Thin White Line (4 page)

The second we hit the SUV she ditches the blazer. She wears a black and purple halter that shows off the majority of her super-toned back. I am stunned to see she has a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder.

“An eighteenth birthday present to myself.”

“I like it and you look amazing,” I say and her brows furrow together. Obviously, she is better giving out compliments versus taking one.

“I like those jeans, but I’m warning you right now—I’m going to burn those other ones.”

“Which ones?”

“The ones that look painted on.”

“The ultra-skinny ones?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, the
ultra
-skinny jeans. No one looks good in those, except for super thin rocker boys.

I make a mental note to toss out the jeans when I get home.

“Anyway, the jeans you have on now are great...but that shirt is fucking hideous.”

I glance down at my shirt. It’s actually one of my favorites. “What’s wrong with it?”

She reaches into the cluttered backseat and a second later tosses something at my head. “Put this on.”

I wait until she pulls out of the neighborhood before I remove my shirt. Brooke gives me a side-long glance. “Black with pink lace. I’m shocked. Who knew my goody too-shoes cousin has a naughty side.”

I shrug. What can I say—I have a thing for fancy underwear and bras. “I don’t know about this vest.” I slide it on and button it. “I can barely breathe and it’s sort of revealing.”

“Who cares about breathing? You look amazing.”

“Really?” I glance down at my chest. I’ve never shown so much cleavage in my life. My mom would have a coronary. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”

She actually snorts. “Seriously? There is never a thing as too much cleavage. You should see what some of these bitches wear to our shows. I’m almost embarrassed for them.”

I can only imagine what girls do to get Ryder’s attention.

“You should add eyeliner or something.” Brooke rummages through her purse and tosses me a plastic makeup bag. “The face needs to match the outfit, if you know what I mean.”

“So you want me to look like a slut?”

She laughs and the high-pitched sound makes me laugh, too.

I humor her and put on smoky-colored eyeliner, lots of mascara, and even go for a darker lip stain than I normally wear.

“Are those fake eyelashes?” she asks.

I’ve had a lot of people ask the same question before. “No.”

“Lucky. I didn’t get any of the good family traits.”

“Do you own a mirror?” I ask, but she blows me off with a wave of her hand.

“So, tell me about Sally.”

Her brows furrow. “Who the fuck is Sally?”

“Isn’t that who we’re picking up?”

She laughs. “Sadie.”

“Right, Sadie.”

“We’ve been friends for a couple of years. I actually met her through Curtis, the guitar player in our band. By the way, just so you know, Curtis is off-limits...because we kind of have a thing going on.” She flashes a smug grin.

“Oh
really
?” I say, intrigued. “What kind of a thing?”

She shrugs. “A lady never tells.”

“That sounds exactly like something our moms would say.”

Brooke laughs under her breath, but offers nothing else. I’m anxious to meet Curtis. I’m thinking tattooed, bad boy biker.

We pull into the driveway of a townhouse and Brooke lays on the horn. “I told her to be waiting for us.”

The words haven’t left her mouth when the door to the townhouse opens and a tall brunette steps out. She’s wearing a tight, red shirt and a silver miniskirt over leggings that have horizontal rips from the outer hip to ankle. A leather jacket and four-inch red stilettos finish off the look.

She is stunning.

“Should I sit in the back?” I ask, and reach for the door handle.

“Hell no, you’re family. She can sit in the back.”

Sadie opens the back door to the SUV. “What a shit hole. Seriously, would it kill you to clean this car out?”

“And fuck you, too,” Brooke says.

I turn in my seat and smile. “Hi, I’m Kenzie.”

“Hello, cousin Kenzie. I’m Sadie.”

She is even more beautiful up close with an amazingly voluptuous body. Her bangs have been braided into an intricate design, she’s wearing fake eyelashes, dark makeup and red lipstick. Her hair and makeup are so flawless that I’d bet my life she’s a cosmetologist. 

“How was your first week at Pacific?” Sadie asks, tossing clothes aside with a disgusted look on her face.

“Good,” I answer. “Do you go there?”

Sadie shakes her head. “I graduated last year, thank God.”

“She’s lucky she even got her diploma,” Brooke remarks.

Sadie hits her in the shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m the first to confess that I wouldn’t have graduated if it hadn’t have been for Brooke. My girl here saved my ass.”

