The Start of a Mysterious Mystery: (Signed with a Kiss, Book 2)

by Sorensen, Jessica

  “Yeah, no, it’s not,” he disagrees, unwrapping his hamburger. “But watching you eat it and moan like that makes it look good.”

  I stare at him, unimpressed. “Is that a lame-ass attempt at an innuendo?”

  “None of my innuendos are lame.” He throws me a cheeky grin then bites into his hamburger.

  I roll my eyes as I pick up another fry. “You’re seriously such a pervert sometimes. Too bad you can’t, like, get a job as a male escort or something.”

  He points a finger at me. “Hey, maybe I can.”

  “Not legally,” I tell him. “You’re not even eighteen.”

  He sets the burger down and waves me off with a flick of his wrist. “I will be in just a couple of weeks.”

  I stuff another fry into my mouth. “So, you’re saying you want to be a male escort? Because, if so, you could probably look into stripping, too.”

  He smirks. “Wow. You’re really good at this whole job-hunting thing.”

  I smirk back. “Hey, you’re the one who said you wanted to be a male escort. I was just giving you another option.”

  “I’ll look into it,” he tells me, wiping his fingers off with a napkin. “I mean, I’m definitely sexy enough, so that’s not a problem.”

  I roll my eyes again as I reach for another fry.

  “Oh, don’t you roll those pretty eyes at me,” he says as he picks up his hamburger again. “We both know you think I’m a sexy beast.”

  “There’s no way you could possibly know that.”

  An impish grin creeps across his face. “Well, I didn’t until you didn’t deny that you don’t.”

  When I narrow my eyes at him, he flashes me a toothy grin.

  I grin right back at him. “You have a chunk of lettuce in your teeth, sexy beast.”

  He shakes his head then picks the lettuce out of his teeth with his finger.

  I pull a face as I dip another fry into my shake. “And word of advice; when you’re stripping your clothes off, don’t pick the lettuce out of your teeth.”

  “What? Isn’t that sexy?” He innocently bats his eyelashes at me.

  I seal my lips together. Okay, that whole batting-his-eyelashes thing is pretty sexy. But yeah, that’s a secret I’m going to keep to myself.

  “Hmm …” He meticulously studies me. “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

  I wipe off whatever look I have on my face and stuff some fries into my mouth. “That’s a look of annoyance. I’m surprised you don’t recognize it, considering I almost always have it on whenever I look at you.”

  He makes a big show of rolling his eyes. “Your looks of annoyance are actually looks of endearing.” When I open my mouth to throw a quip at him, he holds up his hand. “It’s cool. We can pretend for now. Just like we’re pretending about everything else.”

  I sense an underlying meaning in his words but can’t quite figure out what it is. Or maybe I just don’t want to.

  He practically stuffs the last half of the burger into his mouth then balls up the wrapper and tosses it onto the tray. “So, about this whole job thing,” he changes the subject as he retrieves his phone from his pocket. “Where do you think I should start? I mean, I can pull up the help wanted listings on my phone.” He taps the screen. “But, how the hell do I know which ones are going to hire some teenage punk?”

  “Well, first of all, you can’t think of yourself as a teenage punk if you want to get a job. Trust me; even I had to pretend I was semi-mature in order to get hired. Although, I had a hard time keeping up the act. Obviously, since I’ve been fired a ton of times.” I take the phone from him.

  “Hey,” he protests, reaching for the phone. “You little phone thief.”

  I move the phone out of his reach. “I’m just looking at the listings you pulled up,” I inform him, glancing at the screen. On it, there is a long list of jobs available all throughout Honeyton. “Although, with how twitchy you’re acting right now, I’m wondering if you have something weird on your phone.” I glance at him with my brow curved up. To my surprise, he squirms. “Okay, at first, I was kidding, but now you seem so twitchy that I’m actually wondering if you do have something hiding on here.”

  He scratches the side of his neck. “I just don’t like people messing around with my phone.”

  I’m not buying it at all.

  “Do you have, like, naked selfies on here?”

  He snorts a laugh. “No. And even if I did, I wouldn’t care if you looked at them.”

  “Like I’d want to see them,” I scoff.

  “Liar,” he retorts, leaning back in the booth and putting his hands behind his head. “Man, you’re a little liar, liar, pants on fire today, aren’t you?”

  I stick my tongue out at him. “It takes one to know one.”

  “What are we? Like two?”

  “Nah. I think I said that stuff in second grade.”

  “So, that means you have the maturity of an eight-year-old right now.”

  “Coming from the guy who just picked lettuce out of his teeth with his finger.”

  “That’s a very valid point.” He stretches his arms above his head, causing his shirt to ride up. “I guess we’re both immature then.”

  I try not to stare. I really do. But I can’t help glancing a couple of times at the lean muscles clearly hidden underneath his shirt.

  But then I see something else.

  Something that makes my stomach sink.

  “Where did you get all those scars on your stomach?” I ask, meeting his gaze.

  His expression falters as he quickly lowers his arms. “Those are just from an accident I had.”

  “An accident from what? And when?”

  He shrugs, staring at the empty booth beside us. “I don’t know. It was like in third grade or something.”

