I duck behind an overgrown plant and watch as Nev oversteps his bound by landing too close to her.
“I see her, dude—split,” I whisper, but Nev doesn’t twitch a feather. Looks like Nev has decided to hop on board the freak-Skyla-out express.
Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe she needs someone around who can calm the storm—someone who has no intention of rocking the boat—like me.
Okay. Here it goes. A flood of nerves bum-rush my stomach. I feel like I should be hitting the nearest restroom, definitely not continuing toward Skyla and Bree, but my feet won’t stop moving. I bypass a swarm of kids running through the fountainheads that shoot out of the concrete. The water spouts to life behind Skyla like she’s some ethereal princess, and I’m betting she is.
“Oh, thank God.” Brielle jumps at the sight of me and wraps her arms around my waist so tight that for a second I think she’s having some kind of seizure.
“Hey!” Skyla’s face brightens when she sees me. Her eyes cut a quick glance over my shoulder on the lookout for yet another Oliver. My heart drops like a brick at the realization it’s Logan she was hoping to see. Not me, never me.
It’s becoming painfully clear I’ve spent the last few years lusting after Logan’s future wife. Apparently, I’ve “conveniently” deposited myself in his visions.
“You’re late for your shift.” I say it casually to Bree, as if I weren’t secretly thrilled to be rid of her.
“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry! We have to go.” She snatches up the bags like a hostage situation were about to erupt.
“Hang out for a minute.” I nod over to Skyla. “I can give you a ride.”
“Sure.” She says it low as if she wasn’t really convinced she wanted to “hang out for a minute” with me. And really? I can give you a ride? Word choice? If I start lacing everything I say with innuendo she’s going to think I’m a predator in the making. But I swear she has the power to make my vocal cords go off on their own.
I snatch up Brielle’s unfinished ice cream and plunge a spoonful in my mouth to keep from saying another stupid thing.
“Drive careful,” she shouts to Brielle as she bolts into the lot. Skyla looks over at me from under her lashes. Her cheeks come to life with color as she absorbs my features, and that very shade of red glossing the apples of her cheeks gives me far more hope than any of those visions right about now.
I do believe Skyla Messenger is blushing and its all for me.
My adrenaline kicks in, swelling my ego to the moon and back.
Skyla looks like a beauty queen with her shorts cut off just past her hips. From this vantage point, she looks naked from the waist down and my imagination fires up like a midnight showing at a triple-X theater. She parts her legs just enough, as if teasing me, and I can’t help but notice the trace of darkness near her inner thigh.
Holy shit.
My jaw goes slack as the spoon slips from my mouth. The testosterone rises in my boxers, and I wish to God Brielle had left one of those bags around so I could enjoy the view without reservation.
“Is Logan here?” she asks, sucking the feel-good vibes right out of the air.
I slink down in my chair a notch with my hard-on losing all hope of ever being alleviated.
“I’m not good enough?” I try to make it sound light, sarcastic, but miss by a miserable mile. Great. I’m pretty sure my dick and I should pack it up and head on home.
“Of course you’re good enough.” She bites down on her lip as if my comment amused her on some level. “It’s just, you’re not Logan.”
And there it is—the pin that managed to deflate my ego right along with my budding erection.
I glide my eyes over her, up and down. This is it—Skyla is destined to be Logan’s girlfriend—hell, wife—unless of course, I think fast on my feet and do something to ensure some of those visions come true for me as well. Something tells me that one-on-one time with Skyla is going to get scarcer in the very near future if Logan has anything to say about it.
She clears her throat and sharpens those diamond-cut eyes.
“You always rude like that?” Skyla doesn’t bother to hide her annoyance with me.
Shit.
Could I fuck this up any faster?
“I’m not trying to be rude.” I swallow hard. “Sorry.” Quick, change the freaking subject—change the subject. “Heard my dad’s looking into things for you.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty excited. I’ve never thought about myself as an angel before. More like the opposite.” She shoves a giant heap of ice cream in her mouth and gives an impish grin.
