SLOW BURN

by Christie, Nicole

  “No, thanks, I’m good. But have you seen Johnny?” I ask for the fifteenth time.

  Nick hesitates, leaning toward me like he didn’t hear me. When I repeat my question, he shrugs. “I haven’t seen him yet. Did you try texting him?”

  “Good idea.” I slip my phone out of my jeans pocket.

  “I saw him earlier,” Jason volunteers, after a long loud belch. “He was already drunk off his ass.”

  I frown, pausing in the middle of composing my text. I catch Arianna and Kara exchanging little smirks out of the corner of my eye. What’s that about?

  Where r u??

  I sit back, cradling my phone in my hands, waiting for that telltale vibrating to indicate a received text message. It doesn’t come. The others chat around me, oblivious to my tension.

  “Hey, put that out,” Mac says sharply.

  I glance up and notice Ryan lighting up a joint. At Mack’s glare, he puts it down.

  “It’s only weed,” he protests.

  “Yeah, and Dean will kill you. No drugs at his house, remember?” Nick says, his face serious for a change.

  Grumbling, Ryan puts it away. I’m relieved. Just the smell of pot makes me nauseous, and I don’t want to get high from the secondhand smoke. Where is Johnny? I look down at my phone again.

  “So, does anybody know if there’s going to be school on Monday?” Arianna’s whiny voice catches my attention. She tosses back her bleached blonde hair. “I heard the smoke damage from the fire in the library was pretty bad.”

  “Not bad enough to shut the whole school down,” Sloane snaps, with a ‘duh’ tone in her voice. “And it was only one little section in the back.”

  “First the science lab and the art supply closet, and now the library,” Ben says, his expression weirdly avid. “I hope whoever it is torches Jenkins’ classroom next. I got a big test on Monday that I’m not gonna study for.”

  “Little trash can fires,” Ryan snorts. “They’re not that serious.”

  At my curious expression, Nick tells me, “Leclare’s got itself an arsonist. Someone’s been setting small fires in the school over the summer, and at night. Somehow, they’re still getting away with it, despite the security cams they put up.”

  “Yeah, exterior ones aimed at the bushes,” Ben scoffs. “Anyone who knows where they are can avoid them. You just break a window, and you’re in.”

  “Yeah, and how many have you broken, player?” Mack points out, laughing and running a hand over his shaved head. “Don’t think we don’t know about your…nocturnal activities in the school pool.”

  “Whoa, Mack.” Ben feigns surprise. “You know what ‘nocturnal’ means?” He snorts when Mack waves a finger at him.

  Jason laughs his obnoxious laugh. “Hey, Ben, you sure you haven’t seen some dude sneaking around with a can of gasoline and some matches? Or were you too busy banging Arianna to notice?”

  I glance over at Arianna, who’s grinning smugly. She actually plops herself down on Ben’s lap and giggles into his ear. Wow. I would be mortified if my friends knew I liked getting it on in school. But look at her—proud as can be. Silly rabbit.

  Come on, Johnny. I will my phone to ring, but it doesn’t. Kara catches my anxious expression, and actually smiles at me. “If you’re looking for Johnny, I think he said something about going to his room.”

  “Oh…really? Thanks.” I force myself to look grateful, though I’m sure she just wants rid of me. I’m fine with that. I turn to Nick. “I’m going to see if Johnny’s in his room. If you see him, can you tell him where I am?”

  Nick’s hazel eyes seem to darken with concern. “Yeah, sure. Are you okay? You want me to go with you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I have a little headache. I’m just going to rest on his bed if he’s not there.” I smile reassuringly as I get to my feet.

  “Wait a sec.” He stands up too. “Go in through those doors, so you don’t have to deal with the animals down there again.” He points at the French doors that lead inside the house.

  “Thanks, Nick.” I turn to the others. “See you guys later.”

  I don’t say that it was nice to meet anyone, because—well, it wasn’t. The guys give me crap for abandoning them, which I laughingly fend off. The girls just look at me speculatively, like they’re waiting for me to leave so they can talk about me. It doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should, and I know the guys won’t let them get too nasty. Oh, well. It’s important to me that I get along with Johnny’s friends, and that they like me—but I’m not going to suck up to them just so they can talk shit behind my back.