  I study him closely, the way he avoids eye contact with me. Something’s wrong.

  “What happened?”

  He lifts a shoulder. "I think I fell off the monkey bars or something."

  He’s lying. I don’t know how. Or maybe the whole takes a liar to know a liar thing has some truth to it.

  I could press him, but then he could press me about why I got all weird around Jay. So, I decide to let it drop for now; shove the questions down and bottle them inside me, along with everything else.

  Sometimes, I wonder how much bottling up I can do before I shatter from the inside out.

  Seven

  Alexis

  Things are a bit awkward between West and I for the rest of lunch. Still, we manage to find him a few jobs to apply for by the time we’re done. Then we head out to his car.

  I expect him to drive me home at that point so he can ditch the awkwardness, but he drives in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?” I wonder, flipping down the visor to block out the blinding sunlight.

  “To meet that friend of mine who’s gonna look at your phone and see if he can figure out who’s harassing you,” he says like it’s obvious.

  “Oh.” I pause. “You still want to do that?”

  He narrows his brows as he glances at me. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

  I give a half-shrug. “ ’Cause things got weird at lunch.”

  He has two hands on the steering wheel but lowers one to rest on the shifter. “It kind of did, didn’t it?” He downshifts as the speed limit lowers. “Sorry about that. I just …” His throat muscles work as he swallows hard. “I don’t like talking about the scars.”

  “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” I shift in the seat, bringing my leg up against my chest. “You don’t need to ask your friend to look at my phone either, if you don’t want to.”

  “No, it’s fine,” he assures. “Although, I think I should warn you about this place we’re going to.”

  “The place you’re staying at?”

  He gives me a wavering nod. “It’s a little … well, not as nice as my parents’ house or yours.”

  “No one’s hous
e is as nice as yours. But so what if this place isn’t nice? I’m not a snob.”

  “No, I know that.” He nibbles on his lip ring while casting me a sidelong glance. “But it’s … Well, the only way I can think of how to put it is that it’s a shithole.”

  “I’ve been to shitholes before, West. I’m not a high maintenance, rich girl.”

  “No, I know that, but …” He hesitates. Again.

  Yeah, something’s definitely up.

  “Come on, best friend; just spit it out,” I try to coax it out of him.

  His lips spread into a smile. “So I am your best friend?”

  I reach over and playfully pinch his arm. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

  He winces then pouts. “Oh, fine.” He heaves out a heavy sigh. “These guys, Holden and Ellis, they’re a little … sketchy.”

  “Sketchy how?”

  He shrugs. “Ellis is kind of a hacker. Obviously. Holden is … Well, he’s cool and everything, but sometimes he creeps the hell out of me. Plus, there’s always some random people going in and out of their place.”

  “So, basically, it’s like a drug house?”

  “No … Or, well, people do drugs there, but …” He lifts his hand from the shifter and scratches his head. “I don’t know. It’s just sketchy, okay? And the people who hang out there are sketchy, so I just want you to be careful while you’re there. Honestly, I don’t even want to take you there, but I also think we really need to get your phone looked at.”

  “While I appreciate your concern, I’m a big girl and can handle being around some sketchy people,” I assure him. “What I don’t like is you living in that sort of situation. I mean, how did you even end up friends with these guys?”

  “I met them at the skatepark. They weren’t there skating, though.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Getting high.”

  “Oh.”

  He looks at me then, meeting my gaze for the first time since the awkwardness started. “Does that make you think less of me?”

  I roll my eyes so damn hard that they nearly get stuck in my head. “Why the hell would it? I’ve been arrested more times than I can count on one hand. I’ve partied, gotten into fights, and now I’m being blackmailed because of one of my many dumbass decisions.”

  “I know, but …” He grows cautious. “You did all those things because you were going through some stuff. Some painful stuff.”

  He’s right, but it’s still not an excuse.

  I can’t help thinking of the scars I saw on his waist. I’m not even sure why, other than something feels off about them. Or the way he reacted when I asked about them.

  “Maybe that’s true,” I admit, turning and staring out the window. “But it doesn’t make it right—what I did.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Loki told me the other day, after we left the police station, that if I keep acting like a little shit, he might lose guardianship of Nik. And, while he didn’t flat-out say it, he pretty much implied that it’s my fault because I’m bringing so much trouble into the family right now.”

  “I’m sure it’s not your—”

  “No, it is,” I cut him off, looking at him. “Social Services is only keeping an eye on him because I keep making dumb decisions that lead to the cops getting called.”

  “That’s not completely true,” he insists. “Anna was arrested.”

  “Yeah, but that was a while ago. She cleaned up her act for the most part. And she has more of an excuse for getting in trouble. I mean, she was in the car with them, so …” I swallow forcefully as my voice cracks. “But, yeah, anyway, I know all about messing up and doing questionable stuff, so I’m not going to judge you for living with a couple of what I’m sure your mother would call lowlifes.”

  “Yeah.” He raises his brows. “She definitely called them that once or twice.”

  “So, she knows you hang out with them?”