“Well, you’re definitely an angel.” My body has testified to that all night long on many occasions. “I know.”
“And you know this because?”
By the sheer volume of wet dreams she’s sponsored, but I don’t say that.
“It’s my gift.”
“Oh, Logan mentioned it,” she whispers, as if others might here. She leans in, suddenly interested in my presence, but I don’t mind. I’ll rattle off vision after vision if it keeps her by my side. “He said you told him we weren’t going to die until a ripe old age.”
Figures. Logan’s already bonding with her on a “we” level, and he’s using me as the vehicle to do it.
“Yeah, well, don’t go doing anything stupid like standing in front of a train.” I throw in the warning in the event she’s feeling immortal. “Just because you’re going to live doesn’t mean you can’t do it as a vegetable.” I wouldn’t mind if Logan turned into a vegetable—at least temporarily. Not that the celestial spotlight shinning down on him would ever permit it. He’s been shitting proverbial gold bricks for as long as I can remember.
“Right.” She says it full of sarcasm, her mouth rounding out like I’ve just cemented my scary Oliver status.
“I know something else about you.” It flies from my mouth unsupervised, desperate.
Nevermore plops down by my side and lets out a vicious scream.
What the hell, Nev? I shoot him a wild look that spells out frying pan in so many different ways.
“Oh, my God!” Skyla clutches at her chest and shrieks. “Make it go away.” She claps her hands over her cheeks and huddles with fear.
Nice going, Nev. She’ll have real fond memories of this non-date we’re having, where not only do I manage to tick her off, but a bird the size of a tricycle threatens to eat her for dinner. I tick my finger to the sky, and Nev shoots into the stratosphere like a missile. I’ll deal with his feathered ass later. Obviously, I need to create boundaries, or Skyla might go rogue and nail him in the head with a rock.
Skyla’s mouth falls open as she catches her breath.
“You made it do that, didn’t you?” She marvels.
“I did.” Maybe that’s how I can captivate her attention—party tricks. A sleight of hand every now and again, a teleportation or two. But with my luck, she probably just wants to run home and de-feather herself.
“So…” She soaks me in like she’s memorizing my features. “What is it that you know?” There’s a wonder in her eyes I don’t ever want to extinguish.
“I know you’re going to marry me some day.” The world stills. The mall and all of its patrons disappear. There’s only Skyla and me, sharing a truth that will one day come to fruition.
She pushes her head back a notch, as if I’ve just verbally assaulted her. Her lips quiver, and she winces like she’s intrigued, or pissed—either, or.
“Well…” She shakes her head at the absurdity I’ve just laid before her. “I’m not.”
And there you have it. I’ve successfully shot myself in the foot and, inadvertently, the heart. Why not finish the job with another one of my so-called truths?
“You will.”
7
Logan
Poetry in Motion
I’m lost in a blissful dream, Skyla and me in a tangle of limbs, when I’m interrupted by a violent burst of sunshine.
Gage treks out of the roo
m after committing the solar felony, and I throw my pillow at him, nailing him in the back of the head.
It’s the same crap he used to pull when we were little—opening my curtains on the rare morning the sun has the balls to show, waking me up out of a dead sleep.
“Get the hell out of my room,” I groan, trying to bury my head in the crook of my arm. The covers are off, and my boxers are pitched like a tent.
He doesn’t say anything, just stomps down the hall with those cinder blocks he calls feet. I jump out of bed and hit the shower. By the time I get dressed and head downstairs, a fogbank has seeped over the island, and all is right with the world.
“Morning!” Emma sings, while Gage and Barron discuss something at the breakfast nook.
“Morning.” I bullet toward the fridge, but she herds me in the direction of the table with a plate at the ready.
Gage leans back and inspects me with a look of insolence as I take a seat.
