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

by Sorensen, Jessica

  “Shit, it’s smoky in here,” West mumbles as he guides me farther into the dark house.

  All the windows are boarded up or covered in curtains, so not a single drop of darkness can sneak out. The floorboards have holes in them, and the ceiling is leaking and stained.

  This is where West is living.

  As the realization hits me, I feel something crack in my chest. Splinter. And a piece feels like it becomes lodged in my heart.

  I’m about to ask him if there’s another option of where he can stay, tell him maybe he can come stay with me, but then we step into a room crammed with worn chairs, a cracked coffee table, and three people; two guys and a woman who looks a handful of years older than me, but it’s hard to tell for sure because she looks like she’s had a rough life and maybe that’s aged her more quickly. Really, all three of them look rough around the edges, but I try not to judge because I know I look rough, as well.

  The three of them are passing around a bong, which explains all the smoke.

  “Yeah, but he’s really starting to piss me off,” a guy with short brown hair says as he puts the bong to his lips and flicks the lighter. He’s not wearing a shirt, revealing several shaded tattoos covering his arms and chest. He also has a gnarly-looking scar running up the left side of his arm.

  “Everyone’s always pissing you off,” a guy wearing a knitted cap says. He’s sitting across from tattoo guy and has a laptop open on his lap. An expensive-looking one, too, which seems so damn odd in comparison to the rest of the scene.

  The girl laughs as shirtless guy takes a hit then hands the bong and lighter to her. “I know. Right now it’s Tristan. Yesterday it was Beth. And tomorrow, it’ll probably be you.” She smirks at the guy wearing the knitted cap.

  He glances up from his computer screen, a slow grin curling at his lips, but the smile fades as he spots West and me loitering in the doorway.

  The first thing I notice about him is that the bloodshot eyes that are really blue. Like startling blue.

  “Hey,” he says to West with a crinkle between his brows.

  When his startling, blue-eyed gaze slides to me, he closes the computer, which makes me wonder if this is the hacker guy whom West knows. It also makes me wonder what he was doing on the computer.

  As he acknowledges us, the other guy and girl glance at us, as well. Tattoo guy, holy hell, his gaze is intense. And dark. In fact, a darkness almost seems to radiate off him. Honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was seeing his aura. That darkness quickly gobbles me up. Then his expression hardens as he looks at West.

  If I were the Before Alexis, I’d probably run like hell from his intensity. But I’m not the Before Alexis. I am the Now Alexis and she stays put and lets the smoke swallow her up.

  “She cool?” he asks West with an arch of his brow. “I sure as hell hope she is, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

  West tightens his grip on my hand. “She’s cool,” he assures as he draws me closer to his side. “This is Lex.”

  Recognition flashes across tattoo guy’s face. Then he visibly relaxes, leaning back in the sofa and crossing his arms. “So, you’re Alexis Baker?” He seems amused by that fact.

  “Um … yeah.” I glance at West, arching a brow, like explain to me how these guys know me and why intense tattoo guy thinks that’s amusing.

  West ignores my look, slipping an arm around my back while looking at tattoo guy.

  “Hmm …” Tattoo guy murmurs then fixes his gaze on West. “You had a busy day, apparently.”

  "Not really," West replies with a shrug. "We're just hanging out."

  “Really?” Tattoo guy leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Doesn’t seem that way to me.” His gaze flicks to me again, making the muscles in my jaw tick.

  I mean, they’re clearly having a coded conversation about me, but why? How do these guys even know about me? Unless West has told them. Again, why?

  “Well, it is that way,” West insists. “But I do have a busy night ahead, starting with helping this lovely girl.” West turns and steers me toward a curtain-covered doorway.

  “Help her with what exactly?” tattoo guy calls out with amused insinuation.

  Someone laughs, and West quickens his pace, steering me through the curtained doorway.

