SLOW BURN

by Christie, Nicole

  “Way too crowded in the house—let’s go around!” Mack says to us, and gestures for us to follow him around the main house, to the back.

  The scene in the backyard is more mellow than the last time I was here. Glowing neon orbs bob gently in the swimming pool, transforming it into some kind of magical fairy pond. There are a few girls in bikinis, but they’re huddled in the Jacuzzi—oh, there’s Laun—Dani—in a pale yellow bikini. Her long hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s laughing and chatting with the other girls in there—her fellow cheerleaders, I guess?

  Along the way, I spot Tanya standing with a group of people. I blink in surprise. She looks pretty hot in an expensive-looking ultra-feminine white dress. Her sentient curls are everywhere, blowing gently in the wind like silky ribbons—not at all murderous tonight. I call her name, and she gives me a huge grin. Glad to see she’s enjoying herself.

  One of the twins—Ryan, I think—stumbles in front of me. His face is an alarming shade of red, and he’s giggling maniacally.

  “Juliet! Kick me in the nuts!” he shouts, holding his arms out in invitation. “Go on! Don’t worry, I won’t feel a thing! My whole body’s completely numb!”

  “Yeah, that’s not a good thing,” I say.

  “Get out of here, dumbass.” Mack gives him a good-natured shove that sends Ryan staggering sideways.

  I’m distracted by Heather’s squeezing my hand hard enough to cut off circulation. She’s looking up at the balcony overlooking the pool. There’s Sloane, looking absolutely beautiful, staring down at us. I give her an enthusiastic wave, and Heather lets go of my other hand to yank my arm down. Ouch. It’s so strange to see Heather like this over someone. I don’t like it. Wait…am I jealous?

  I surreptitiously search for Johnny as we follow Mack up the curving staircase. He’s here! He’s straddling a chair, nursing a beer, and talking to Ben and Nick. God, he looks good. His hair is tousled by the wind, and he absently runs a hand through it.

  Ben spots me first, and raises a bottle to me in greeting. Johnny turns to see who Ben’s looking at. Does his expression soften when he sees it’s me? I can’t tell in the dim light.

  Well, he doesn’t appear to be with anyone tonight. I’m relieved. I don’t know if I can handle being around him when he’s kissing on some other girl.

  “Hi, Juliet,” Johnny says cautiously. He slowly scans me from head to toe, and I flush under his scrutiny.

  I have to act casual. “Hi—”

  “Juliet!”

  Kara suddenly appears in front of me, wearing a violent shade of lip gloss that makes her look dangerous and witchy. She smiles at me, and I swear it’s genuine. “Your dress is awesome! I love that color on you! It looks good with your skin tone.”

  Uh. I look for Heather to see what she makes of this, but she’s gone, man. I turn reluctantly back to Kara. “Thanks,” I say feebly. “I like your lip gloss.”

  Kara tosses her red hair over her shoulder. “It’s called Ninja Red. I’ll let you borrow it, if you want.”

  “Wow, great.” I force a smile, then sidle away.

  Bitch is up to something. I don’t know, I don’t want to know. Maybe she heard that I suspect her of setting me up with the smoke bombs. I don’t trust how sincere she looks right now. Someone that can flip her emotions around like that…how can no one else be freaked out by it?

  I want to consult with Ben about this, but he’s sitting next to Johnny—and Nick. My first instinct is to avoid that area. But…

  I can be mature about this. Taking a deep breath, I decide to get the weirdness over with. Like ripping off a band aid. I stride purposefully over to the table where the guys are seated.

  “Hi,” I say again, smiling more naturally this time—I hope.

  “H-hey, Juliet,” Nick stammers, looking everywhere but at me.

  I wince at his obvious discomfort. I hope sharp-eyed Ben doesn’t…oh, good, Arianna’s sticking her tongue down his throat, very effectively distracting him. And Johnny’s too busy looking at me to notice Nick.

  “Hey,” Johnny says quietly. He sets his beer on the table in front of him, and I notice his hand flex convulsively. “How are you?”

  He says it like he really cares about my answer. This is painful, the strain between us like the physical presence of a fat naked man. Still, I have my pride. I strive to sound unaffected.

  “I’m doin’ real good. How ‘bout yourself?”

  Oh, god, dummy—where the hell did that twang come from?! I sound like I’m from a dude ranch, scuffing the toe of my boot in the dirt. Please, no one have noticed it.

  Johnny hesitates, looking slightly confused. Thank god he doesn’t comment on my sudden drawl. He shrugs. “Can’t complain. It was a good game tonight—we’ll go out undefeated.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Congratulations. That’s really…somethin’.” I’m still doing it, I’m still doing it…!

  He nods, and his gaze drops down to the table. On the other side of him, I notice Nick is studiously keeping his head turned away, his posture incredibly stiff. Meanwhile, Arianna is now on Ben’s lap. Yet nobody cares about the couple practically doing it right there. No, it’s gotten real quiet on the balcony, all the attention focused on me and Johnny. Even Heather and Sloane are watching us intently.

