’s never here. You should try her on her cell.”

“I forgot,” Griffin said and stretched out in his Chicago apartment.

“Quinn actually was supposed to be home tonight but ended up going over to Bret’s again.”

“Whatever. What are you up to?”

“Eating ice cream and getting ready to watch
House Hunters
.”

He flipped on his television. “I’ll follow along with you.”

Peyton and Griffin played this same game every week. At times, she wondered whether he just wanted to talk to her, and not his sister Quinn. But she always dismissed the idea, knowing Griffin had been dating a girl for nearly three years, a lawyer like him in Chicago.

“How’s Stephanie?” Peyton asked.

“Pissed at me.”

“What did you do now?”

“She didn’t like what I got her for her birthday, so she’s pouting.”

“You got her a vacuum cleaner?”

“No, I asked Quinn for suggestions, and she told me to get Stephanie a nice handbag, so I bought an Hermes one.”

“Damn, that’s expensive!” Peyton had grown up well off — her grandfather was a successful oilman — but it never ceased to amaze her how the Dupuis family threw around money. They took it to a whole new level.

“And she threw it at me!”

“I’m sure she did.”

“What?”

“First of all, you shouldn’t have to ask your sister what to buy. And second, Stephanie wants a ring.”

“Shit,” he groaned. “I know that.”

“Well, you have to figure out if you want to marry her. Because if you don’t, you should tell her and not waste any more time. Her clock is ticking. That’s why she’s pissed.”

“I’m pissed I got hit with a $10,000 bag! Any ideas on what I can do with it now? I can’t return it.”

“Maybe get a little chihuahua and carry it around?”

“Very funny,” Griffin said. “Oh,
House Hunters
is starting.”

“You know,” Peyton said, “I’m always bothered when the people on the show say dumb stuff like ‘nice hardwoods’ or ‘nice built-ins.’ It really grates on me for some reason.”

“Me, too.”

“And they always pick the wrong house.”

“They do,” Griffin agreed. “Oh, this first house looks nice. It has a pool.”

“Did you ever tell Quinn about that afternoon we spent in your parents’ pool house?”

“No way,” Griffin said. “Did you?”

“Nope.” Peyton blushed. “She has no idea you were my first kiss. Do you know how hard it is to keep that from my best friend?”

Griffin almost dropped the phone. “That was your first kiss?”

“Come on, you knew that!”

“No way! You were 15!”

“And you were 19!”

“Yeah,” Griffin said, “but I’d kissed a lot of girls. I had no idea that was your first kiss.”

“And as I recall, you were also my second, third, fourth....”

“It was a rather lengthy make out session that day.”

“What were we thinking back then?” Peyton wondered, but he didn’t answer.

Peyton never knew what Griffin was thinking that afternoon. He’d seen her grow up in braces, a once flat-chested tween. But she knew exactly what she was thinking.
My best friend’s older brother is hot.
And Griffin was a great guy, too, the kind who’d charge her phone when she forgot, let her stick her cold feet under him while watching a movie, and defend her in an argument even when he knew she was wrong. So growing up, she’d always had a little crush on him, but over time, he became more of a brother to her — though still a flirt.

“By the way, what are you wearing right now?” he asked.

“Oh, same as always when I watch HGTV — a lace corset. But it’s so tight, I think I’ll take it off.”

“Go for it, baby. Take out your built-ins.”

She bit her tongue hard. “And don’t forget your hardwood.”

* * *

Reed’s head hit his pillow, but Peyton landed on his mind. He couldn’t get her baby blue eyes or full pink lips out of his head and could still feel the aftershocks from her hand touching his. He had an aching need for her touch, knowing that he’d be unsatisfied until she was in his arms or under his fingertips. He buried his head under the pillow, aggravated for letting this girl — any girl — get into his head. Then he closed his eyes tightly, willing himself to sleep.

But even in sleep, he couldn’t escape her. He heard a noise in his kitchen, a strange sound filling the dark silence. He searched his mind, stumbling upon what it must be — some old ghosts, perhaps old sailors or merchants, still occupying the converted warehouse loft where he now lived. After all, he lived on the third floor. As a child, his mother warned him about third floors, explaining New Orleans residents, for fear of ghosts, didn’t keep on lights there, and certainly didn’t live there.
You can turn a scary movie off,
his mother would say
, but you can’t turn off a ghost.

The noise stopped for a moment, then it came again. He listened closer this time, straining his ears to hear. He could make it out better now. It couldn’t be an old sailor or merchant. They’d never make such a peaceful humming sound. He floated out of bed, totally naked, the sweet melody beckoning him to come. And there she was, standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but a tiny black apron, the recessed lighting forming a blazing halo around her body.

“What are you doing here?” Reed asked.

Peyton peeked her baby blue eyes at him and flashed a radiant smile, continuing to hum peacefully while forming a pie crust with her hands. Then she gave a little spin, the halo turning a dark red. As she moved, Reed glimpsed her ample cleavage and side boob, her toned legs seemingly endless, the apron so short it barely covered the promised land, with a bow tied neatly above.

Suddenly Peyton was right in front of him. He tried to touch her, but she was still too far away. He reached again, this time as hard as he could, but she slipped further away. He pushed and pounded against the air, desperate to reach her, some invisible wall making it impossible. Peyton put a pie in the oven then saw him struggling. She smiled and shook her rolling pin at him. Her mouth didn’t move, but she was telling him something. Somehow he could hear her.
Stop fighting. Be patient.

Reed sprang out of bed, his heart racing, his face full of sweat. He took a few deep breaths to relax himself — to convince himself that it was just a dream, though a delicious sneak peek at what he knew Peyton had to offer. But it was scary, too. He wanted her and couldn’t have her, and worse, couldn’t even reach her. He rubbed his temples, her words echoing a warning to him.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand and searched her name and pie shop. He found the shop website. The home page was, of course, pink and green, with a few pictures of pie. There wasn’t much else there. He clicked on another website which directed him to a grainy photo of Peyton from her Sweet Sixteen party. Then he found another website listing her as a National Merit Finalist for which she earned a college scholarship. He tried a few more searches but couldn’t find out anything else.

He went back to the shop website. He clicked around and came upon another screen. It was another grainy photo, this one of the shop opening a few years ago, with Peyton surrounded by about a dozen people. He surveyed each face, an elderly woman, members of the Dupuis family; a few people looked familiar, and a few he’d never seen before. His eyes landed on a guy he hadn’t seen in a long time, his hand wrapped around Peyton’s waist.
That cock.