  On the other side is a small room, with wood-paneled walls, holey orange carpet, and a blanket-covered window. The only furniture in the room is an air mattress.

  “Is this where you’re sleeping?” I ask as West removes his arm from around me.

  “Yeah,” he mutters, wandering over to a bag in the corner. Clothes and shoes are scattered around it, along with a computer and charger.

  “Where’s the rest of your stuff?” I ask.

  “In my trunk.” He crouches down by the bag and starts digging around in it. “I didn’t feel like hauling it in last night.”

  “Oh.” I frown. He seems irritated, which is kind of annoying since he was the one who has clearly been talking to these guys about me.

  Nudging a couple of empty soda bottles out of the way, I take a few steps toward him. “Wanna explain to me how those guys out there know who I am?”

  He gives a tense shrug. “I’ve just mentioned you a couple of times.” He throws a smile at me from over his shoulder. “We are friends, remember? BFFs to be exact.”

  And there he goes again, going from tense to easygoing in the swoosh of a paintbrush.

  I cross my arms and stare him down. “That’s not what that was about. They seemed amused that I was here. Or, at least tattoo guy did.”

  He rubs his lips together. “Tattoo guy’s name is Holden. The other guy is Ells—he’s the one who’s hopefully going to be able to help us with your blackmailer situation.” He stands up, facing me and holding a black shirt in his hand.

  I elevate a brow. “You still haven’t told me why Holden seemed amused that I was with you.”

  He shrugs, turning around and …

  Taking off his shirt.

  “What’re you doing?” I sputter. Actually freakin’ sputter. It’s such a dumbass thing to do. I mean, I’ve seen guys shirtless. I’ve seen him shirtless. And his back’s to me, for dumbass’s sake. But something feels different about being in a room alone with him while he takes off his clothes.

  It seems intimate.

  “I’m changing my shirt.” Humor laces his tone as he tosses his shirt onto the floor. “Or, was that not obvious?”

  I take a collective breath, pulling myself together. “No, it is. But, why are you changing your shirt at all? The one you had on was fine.”

  “I got some ketchup on it at lunch,” he informs me as he sticks his hands through the sleeves of the clean shirt, slightly turning his body and his back managing to hit the trace of sunlight slipping through the crack between the blanket and the window.

  That’s when I see it.

  More scars. Like the ones on his waist.

  When did he get so scarred? Did he just get them? Or have I just been so completely and utterly oblivious that I never noticed them? Am I that self-centered?

  Maybe.

  The After Alexis Baker is a lot of things and not a lot of things at the same time. It gets confusing. In fact, if I’m being honest, I feel confused most of the time. Drifting. Floating. In a haze. Even now, I confuse the hell out of myself as I step forward, closing the distance between us. I even take the confusion one step further by placing a palm against his back, right along one of the vertical scars.

  He instantly stiffens, and I almost pull back, but I don’t. Instead, I feel them, running my fingers along the roughness of his scar that contrasts with the smoothness of his skin.

  “Where’d these come from?” I ask, tracing my finger along his spine where a small scar runs.

  “I fell,” he answers shakily.

  I don’t believe him, but I don’t call him out on it because, again, calling out his lie would mean he could call out mine. Instead, I let my fingertips sketch
a path up to his shoulder blade where another scar is visible, this one round and about the size of the end of my fingertip.

  “Why are you touching me like this?” he utters softly.

  “I don’t know.” While I’m a liar, I’m not really lying in that moment. I’m not really sure why I’m touching him, other maybe I got a little bit high. Or maybe it’s because these scars seem like a map of pain that lead to secrets he doesn’t want to tell me about, and I wonder if the inside of me is mapped with similar scars that lead to that haunting day that I’ve locked away in my mind and devoured the key.

  Letting out another uneven breath, he turns toward me, his shirt still off, but his arms in the sleeves. He stares at me, assessing me, question marks flooding his eyes. I feel like he wants me to answer something, but I don’t know what the question is.

