The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3) (4 page)

I knew he was just the guy for me the first time I kissed him, and he performed exactly how I expected him to when I gave him my virginity a year ago.

Rough. Selfish. Quick.

It’s so easy to identify the Daryls of this world.

It’s like basic math, the answer always the same. If a guy sticks his tongue down your throat and considers it kissing, he doesn’t know squat about sex. Why are girls always surprised by the absolute of that equation? As if the way a guy kisses isn’t a tell before you go all the way with them.

No, how bad it was didn’t surprise me, but how agreeable he was to my suggestions on how we could improve our sexual relationship
did
surprise me and is the only reason I continued dating him. And let’s face it, sex is a need—just like food—even for me.

Daryl is how I shut off biological preoccupation.

You won’t find me messing up my life by turning into an idiot over some guy. No, sir. He’s just a vaccine I use so I can focus on what I want.

Becoming a prima ballerina before twenty-two.

Mastering my weight when it often wants to master me.

Living a famous and celebrated life in the dance world, far from California where my parents and grandfather dominate the music world.

Even getting the future you want is like basic math. Identify the variables that get you where you want to go: hard work, sacrifice, focus, and determination. Remove the variables that fuck up every girl: guys, sex, want of love, and having a substantive relationship with the male species.

All I require from a guy is a movie sometimes, a lay now and then—
in the way I prefer sex
—and someone to hang with during the high school social moments that too frequently are unavoidable.

Daryl is dependable.

Predictable.

He shows up when I want him.

He stays away when I don’t.

Really, why does a girl need more than that?

Tossing aside the mascara, I turn toward Madison sauntering into the room, chomping happily on chips and looking fantastic when all she did was change her clothes into a sexy black short-short romper.

She plops on the bed, lying on her stomach with the chip bag dangling over the edge pointing in my direction.

“Are we really just having Daryl and Nick over tonight?” she asks between chomps. “I thought you were joking about not wanting a sendoff party. That I’d come down here to find it all arranged and that you’d put the word out. Jeez, in four days you’ll be gone to the Big Apple. We should have a party. Yeah? Good idea?”

Her blue eyes sparkle up at me, hopeful and pressing.

Laughing, I drop onto the bed next to her. “No party. I’m not in the mood for anything intense. I’m not going to see Daryl for months. Don’t you wanna just do a couples thing tonight?”

She springs to sit cross-legged beside me. “Yes. But a variation. We can do couples things while having a party. You definitely deserve it.”

“No, not in the mood for too many people and too much drama.”

“Maybe you would be if you ate something.” The chip bag starts dancing in front of me. “Come on, Krystal. I thought we were going to get crazy.”

I take one chip out of the bag so she’ll stop shoving them at me. “OK. Revision. We start as a couples thing, but if it’s boring, we put out the word.”

Her face lights up. “Deal, sista.” She climbs from the bed, doing a useless tug on her hem to cover her legs better with her shorts, but really, how the hell do you cover those endless rails with a few inches of fabric? At the door she turns back and crinkles her nose. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”

My cheeks heat. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

She shrugs. “Nothing. You look cute. It’s just”—her index finger taps the side of her mouth as she studies me— “it’s not a very
date night
outfit. Not if you want to get Daryl hot for you.”

I shake my head, annoyed. “Trust me. Just saying yes tonight—which I plan to since it’s my last opportunity for sex before I leave—instead of
no, don’t want to
is all I’ll need with Daryl to get him hot.”

She giggles. “A touch conceited, Krystal? God, you’re awful.”

Well, that was rude.

I lift my chin. “No. Not conceited. Teenage guys, so predictable.”

Madison’s mirth melts as her mouth contorts—a little open
O
on one side—and she makes an irritating sucking-in sound in the way she does to express
I share your pain.

She scrunches up her nose. “Wouldn’t it be nice if guys were a sure thing about more things than sex?”

“I think Nick is a sure thing in all things for you,” I tease, my face moving into hers as I pass her at the door.

She tosses her long golden hair, lifting her nose. “Yep, definitely a slam dunk on everything. Kind of takes the fun out of dating.”