I don’t say a word, just bow my head for a moment of gratitude before digging into my food.
“Rough night?” Gage asks with the faint hint of piss and vinegar layered beneath his paltry concern. I doubt Gage is too broken up over the fact he interrupted my early morning fantasy where I was in the middle of some serious cardio with Skyla.
The scene comes back to me in detail—the butterfly room, nothing but a tangle of flesh and limbs—and my lips twitch a dirty smile.
“What’s with the tension, boys?” Barron singes the two of us with his salt and pepper brows.
“Nothing.” I shrug as if I didn’t suspect Gage and his perpetual hard-on for Skyla. I thought he’d get over her by now. I thought he loosened up the obsession until Bree informed me he gave Skyla a ride home from the mall yesterday. I know what kind of ride Gage would prefer to give her, and it has nothing to do with those underinflated tires sitting in the driveway.
“There’s definitely something going on.” Emma takes a seat next to my well-aged brother whom I’ve grown accustomed to as my uncle—heck, my father. “Is this about a girl?” Her hand crops up around her neck, and for a second, I’m afraid she’ll choke herself. God knows there’s not a girl on the planet that will ever be good enough for sweet baby Gage.
I don’t say anything, just sink in my seat and drill a cold look into my nephew—waiting for him to affirm or deny the theory.
Barron huffs a laugh. “The silence suggests nothing less. Who is she?”
“Skyla Messenger,” I offer. “My girlfriend.”
“Gage!” Emma jumps in her seat. “Don’t dream for a minute of letting a girl come between the two of you. Remember what happened with that Bishop girl? Then she disappeared.”
I’m not sure what she means by, “then she disappeared.” Unless, of course, she’s implying that she herself offed Chloe and hid the body in order to protect her offspring from potential girl parts. If that’s the case, I could’ve used a little help from Emma myself. Chloe latched onto my balls in front of everyone at West and plucked them off like apples in the fall. I’m sorry about whatever happened to Chloe, though—wish I could have stopped it.
Gage shifts in his seat. “I don’t think we need to talk about this.”
“Gage”—Barron’s voice dips into his I’m-about-to-school-you register—“if Logan here is dating a young lady, I think you should be a gentleman and step aside. Give them some space.”
“Yes, Gage,” I say, knocking my foot into his shin with a little Celestra missile guidance. “Give us some space.” I try to bury a laugh as he writhes at the other end of the table, probably more from the thought of losing Skyla than the gnarly Charley horse I’ve just inflicted.
“Someone else will come along.” Emma does a poor job of hiding her relief. “When it’s the right girl, nothing—not even Logan—will be able to stop it from happening.” She winks over at me.
I flex my hands in surrender. “Who am I to stand in the way of destiny?” Funny how Mr. Dimples suddenly forgot about his imaginary girlfriend. He could have had Chloe every day of the week and twice on Sunday if he weren’t saving himself for that figment of his X-rated imagination. I tried to warn him not to read too much into those visions of his. I specifically told him that crap has a way of cementing itself into your head—leaves you believing weird stuff, like Mrs. Right is going to stroll into your life one day out of the blue—sort of like Skyla did for me. It’s pretty amazing when you think about it. Everything about Skyla is pretty amazing.
“You’re right, Mom.” Gage hardens his glare in my direction. “I’m pretty sure when destiny places me in someone’s life, there won’t be a darn thing Logan can do to stop it.”
He pounds me with those brooding eyes, as if destiny has already laid out the cards for him, shown him a full house with a beauty queen on top.
A cold surge rips through me.
He doesn’t think it’s Skyla, does he?
I’ll have to squash his misinformed fantasy before he gets his interpretations crossed with my brand-new girlfriend. Skyla is going to be my wife one day—I can feel it. He said himself that a Celestra was going to fill those shoes. Hopefully soon, we’ll have confirmation that Skyla is the Celestra in question. Gage has always been better than a brother to me. I’d hate for there to be permanent weirdness between us.