  I wish Heather were here. She’d have my back, and she’d know how to talk to these silly girls without resorting to violence.

  Nick walks me over to the French doors, and opens them for me like the gentleman he is. I look up at him with his messy brown hair and bare muscled chest, and think what a great guy he is. One day he’s going to find a girl worthy of him.

  The doors open up to a short hallway. I wish I had thought to ask Nick which way Johnny’s room is. This house is so damn huge. I’ve only been in it a handful of times, and I’ve always felt uncomfortable being here. Way too fancy.

  Do I go left or right? Was it past the media room, down by the library? Or was it in the other wing with the atrium Japanese garden? I haven’t gone in from this way before—I’m all turned around.

  Sigh. If I can find the big staircase, I should be able to find my way from there. Now where is it? I turn a corner—and hit a wall.

  Ouch.

  Oh, great. It’s not a wall—it just felt like one because it’s Dean. His chest is solid muscle because he works out all the time, and because I’m pretty sure he’s a cyborg trapped in the body of an underwear model.

  Dean Youngblood is beautiful. His parents could have been an angel and a Greek god—his features are that pretty: dark eyebrows like two graceful brushstrokes over his eyes; supermodel cheekbones, a straight aristocratic nose—and an incredibly sexy mouth that would probably get him teased by his guy friends if they all weren’t so afraid of him.

  What saves his face from being too delicately lovely is when he turns his head and you see the aggressive masculine line of his jaw in profile. And the jagged scars—a crescent-shaped one near his right temple, and another diagonal one just above his full upper lip. Somehow those marks only add to the beauty and intrigue of his face. So not fair.

  Oh, and his eyes. They have an odd reflective sheen to them, a perfect clarity you only find in newborn babies. His left eye is the vivid blue-green of a tropical lagoon; the right is a translucent green in the center, surrounded by smoky gray.

  The effect of his different colored eyes is unsettling, yet strangely hypnotic. I could stare at him all day. I mean, them.

  Unfortunately, all that beauty is wasted on him. Johnny says Dean only has three expressions: scowl, smirk, and what he refers to as Dean’s blank cop face.

  That’s what he’s wearing now, as he looks down at me from his 6’3” height. I kind of have to acknowledge him now.

  “Oh, hi,” I mutter unenthusiastically, taking a step back. Why does he have to be so intimidating? “I was just looking for Johnny’s room.”

  “You’re in the wrong wing,” Dean says in his deep voice, with that sexy rumbling bass to it. “Go down that hall and take a left. He’s the last door on the right.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I stare at his short black hair, cut in a no-nonsense style—rather than look into his oddly beautiful mismatched eyes. “So…how have you been?”

  “Do you really care, or are you just making polite conversation?”

  “I was trying for polite conversation, but you went ahead and ruined that.” I’m irritated enough to look him in the eye. “See you around, Dean.”

  “Sure.”

  He angles his body sideways to let me pass by, then walks away without a backwards glance. I, however, can’t help but sneak a peek at him over my shoulder. You’re so busy staring at Dean’s
face that you forget the rest of him is just as incredible.

  Still, I’d pick Johnny’s rugged and slightly battered good looks over Dean’s cold soap opera star beauty any day.

  Sigh. Where are you, Johnny?

  ******

  Chapter 4

  I still haven’t heard from my boyfriend, and I’m both pissed and worried. Is he passed out somewhere? Is he still mad at me for not coming to his big game? Unease tightens the space between my shoulder blades. I can’t get rid of this inexplicable feeling of impending doom.

  Okay, now I’m now I know where I am. Johnny’s room is right across from the laundry room, and there it is, so…hmm…

  I’m not suddenly struck by a feeling of intuition. I push the door open simply because I hear noises I can’t identify coming from inside. Curiously, I take a step in.

  At first, I’m horrified. I’ve walked in on a couple making out on a washing machine. The girl, my mind catalogues quickly, is pretty and half-naked, propped up on the washing machine, her legs wrapped about the shirtless guy’s hips.