In the kitchen I pull out a pricy bottle of chilled white wine—one of my few, if rare, caloric indulgences—and go to the cabinet for glasses. “Dating in high school is so pathetic. High school guys are such jerks.”

Madison settles on a stool, planting her elbows on the island with her chin on her balled fists. “Not Daryl. He worships you. Calls you his dancing queen and goddess to his friends.”

My mouth gapes. “Not really? You’re joking, right?”

Madison’s gaze shimmers as she shakes her head. “No. That’s what Daryl calls you to Nick. I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

I grimace as I open the wine. “Yuck. I would have preferred never to know that. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before today. Not cool, Maddy.”

Her eyes widen innocently. “I thought you knew. Like, how could you not know? He never calls you that during the heated moments?”

“No, and trust me, Daryl doesn’t do a lot of talking during…
things.
And now I’m glad he doesn’t. Those pet names are so guy-juvenile and demeaning.”

“I think it’s sweet. You’re always too sensitive about the wrong things.”

“Being called a goddess? I don’t consider that a wrong thing to get ticked about.”

“It’s a compliment,” she says, exasperated.

I pour the wine. “It doesn’t feel like one.”

“Trust me, it is.”

“What does Nick call you to his friends?”

She smiles in that Madison dewy-eyed way. “Free bird. Legs, and wild child.”

Oh God, her expression says she actually likes it.

I go to the fridge for a bag of prewashed, precut carrots, and as an afterthought grab a few small squares of manchego cheese.

I slowly munch as I study Madison. “Are you dumping Nick before you take off for U of H, or are you guys going to do that whole long-distance thing until it ends on its own?”

My question surprises her. “No. Definitely not dumping him. Why would we end on our own?”

“Duh. Because you’re going to be like three thousand miles away on the Hawaiian Islands surrounded by buff, tan, totally hot guys. And Nick plans to live at home and do nothing with his life after graduation like the rest of the losers here.”

“He’s not a loser and he does have a plan,” she counters heatedly and then her eyes widen. “Oh crap! That’s why we’re having a hookup weekend instead of a going-away bash for you. You’re going to slam, bam, goodbye Daryl this weekend. I knew something was up when I saw that dress.”

The dress again!
I fight to keep my expression neutral. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like? Don’t you pretend with me, Krystal. I’m onto your game. Just the four of us. Bon voyage fuck and then you are kicking Daryl to the door, and worse, with us here. You guys have been together two years. You are planning on humiliating him in front of Nick, his best friend. Not nice.”

Madison’s eyes rake my face in a blistering way before she grabs the empty chip bag and shoves it into the compactor.

“Has it occurred to you that Daryl might be trying to figure out how to dump me?” I say at her back. “He’s off to Northwestern. I’ll be in Manhattan. We won’t have any time together. It’s time. The way things go after high school. Everyone breaks up before going off to college.”

“Bullshit. You’re just trying to make yourself feel better about doing a really shitty thing.”

“I am not!”

“Yeah, you are. I know you, how that mind of yours works.”

Icy pricks run my body. “What’s that supposed to mean? How my mind works?”

“Everything logical. Everything committed to your agenda.”

“I don’t have an agenda, and there is nothing wrong with having an organized plan for your future.”

“Organized? Is that what you call it?”

Now I’m mad. “Yes.”

She pushes off her stool. “You study four hours a day, obsessed with never getting less than an
A
. You dance four hours a day so you will always be the best in your company. You eat practically nothing, paranoid about putting on weight when, hell, if anyone should eat a pizza or two it’s you. You participate in the social scene as little as possible. You have two minutes a day for me, when I’m pretty sure I’m the only friend you have outside of dance la-la land. I doubt you have more than a half second for Daryl each week. You don’t see a problem with that?”

My stomach turns.

Every part of that is accurate but, fuck, my life sounds awful when she says it that way.

“God, do you always have to be so dramatic, Maddy? It’s not like that and you know it.” I grab the carrots off the counter and return them to the fridge. “Can we just let it go? I don’t want to get into a wicked fight. Not tonight. You’re never going to understand how much commitment and dedication it takes to be an accomplished ballerina, and there’s no point in trying to explain it now.”