I should probably pay Miller a couple grand to lure him away during Harrison’s next unholy gathering—get his mind twisting in other carnal directions. I’ll have him declaring Michelle Miller the girl of his wet dreams before homecoming.
I raise a glass of O.J. over to Gage. “I give destiny full permission to intercede.”
Gage offers up a fist bump and sharpens his features as we connect. It’s on bro. A smile slopes up the side of his face and that ditch in his cheek winks at me.
It’s on?
I give a little laugh.
I’d say, ‘bring it,’ but something in me knows he’s more than capable.
Nope. I don’t like this one fucking bit.
Gage
Grey, looming clouds are stamped out across the sky in dismal rows like prisoners awaiting execution. The heat and humidity have reached a pinnacle, reducing the house to a brick oven, so I throw on my swim trunks and grab my journal before heading out to the pool.
Charlie, our yellow lab, heads over as I take off my shirt and lie down on my stomach near the deep end. I dip my foot in the glacial water in an attempt to keep cool.
Usually, I keep my journal tucked under my sweatshirts on the top shelf in the closet. I don’t know what Logan would do if he ever found it—probably laugh his ass off just before he started in on distribution.
I shake my head at the thought.
There’s no way Logan would ever do that. He’s an old soul, literally, and no matter how hard he razzes me—he cares about me like a brother.
I thumb through the pencil sketches of Skyla I’ve traced out over the years. I wanted a snapshot from those dreams, something to remember her by in the event she ever walked into my life. I didn’t want to forget her. The dreams, the visions are unpredictable. You never know when they’ll creep up on you—if they’ll be back. I’ve logged each one in detail.
Charlie circles in front of me, slobbering and panting, before sitting with his back to my face, so I push his hind end a little further south. There’s a reason he’s earned the nickname “the Gas Bag.”
The oven-heated breeze picks up and flips the pages over to a section marked off for poetry. I’m not a poet—not even close—but lately when I think of Skyla, I let the words run around the page and bleed out my emotions with ink. Setting my thoughts free like that has proved the equivalent of making love to her on paper. It’s intimate, soul searing, nothing but lust-driven passion molded with this unknowably deep affection I feel for her.
Logan zips through my mind with his ironic grin, his nails-on-a-chalkboard whistle. I’m in so deep with Skyla that a part of me feels like the biggest damn fool for ever letting her into my heart.
/> The poems catch my attention. Most of them have been written since she’s come to Paragon: I’ve Seen the Future; The Shadowed Heart; The Order of Love and Seasons.
A quiet laugh rumbles through me. I wrote that last one the night before I met her at the bowling alley.
The Order of Love and Seasons
The visions speak loudly and with good reason.
All things come in the right season.
Passion fills the air like haze,
in those heated, sentimental days.
I’ve Seen the Future
I dreamed the future and it was you.
The scent of your beauty, like morning rain,
eyes like glass—your smile to heaven stays true.
Life without you transcends pain.
I’ve seen the future and it was you.
This for certain I know to be true.
Nothing can satisfy, only you.
That one sucked.
The Shadowed Heart
Black sand beaches that pull us in,
nights of passion laced with sin.
Skin, smooth and pale, a beautiful flower,
my mouth dips down inch by inch, hour by hour.
A honeyed trail, so sweet on my tongue
But it’s a phantom’s choir—never been sung.
The Rejection
I held a pocketful of promises like they were an assurance.
But your affection was withheld from me, your kisses never an occurrence.
Were these dreams nothing but a rich delusion?
My heart, the new-found Babylon, was the only logical conclusion.
I had prized myself intellectual, sensible, discerning.
But cerebral knowledge could not quench this powerful yearning.
You alone are the elixir to heal this broken heart.
Your rejection of my desire has torn my world apart.
Ethereal Knights (Celestra Knights) Page 7