  Abruptly, Johnny looks up. His beautiful eyes seem to shine with determination, and his jaw clenches. “So…” he says softly. “Do you want to, maybe…?”

  What? He trails off questioningly, and I stare at him blankly. Do I want to what? Oh, he’s looking past me now.

  A couple of girls are climbing up the steps to join our group. One of them is Sara, and the other is her friend, Jasmine—whom I keep calling Sidney for some reason. Jasmine is a giggly girl whose cheeks are perpetually pink. Right now she’s staring avidly at Johnny, giggling her head off.

  Sara heads straight to me with the pretense of asking me some lame question about a test on Monday, all the while sneaking peeks at Nick. Her friend boldly goes up to Johnny, and starts a conversation. She’s gushing about how epic he was at the game.

  “I think I’m going to ask Nick out tonight,” Sara suddenly whispers in my ear. “Do you think I should?”

  “Um, yeah, go for it,” I mumble, distracted. Sidney Jasmine is standing awfully close to Johnny, trying to keep his attention.

  “Really? Okay! But how do I get him alone?” Sara is saying.

  “Um,” I say again. “Did you drive?”

  She twists her fingers together nervously, glancing over my shoulder at Nick. “Yeah. I came here with Jaz…”

  “Hey, Nick!” I call before she can finish her sentence.

  Nick’s head shoots up. “What’s up?” he mutters, meeting my eyes reluctantly.

  “Sara’s having some trouble with her car. Could you take a look at it?”

  I ignore Sara’s eyes bugging out at me, and smile at Nick. He looks surprised, then confused, but he obligingly stands.

  “Uh, sure,” he says, coming over. He shakes out the leg of his jeans to straighten it, then grins at Sara. “Lead the way.”

  I watch a giddy Sara go down the stairs with her crush in tow. Jasmine watches them, too, but makes no move to follow her friend. She turns back to Johnny, giggling. But Johnny is looking at me, eyebrows raised. What was all that about? I give a little shrug.

  All of a sudden, I’m tired. And sick of all this awkwardness and tension. Also, I need a bathroom because the thong I’m wearing has traveled into unchartered territories. I thought the new underwear would make me feel sexy, but all I feel right now is chafed.

  “I need to find a bathroom,” I say, directing my announcement at Johnny. “Is it okay if I go in?”

  “Of course.” He nods to the French doors. “You know where to go?”

  No. “I’ll figure it out.”

  As I cross the short distance to the doors, I wonder if he’ll follow me. He doesn’t. I don’t care. I grasp the handle and let myself in. I really don’t mean to slam th
e door behind me, but I think it gets caught in a breeze or something. I wince at the loud noise, and hope the others don’t think I’m throwing a tantrum. The only thing to do now is walk calmly away.

  Except I’m somehow caught on something. I tug forward, and something rips. I don’t have to look behind me to know that it was my dress, caught in the door.

  I also don’t have to look behind me to know that everyone’s staring at me, but I turn anyway. The hallway is lit, and the balcony is dark, but I see my friends’ faces clearly through the glass of the door. I run away with as much dignity as possible.

  I try to inspect the back of my dress for damages while still moving forward, and that’s how I end up slamming into a wall.

  Okay, it’s not a wall, it’s Dean.

  “Déjà vu,” I say, rubbing the shoulder that rammed into his painfully solid chest.

  Dean looks down at me, amused. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for a bathroom,” I say. I know my voice is grumpy, but I can’t help it. I look him up and down. He’s dressed head to toe in black: long-sleeved black shirt and black jeans that hug his trim hips and long legs. “Do you live in this hall?”

  “My room’s right there.” He gestures to the double doors behind him.

  “Oh?” I start edging past him, curiosity replacing my grouchiness. “Can I see inside?”

  Dean chuckles at my eager tone. He takes a step backward, and twists the handle. He shoves the doors open for me, and I go right in.

  Wow. His room is large, and…institutional-looking. Actually, I think I’ve seen nicer prison cells. Not that I’ve actually seen a prison cell, but I’d think that if anyone had to be incarcerated in Dean’s room, with its glaringly blank white walls, and drab sparse furniture—they’d jump out the window.

  There is nothing in his bedroom. Okay, the bed looks like a king size, with a plain oak headboard, and olive green sheets, made to military perfection. There’s a huge chest of drawers the same color as his headboard, and a small utilitarian desk with a laptop on it. The sliding glass doors lead out to a balcony, and a fancy little alcove for a fireplace are the only indications that this room is part of an elegant mansion.

  I turn to Dean, horrified. “Are you being punished for something?”

  He looks around his room, confused by reaction. “No.”