Brooke nods in agreement. “I did. If I’d known high school would suck so much without you, I wouldn’t have worked so hard to help.”

“Now you have your cousin to keep you company.”

Brooke grins. “Yep, now I have Kenz.”

We drive up to an older house in the downtown area of Vancouver. In the driveway is a lifted pickup, a brand new sports car and an old, beat-to-shit four-door with a bumper sticker that says, COEXIST.

Random cars are parked along the block and Brooke pulls up beside an old oak tree.

I get out of the car and close the door behind me. My heart nearly beats out of my chest and I feel a mixture of excitement as well as anticipation rush through me at the prospect of seeing Ryder again.

“You look nervous,” Brooke says, lighting up another cigarette.

I tug at the bottom of the vest, wondering if I should bring my jacket along just in case.

As though reading my mind, Brooke grins. “Stop it. You look great. Doesn’t she, Sadie?”

“You’re gorgeous,” she says, her gaze sliding down my body and up again. “I’d totally do you.”

My eyes widen making both Sadie and Brooke laugh. It is definitely going to take me some time to get used to their sense of humor. They are both so different than Ange.

“Plus, it gets like a sauna in there when they start playing.”

I can hardly wait to see Brooke’s band. “So the neighbors really don’t care about you playing?”

“They’re backed up to an industrial warehouse that shuts down after six each night and is closed on weekends. Most of the neighbors are old folks who were friends with the grandparents before they left to a retirement home, besides, they pretty much just turn off their hearing aids when they go to sleep. Plus, they love the guys. Curtis and his brother spent nearly every weekend here growing up.”

“And I think they mow the neighbors’ yards as a trade-off for putting up with the noise,” Sadie adds, putting a new coat of lip-gloss on. She presses her lips together.

The two story house has a fresh coat of paint and is surrounded by a chain-link fence. The yard is manicured with fresh bark dust and flowers.

Four steps lead to a porch where a bistro table and two chairs sit beside a freshly-painted porch swing. A makeshift table holds an ashtray that is surprisingly clear of cigarette butts. Definitely not what I expected.

Brooke walks straight into the house without knocking with Sadie staying right on her heels.

Uncomfortable, I stop short at the door. “Are you guys sure it’s okay to just walk in?”

“It’s her boyfriend’s house,” Sadie answers in way of explanation.

Boyfriend? So the relationship is a little more serious than what Brooke let on.

Feeling awkward and completely out of my element, I follow behind Brooke and Sadie into a living room that is painted a muted grey and has a black leather couch with a matching loveseat. A sixty-inch big screen sits in the corner on a metal stand.

The outside of the house says retired homeowner, while the inside screams bachelor pad.

We walk straight through the living room and Brooke opens a door.

The music blasts up to greet us.

I hold onto the smooth handrail as we descend the stairs to a cellar-type basement with a concrete floor. To the right there is a door that is closed.

“Deklan’s room,” Brooke says, nodding towards the door.

The place is massive. In the corner is a drum set, a few amps and huge speakers. A guy with ash-blond dreadlocks is tuning his guitar. Seeing us, he grins and waves.

“That’s Curtis,” Brooke says and I smile. He isn’t at all what I imagined. He looks like he could be blown over by a strong wind.

A large, black sofa is backed up against the staircase wall where two guys sit, playing video games. The sound has been turned down low and, beside the couch, a familiar blonde sits in a recliner, watching the guys play the game while her friend sits on the floor by her feet, texting.

Isn’t that Cicely’s good friend?

Oh crap. Is Cicely here, too?

The peroxide blonde is busy texting, but her friend looks up at me, her gaze shifting from head to toe and back again. Her brow arches before she turns her attention back to her own phone.

Nice welcome.

“Don’t let these bitches get you riled up,” Sadie whispers into my ear. “They’re the usual groupies.”

I nod…but her words hardly reassure me.

“Where’s Deklan?” Sadie asks the guys on the couch.

One of them shrugs. “In his room, I think.”

“There he is,” Brooke says, motioning to someone behind me.

I turn. A guy with a dark faux-hawk, multiple piercings, and full-sleeved tattoos comes walking out of the door that had been closed. His hair is still wet and he is pulling a crisp, white t-shirt over his head, giving me a peek of writing on his chest as well as his side; tattoos disappear into the waistband of his low-riding jeans. Not only does he look incredible, he smells amazing, too. Not like any particular cologne or body spray, but a masculine scent combined with a sporty soap.