  “Yep. It’s kind of what led to me getting kicked out. Well, that and I kept sneaking out and staying out past curfew.”

  “Look at us. We’re like two peas in a pod,” I try to joke to lighten the mood. “Or, well, two rotten peas in a smooshed pod that’s oozing mold.”

  He snorts a laugh. “You’re so gross sometimes.”

  “That wasn’t gross,” I inform him with a grin. “Not even close.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I totally do.”

  He smiles, looking at me for a moment. “Thanks.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “For what?”

  He shrugs. “For making me feel a little bit better about joining the lowlifes.”

  “You’re not a lowlife,” I insist. “You’re just figuring things out. And besides, I know you hated living with your parents, so maybe this could turn out to be a good thing.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He looks out the window, his muscles winding into knots.

  I can’t help noticing how his hand drifts toward his stomach, lightly touching the fabric of his shirt there.

  The fabric of the shirt that hides his scars.

  I want to ask him again. So badly. But then I may just have to tell him about my own invisible scars.

  And I can’t do that.

  Ever.

  Eight

  Alexis

  West wasn’t lying about the place being sketchy. The house, if you can even call it that, is a rundown, single-story structure located near the railroad tracks. Half the windows are boarded up, the porch is collapsing, and the yard is filled with broken-down, rusty cars.

  “Who owns all these cars?” I ask as he pulls up in front of the house and parks in the gravel driveway beside the house.

  “I’m not sure. I think the owner of the house.” He shuts off the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt.

  I glance around at the other older houses nearby, highly aware that we’re on the side of town that has a higher crime rate. “Aren’t you worried about someone stealing your car?”

  He nods as he takes the keys out. “I am. But, for now, I don’t have any place to park it.”

  “You could always park it at my house.”

  “And then what?” he teases. “Walk back here?”

  “That’s a good point.” I unfasten my seatbelt, feeling a bit of nervousness churn in my stomach. “There’s got to be somewhere else to park it. I know this side of town, and it’s definitely a place where your car could get stolen.”

  “I know.” He stuffs the keys into his pocket then reaches over and tugs on a strand of my hair. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out. I always do.” With that, he shoves open the door and climbs out.

  I follow suit, getting out, locking the door, and then meeting him around the front of his car. “I know you can figure it out, but I want to help. In fact, as your fake girlfriend, I should be concerned.”

  “True.” He glances at me momentarily before reaching over and threading his fingers through mine. I jolt, startled, and start to pull away, but he only tightens his hold on my hand. “If we’re really going through with this whole fake dating thing, we should probably start now.”

  “Why? Are there people here that we know?”

  “Maybe. But even if there’s not, I’d rather pretend that we’re dating while we’re here.”

  My brows pull together. “Why?”

  “Because …” He hesitates, worrying his lip between his teeth.

  “West,” I warn, “if you want me to play along, you gotta tell me what game we’re playing.”

  “What game are we playing?” He presses back an amused smile. “Now that’s an answer I’d love to know.”

  I put my free hand on my hip. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that, while we’re in here, it’s better if we pretend we’re dating, or people are either going to be suspicious of you or try to hit on you.”

  “What? You think they’re gonna think I’m a narc?”

  “Possibly. But I think saying we’re dating will up yo
ur trustworthiness.”

  “Why? Are you some sort of bad guy god here or something?” I mock.

  “Nah, but Holden and Ellis are; trust me.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, going right into the role of fake boyfriend. “So, if you’re mine, they’ll trust you, too.”

  “Yours?” I throw back my head and let out an exaggerated laugh. “Oh, West, this girl belongs to no one.”

  “Okay, then I can belong to you.” He takes my free hand in his, lifts it to his chest, and places my palm over his heart. “For tonight, this belongs to you.”

  I wait for him to throw me a smirk or grin, but all he does is smile. Like, genuinely smile. And it’s fucking weird. So is the way my heart speeds up as if to match his racing pulse.

  To alleviate the much uncomfortable emotions creeping up on me, I do what I do best—smart off.

  “Are you speaking literally?” I question. “Because that seems like an awfully disgusting gesture.”

  His brow quirks upward. “Coming from the girl that just referred to us as two smooshed peas in an oozing mold pod.”

  “Touché, fake boyfriend.” I grin. It’s not real, though. No, I’m way too uneasy right now to be that relaxed.

  I’m nervous about going into this house.

  About the blackmailer.

  About West’s hand in mine and the warmth that seeps into my skin.

  And the way he pulls me closer as we near the door makes that drum inside my chest beg to be released.

  “You doing okay?” West whispers as he grips the doorknob.

  I give a confused nod. “Yeah. Why?”

  He assesses me intently. “Because you weren’t breathing there for a moment.”

  I wasn’t?

  “I’m fine,” I assure him again when he hesitates to open the door.

  He pauses for one more slamming heartbeat before twisting the doorknob and walking inside.

  The smoke is what hits me first, like a wave of potent haze that instantly seeps into my lungs. And, while I may be naïve with some things, I’m definitely not with this. I know the scent of it isn’t from cigarettes and, with how much is lacing around the room, I wonder if I’ll end up getting high from this hotbox of a house.