  I know nothing really.

  I am now Lost-Her-Damn-Mind Alexis.

  He reaches forward and traces his thumb along my bottom lip. “Lex?”

  I swallow audibly. Why is he touching my lip? And why is he looking at me like that? And why is my heart being a goddamn stupid lunatic again? Like it was last night when he kissed me.

  When we kissed.

  I swallow down a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

  “I …” His gaze bounces back and forth between my mouth and my eyes. “I think … I … Fuck.” Then he leans forward and seals his lips to mine. Kisses me. Touches me. Again. And again, I want to pull back, but I don’t.

  The only difference between last night and now is that the kiss last night was supposed to be for practice. This kiss …? I don’t know what the hell it is. And not knowing the meaning behind a kiss can be dangerous.

  I realize this as West parts my lips with his tongue and that damn tongue ring brushes against my tongue again, giving me a deep kiss I feel all the way through me.

  I don’t know where this is going, what it means, if it has a meaning.

  And it can’t have a meaning.

  Nothing can have meaning.

  I need to stop this.

  But, as he wiggles his hands from his sleeves, tosses his shirt aside, and then slips his fingers through mine, I don’t utter a word. Just like I don’t utter a word when he kisses me deeper, softly groaning while biting on my bottom lip.

  Then he pulls back, looking at me, his eyes searching mine. “Do you want me to stop?”

  Yes.

  Tell him yes.

  But again, I don’t utter a word. No, I do something worse.

  I fucking kiss him.

  I don’t even know why I do it, other than it feels good. Like nothing and everything at the same time. And that nothing and everything lets me not think about anything.

  I kiss him deeper, clutching on to him, losing myself in the kiss. And he holds me, pressing me against him until my chest is so close to his that I feel like I’m going to fall into him. I put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself, his warm, bare skin touching my palms.

  Touch.

  Warmth.

  My skin is not ice cold. Or maybe it is since West shivers.

  I expect him to pull back, but he pushes forward, sliding his hands to my thigh. Then he scoops me up and urges my legs around his as he tangles his tongue with mine.

  Touch.

  Touch.

  Touch.

  There’s so much touching.

  Panic starts to creep in, taking control of me. It pisses me off—that loss of control. So I latch on, digging my fingernails into the nearest thing, which happens to be West’s shoulders. I may not have noticed if he didn’t pull back.

  "Oh my God," he moans, holding me up against him. He lets out an unsteady exhale, his breath dusting across my face as he grasps onto me, resting his forehead against mine.

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I start to worry that I’ve hurt him, that maybe my fingernails split open his scars. But then he quietly whispers, “I want to continue this. I really fucking do. More than you probably realize. But I don’t want to go there with you until you’re ready. And not while we’re in this dump of a room that reminds me of every mistake I’ve ever made.”

  Not a drop of humor is evident in his tone, and I don’t know what to do with that.

  “What do you mean until I’m ready?” I wonder, leaning back.

  He opens his eyes. “You’re still trying to work through this thing with Blaine and Masie.”

  “I’m not,” I try to say. “I’m over it—over them.”

  “Lex.” His voice is soft. “You’ve been in love with Blaine for years.”

  Have I, though? Deep down, I know that the Before Alexis was but the After Alexis may not have. That she may not even be capable of love. But, for some reason, she was holding on to that last shred of her old identity. Now, though, that’s gone.

  And what remains … Well, I’m not sure.

  What I do know, though, is I haven’t thought much Blaine since that day in Masie’s backyard, so what does that mean?

  I don’t have a dam clue. Just like I don’t have a damn clue what just happened with West. That kiss, it wasn’t for pretend. Was it?

  No, it has to be. Because, if it’s not, then it’s real. And real is pain. Real is heartbreak.

  Real is having my soul shattered again. But, can something that’s shattered be shattered again? How much shattering can something take?

  “Where’s your head at?” he asks with a trace of worry in his tone.