My mouth goes dry.

“Hey, Deklan,” Brooke greets him, taking a step closer to me. “This is my cousin, Kenzie. Kenzie, this is Deklan.”

Deklan’s lips curve into a wide smile, flashing straight white teeth. His eyes are thickly lashed and a stunning green, a unique color I have rarely seen. Both ears are pierced and he wears small hoops in each, a hoop in his right nostril, and one in his lower lip.

I try to remember if Brooke said anything about Deklan, and honestly, I am surprised she hasn’t. This guy is gorgeous.

The girls in the chair sit up a little straighter. “Hey, Deklan,” the friend of the blonde says, setting her phone aside. Apparently, Ryder isn’t the only draw for
The Frozen
.

“Hey.” He gives her a nod and returns his attention to me.

I am strangely intrigued by all his piercings and tattoos. My brother and his friends are all typical jocks, though his best friend has a tribal band tattoo around his bicep that the coach makes him cover up before games.

All my life I’ve associated tattoos with bikers and bad boys.
Is Deklan a bad boy?
I wonder.

Everything about this group is unfamiliar to me...but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it’s kind of exciting.

“I’ll be right back,” Brooke says, heading for Curtis while Sadie heads for a refrigerator in the far corner of the room.

Clearing my throat, I blurt, “This is a nice place.”

“The rent’s fair,” he says, once again flashing a great smile.

How had my cousin managed to get the two hottest guys I’ve ever met in my life, in her band? “So your room is downstairs?” I ask and about choke when I realize how that sounds. I’m sure he has girls throwing themselves at him and looking to be asked to his room all the time.

“Yeah, I like it. It’s nice to have my own space. I have my own living room—well, when the band isn’t practicing that is.”

“Do you get tired of always having people around?” I ask, wondering if he ever has any downtime. “I mean, with always practicing and stuff.”

He shrugs. “There are pros and cons. I do have plenty of alone time during the week since Curtis and Terry, Curtis’s big brother who is also the landlord, have day jobs.”

“Is Terry here?”

“No, he spends a lot of time in Olympia with his new girlfriend. He leaves on Friday after work and comes home late Sunday night.”

“Sounds ideal.”

He laughs. “It is.”

And what a perfect scenario for a band. It doesn’t get much better than having your landlord leave for the weekend.

My gaze shifts to his tattoos. He brushes a hand along his forearm, over a gothic cross inked there. Crap, I hope he doesn’t think I’m being rude. “I like your tattoos.”

There is that smile again and my heart rate picks up speed.

“Thank you.”

“Who did them?”

“Uncle Steve.”

“Your uncle tattoos?”

Deklan shakes his head. “Uncle Steve is a tattoo artist in town. A great guy who owns a tattoo shop on the corner of Eighth and Grant, across from the park.”

I have no idea where Eighth and Grant are, or the park, for that matter, but I nod like I do. “He does amazing work.” It isn’t a lie. I like that all the tattoos are done in black and white with shades of grey. “Is that an eagle?” I ask, nodding towards his left bicep.

“Yeah.” He rolls his arm and shows me the inside of his bicep. He has the lean body of a professional athlete with lots of muscular definition.

“Amazing detail,” I say, meaning it. He is a walking piece of art and I can only imagine the time and effort that went into each piece.

“Do you have any tattoos?” he asks, his gaze shifting over me.

“No, I’m not legal yet.”

“No, you’re not, are you?”

There is a silky soft quality to his voice that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.

“I’ve heard that it hurts,” I blurt, shifting on my feet. “I’m kind of a wuss when it comes to pain.”

“Actually, getting tattooed doesn’t hurt that bad.” I must look skeptical because he laughs. “Well, some places hurt more than others.”

“Like what places?” My voice sounds strange and I realize too late that I might just be flirting with this crazily gorgeous guy.

“Like the sides and ribcage. I could only go for two hours a setting when I got those done.”

I can’t imagine getting a tattoo.  Just getting my ears pierced at thirteen had been enough for me. I wonder about all the piercings and tattoos Deklan has. Once, I read that pain was something people liked—that they almost craved it—and I wondered if Deklan falls into that same category. Why else, at such a young age, would he have so many piercings and tattoos?

“How old are you?” I ask before I can stop myself.