  The guy…

  The air disappears from my lungs, and the room tips sideways. I stare mutely at the guy’s familiar shaggy blonde hair, and the taut and tanned muscles of his back and broad shoulders.

  “No,” I gasp in disbelief. The room spins, and time stops.

  They don’t notice me. The girl is moaning and writhing as he kisses her neck and puts his hands all over her. My mind takes in these details, but refuses to accept them. But this can’t be right. Not Johnny. He would never betray me like that. It must be some kind of mistake.

  “Johnny!” the girl squeals when he grinds himself against her .

  Reality explodes, and time kicks back into action. I stagger back a step, ice cold with shock. My brain suddenly wakes up and starts shouting at me. This is really happening! Do something!

  I don’t know—I guess I make a sound. The girl notices me, eyes widening at the intrusion.

  “What the hell?!” she screeches. “Get out of here!”

  I don’t even acknowledge her. Chest hurting, I wait for Johnny to turn around.

  He does so casually, almost like he can’t be bothered. His glazed eyes meet mine, and something flares in those beautiful blue eyes. Something dark and dangerous.

  I wait for the shock of recognition. The remorse and devastation.

  “Get out,” he says. His voice is cold and devoid of emotion.

  I can’t process his words. My mouth hangs open as I gasp for breath. What?

  “Get out, Juliet,” he repeats. This time his use of my name frees me from my paralysis.

  “You bastard,” I whisper.

  I turn and flee. Instinct takes over. My body only knows that I need to get away, and I’m carried away on rubbery legs. I don’t see or hear anything as I run, and the next thing I know, I’m outside.

  Heart thumping, blood pumping, I look around. I’m still in shock, I think, but anger starts taking bites out of the devastation. It washes over me in strange waves of exhilaration. Feeling wildly out of control, I don’t know what I’m about to do—I only know that I want to hurt Johnny.

  I want to kill him!

  “How does it feel?”

  At the sound of his voice, I whirl around.

  He’s followed me out. He’s still shirtless, jeans riding low on his slim hips. Crazily enough, my hormones still want to talk about how sexy he looks.

  He’s looking at me with such bitterness on his face. His eyes are tight, and his mouth is a hard line.

  “What?!” I choke out.

  “Is that his shirt?” he sneers, hatred coloring his every word. He invades my space with menacing intent, looming over me. Who is this guy?

  Distantly, I am aware that all eyes and attention are on us. I hardly care. “You’re drunk,” I hiss at him.

  He suddenly grabs my ponytail, tangling his fingers in my hair in that way he knows gets me hot. “And you fucked some guy!”

  Immediately, the excited whispers, and snide laughter start. I suddenly, fervently wish I were pyrokinetic. The prom scene from Carrie comes to mind.

  Johnny’s grip tightens in my hair, forcing me to look up at him. “If I knew you were so easy, I wouldn’t have wasted six months trying to get into your pants.”

  Red mist fills my vision. “If I’m so easy, what’s taking you so long?” I seethe.

  I kick his shin—hard. He curses and lets me go, and I take off again. “Nobody fucking dare follow us!” I hear him growl behind me.

  Shoes pounding against the paved driveway, I run toward around the side of the house, to the garages—relentless with a mission of revenge.

  Johnny has a dark blue Dodge Ram 1500 that’s his baby. I guess his stepdad tried to give him a brand new Porsche for his birthday once, but Johnny wouldn’t accept it—instead working his ass off during the summers to save up for the secondhand truck. He’s so proud of the damn thing.

  I immediately spot it, parked in front of the garage. I bend over and scoop up anything I can find on the ground to throw at his beloved.

  I hurl handfuls at the Dodge. Pinecones bounce harmlessly off the windshield and hood of the truck. Stupid non-damaging pinecones!

  Strong arms suddenly come around me from behind, trapping my arms against my sides.

  “How could you cheat on me?” he whispers in my ear, the bitterness now laced with pain.

  “What?!” I shriek, struggling in his arms. “What the hell are you talking about?! You were the one hooking up with a random chick in the laundry room! I’ve never cheated on you!”