  No, not worry. Unsurely. West is unsure. West is never unsure.

  I shrug. “I don’t know … I’m just trying to figure out why we just kissed … Was it for practice?”

  “Hmm …” is all he says, rubbing his lips together and studying me. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure?” I question. “Because you’re the one running this little fake dating rodeo.”

  “Am I?” he mumbles.

  “Um … yeah.”

  He doesn’t appear to agree with me but doesn’t protest as he carefully lowers me from him. He does it as slow as possible, dragging it out for some reason.

  Once my feet touch the floor, he steps back, collects his shirt, and pulls it on.

  “I’m going to grab Ellis so we can tell him about your blackmailer,” he informs me. “I’ll be right back.” Then he walks out of the room like nothing happened.

  And nothing did, I try to tell myself.

  But even liars can lie to themselves.

  Nine

  West

  I’m shaking so badly on the inside that I can barely walk. Somehow, though, I manage to move out of my room and into the living room. Then, before anyone notices me, I swing right then duck into the entryway that blocks me out of everyone’s view. Then I slump against the wall and take a few deep breaths.

  Air in, air out, West. Calm the hell down.

  But I can’t seem to get myself settled.

  Lex touched my scars. Ran her fingers along the truths. No one has ever seen those truths. Even the woman I’ve slept with. Not because they didn’t see them. They just didn’t care. But Lex seemed to care. She saw. Saw what I’ve spent years keeping buried behind a façade of jokes and smiles.

  Humor is my defense mechanism. Always has been. To hide the pain of what he does to me. Of my father’s hatred for me. And my mother’s ability to ignore it. And, for the most part, humor has worked for me, has kept all those secrets hidden. But Lex … she sees things differently, notices the darker side of life. I hate that she does. Hate that she’s been in so much pain that she knows what the darkness feels like.

  I could almost taste it in the burning of our lips.

  Our lips …

  We kissed again …

  And it was …

  Everything.

  But it also can’t be anything right now. Not when she’s still hurting over Blaine, although she’ll never admit it.

  I want her to, though.

  Desperately.

  Too desperately probably.


  I’m becoming desperate.

  Drowning even more, but for different reasons now.

  I take a few more breaths, trying to pull myself together.

  Never has a girl affected me like this before. But never has a girl saw me before, either. No one has, and it’s … complicated to deal with.

  And as I leave the entryway, appearing composed, I’m still not certain if I dealt with it or just buried it down inside of me.

  When I enter the living room, Ellis offers me a nice distraction, handing me the bong and a lighter as I walk in.

  “I thought you were in your room,” he says as I take a hit, letting the smoke saturate my lungs.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be taking a hit right now, but it makes me feel better. Well, calmly oblivious for a moment.

  “I was.” I hand the bong and lighter back to him. “I had to grab something out of my car,” I lie.

  “Where’s Alexis?” Holden asks as he texts someone on his phone.

  Harlow, the girl sitting beside him, has passed the fuck out and is curled up in a ball on the sofa. She hangs out here a lot; I think mostly to score drugs, but she hooks up with Holden sometimes—I think so she can score drugs.

  “In my room.” I sink down on a leather sofa covered in holes and tears.

  He glances up at me. “She’s pretty. I get why you’re so obsessed with her.”

  I hate that he clearly noticed her. That he thinks she’s pretty. That he noticed she was.

  Besides, she’s not even pretty.

  She is beyond beautiful.

  “I’m not obsessed with her.” I’m not sure if I’m lying or not. “I just”—I shrug and lower my voice so Alexis won’t hear me—“like her.”

  Holden rolls his eyes. “Liking someone leads to drama.”

  “Not always.”

  “Yes, always.”

  Now I’m the one to roll my eyes. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  He sets the phone down, slants forward, and rests his arms on his legs. “Have you or have you not brought drama into your life by liking her? Because, from what I’ve seen, you have.”