She plants her palms on the island and leans in to me in an unnerving manner. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m just worried about you.”

Exhaling, I relax my posture, hoping to defuse things before they blow up completely. “You don’t have to be concerned, Maddy. Everything in my life is exactly as I want it.”

Her eyes bore into mine as she lifts her chin. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Maybe you should ask yourself if that’s a good thing.”

The door chimes sound.

Saved by the bell.

“Can we go let the guys in?” I ask.

“Will you think about what I said?”

Fudge, she’s not letting up on this.

My lips pucker as I fight back angry words. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

She shakes her head at me. “No, you won’t. We both know that. But I’m not going to stop trying. You really worry me sometimes, Krystal.”

Madison’s expression changes into something sad and intense, and out of nowhere a very uncomfortable feeling moves through me.

“Jeez, Maddy, I just want to be a prima ballerina someday. You make it sound like I’m trying to be a drug dealer or like it deserves an intervention or something.”

“Maybe it does.”

“Really?”

I gracefully flutter across the tile toward the foyer, throwing in an expert pirouette—though deliberately in an
in your face
way—before smiling and answering the door.

After a fast kiss, Daryl goes to the state-of-the-art sound system in the living room while Madison and Nick are still lip-locked as they move to the couch.

I settle in a chair a discreet distance from the lusty couple, trying not to glance at them as Daryl rummages through the digital playlist on the wall panel.

I do a fast once-over of him. Daryl
is
really cute. I wait, expecting to feel something but I don’t. I don’t feel anything when I look at him, not ever. Shouldn’t I feel something—happy? Excited? Anxious? Glad? I mean, anything—after two years of us being together?

I don’t feel different when I’m with him, not in any way. Just the same old same old. No racing pulse, no heat in my panties…nothing. The Krystal I am every minute of my life.

That must be why I’m not the least bit emotional knowing I’m cutting Daryl loose at the end of the weekend. If I don’t feel butterflies for him after two years, what’s the point of trying to drag this out into college?

Daryl will thank me later for ending us.

It’s the only right next move for our relationship.

Ending it.

“Do you care what I turn on?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts to find him watching me.

My gaze shifts to the nondescript brown shopping bag beside him.

“Tonight I do. I absolutely care what you turn on and how you do it. Or couldn’t you tell by my text?”

After a fast glance to make sure Madison and Nick aren’t listening, he tosses me a wolfish and excited grin. “That one was hard to miss. You’re very exact, even product links in your instructions tonight so I wouldn’t get it wrong. You’re thorough when you want something from me.”

Tingles start to run my body in anticipation.

“Did you buy what I asked you to?”

He bobs his chin. “Yeah, I did, all there, but I had to go to West Hollywood to get it. It was worse trying to keep Nick from snooping on the drive here. He thought it was a going-away present for you and kept wanting to see since he hadn’t brought Maddy anything. Wanted to know how much trouble he’d be in with her later. Crap, I hate buying that stuff. Can’t you just order it online, Krystal? The clerks always look at me like I’m some kind of perverted, messed-up asshole.”

The tingles die a fast death. Why did he have to say that to me, especially since we both know in a couple of hours he’ll be into it?

“Well, if you don’t want to, you shouldn’t have brought it,” I say stiffly, lifting my chin. “Maybe Maddy is right. We should put the word out and have a party tonight instead.”

His looks at me, semi-panicked. “I didn’t say that, Krystal. You know I’m up for anything you want to do.”

He breaks off, flustered, and quickly turns his face away from me.

He starts tapping buttons on the audio system.

The music blasts.

Five decades old.

Why does every So-Cal guy under twenty-five crank up Led Zeppelin thinking it’s good date ambiance stuff?

Smiling, he moves to plant his hands on my chair as he closes in for a kiss. My lids lower as our mouths connect. The kiss builds the way I like—medium pressure, not overly invasive, little pushes and twirls of tongue and no longer suffocating as he used to be when we first started dating.