  I have sharp elbows and those bony knuckles. Holding onto me when I don’t want to be held isn’t as easy it looks—even for Johnny. He pushes me up against his truck, caging me with his body. I whirl around, and slap at his bare chest.

  “Don’t lie to me, Juliet! I saw pictures of you with him!”

  I stop the beating to glare up at him. “What pictures? What was I doing in these pictures, huh? Was I kissing some guy? Was I naked with him? Was he screwing my brains out on a washing machine?!”

  Johnny’s eyes darken. “No, but—he was holding you in his arms, touching your face. You lied about working tonight! Arianna said—”

  I swear I feel something swell and pop in my head. Maybe my sanity My voice goes squeaky with disbelief. “Are you serious?! Leila called at the last minute and said she could cover. I went shopping with Heather, and we ran into her brother Rob—”

  “Rob,” he snarls. “Is that his name?”

  “Yeah, you stupid drunk shit—Heather’s brother! We ate ice cream with him at the mall, then he left! What the hell?! The minute you get some flimsy-ass evidence of my so-called cheating, and you decide to bang another girl?!”

  Johnny shakes his head in denial, his anger fueled by the alcohol I can smell coming out of pores. “You’re lying.”

  “Oh, go screw yourself, Johnny.” My nose is starting to run, but I refuse to sniff and let him think I’m crying. “I can’t believe you threw us away over something that lying bitch said.”

  I try to push him away, but he doesn’t let me go, driving me back into the cold metal of the truck door with the weight of his body. His expression is conflicted right now—anger and confusion, and hurt chasing across his handsome features. His fingers dig into my biceps.

  “You’re lying,” he repeats, sounding heartbreakingly uncertain. “You have to be.”

  “Believe what you want. We’re done. I never want to see your face again.”

  I slump against the truck, suddenly exhausted and hollowed out. I want to go home, curl up in a ball, and just die.

  But Johnny’s tugging at me. What’s he doing? He’s yanking at my shirt. Motherfu—

  “Take his shirt off!” he shouts furiously, trying to pull Nick’s shirt—along with my own—over my head.

  Psycho! The fight pours back into me, and my adrenaline kicks up as I twist my body away from him. My shirt tears in the scuffle. I clench my tee
th and bring my knee up to his ribs. He grunts and grabs my face with both hands, crashing his lips over mine.

  For an insane few seconds, I kiss him back. Then my teeth sink into his lower lip, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. He winces but doesn’t pull back, trying to settle his body closer against mine. I’m the one to turn away.

  “You taste like her,” I snap, roughly pushing his face back.

  “You jealous?” he taunts, snaking a hand up my back. “Come on, Teeny. I could fuck you on the spin cycle, too. You heard how much Dani enjoyed it.”

  He knows that bitch’s name?! That’s even worse!

  I’m only aware of a roaring sound in my ears. I think the term “batshit crazy” is meant for special moments like this.

  The next thing I know, Johnny’s gone, and I’m sliding into a puddle on the ground. Dazed, I look up to see him being restrained by Dean in a chicken wing hold, inches from me. I seize the opportunity and punch Johnny in the junk. Dean, caught off guard by my attack , releases Johnny. Now it’s that asshole’s turn to sink to the ground, groaning in pain. Good! I hope I broke it!

  I try to launch myself at his curled up body, but Dean grabs me in midair. “That’s enough,” he growls, holding me like a tantrum-throwing child.

  For a brief moment, my face is pressed against his rock hard chest. I inhale sharply, smelling fresh guy-just-out-of-the-shower mixed with something warm and woodsy.

  “Let her go, Dean!”

  Johnny is already on his feet. Tough guy. The anger has drained out of his face. He looks, at once, miserable and anxious. He tries to reach for me, and I bite his hand.

  “Teeny…”

  “Go to hell!” I spit out.

  “I’m taking her home,” Dean says, keeping his big body between us, easily holding us apart.

  “No! I need to talk to her…”

  I try to slip out of Dean’s iron grip on my arm. It’s not happening. “There’s nothing to talk about,” I say flatly. “What kind of asshole screws another girl the second he thinks his girlfriend is cheating on him?”