  “Okay, this is not a normal boy room,” I say, wandering further in to inspect his desk. “I’ve been in a few of them in my time, and—where’s the mess? The game systems? Sports memorabilia?” I’m describing Johnny’s room, but his is so typical of the teenage male—maybe more of a disaster than most (and they have housekeepers!).

  “I don’t like clutter.”

  “Obviously. Dude, you don’t even have a bookshelf. Don’t you read?”

  “Yeah, I read.” Dean smirks at me. “I use my laptop, or my phone.”

  “But…” The lack of…stuff is bizarre, as disturbing in its own way as—as my room. “Your room is suppose to reflect your personality. This—” I gesture widely around me. “—is a cry for help.”

  Dean leans against a wall, arms crossed in a typical hot guy pose. “I don’t spend much time in here,” he says with a shrug.

  “So? It wouldn’t kill you to add a few personal touches. Where are your trophies, and crap? I know you have them. Why don’t you display them? Dean, this is so sad.”

  He shakes his head at me, smiling slightly. “It bothers you that badly?”

  “It does,” I say firmly, planting my hands on my hips. “I have this urge to decorate it. This room has such potential!”

  “Go ahead,” Dean invites, his expression completely serious. But this is Dean—he could be joking.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I might.”

  “Okay.”

  We eye each other like gunslingers at high noon—then I am painfully reminded that I need a bathroom. “Can I use your bathroom?” I ask, already heading toward the door I assume is what I’m looking for.

  “Sure. But that’s the—”

  “Closet.” I shut the door, and reverse direction to see what’s behind door number two.

  Dean’s bathroom is an almost exact replica of Johnny’s, layout-wise. They both have the big glass-encased showers, the big jetted tub, and the really cool frosted glass tiles. And the double sinks. I’d never need ‘em, but they’re cool to have.

  I quickly freshen up, noticing the room smells like Dean—clean masculine scents combined with the fragrance of the woods. I feel vaguely dirty picturing him in the shower. Honestly, though, the image just absently popped into my head, kinda like when I see a picture of a really hot celebrity and wonder what it would be like to make out with him. I’m not the only one who does that, right?

  I’m really fast in the bathroom because I don’t want Dean to wonder what I’m doing in there. When I zip back out, he’s doing something on his phone.

  “Can I hang out in here?” I blurt out when he looks up at me. “I just—I don’t want to go back out there. Uh, you don’t even have to stay with me. I promise I won’t touch anything, or snoop around.”

  I give him my most pitiful look, big eyes and all. Seconds tick by as Dean considers this. Finally, he gives an almost imperceptible sigh, and looks back down at his phone. “I’m not leaving you in here by yourself,” he mutters. “I’ll stay.”

  “Yay.” I give a little clap. “What should we do? Oh, I know! Truth or Challenge!”

  His brow furrows slightly. “Truth or what?”

  I start to go for his bed, then hastily flop down onto the plush carpet instead. Some people are weird about having other people on their bed, and Dean strikes me as one of them. Also, I don’t want to wrinkle his sheets.

  “Truth or Challenge is like a sober Truth or Dare. Heather learned it from Bible study camp…”

  Dean eases down on the desk chair, facing me. “Heather went to Bible study camp?” he asks, clearly surprised.

  “I know. Anyway, it’s basically a tame way of getting to know someone. Instead of daring someone to do something stupid, like crush a beer can on his forehead, you give them a challenge.”

  I give him examples of when Heather and I last played. I challenged her to stare at herself in the mirror for five minutes every morning for a week (a week being the maximum duration for a challenge), and tell herself she’s beautiful. She challenged me to bond with my mother over an eighties movies marathon.

  “Oh, and no direct orders, like you can’t challenge someone to stop drinking, or smoking, or whatever,” I say. I push my long hair back and peek up at Dean to see if he looks annoyed yet. “You know what? We don’t have to play—so cliché, right? It’s really more fun when there’s a bunch of people,” I add lamely.

  “Somers.” Dean nods his chin at me. “Truth or challenge?”

  ******

  Chapter 33

  I beam at him. “Truth.”

  “Have you ever done anything illegal?”

  “Um…sort of. I swallowed a Minnie Mouse earring at a store when I was seven, and I didn’t pay for it. Truth or challenge, Youngblood?”

  “Truth.” Why is he smirking?

  “What’s the significance of the lighter?” I ask promptly, nodding to his ever-present Zippo. “You don’t even smoke, right?”

  Dean looks down at his hand as if he’s surprised to find something in it. Then he glances up at me with a self-deprecating half-grin. “No significance. You never know when you’ll need a light.”

  “Hm. Cryptic. Truth or challenge.”

  “It’s my turn,” he protests.

  “Yes, but the rules state that if a question isn’t answered to your satisfaction, then you get another turn,” I lie. “I’ll just ask you another question. So, football. Is that really what you want to do with your life?”

  Dean looks down thoughtfully. “I like it well enough,” he says finally.

  “Well enough? That’s a very lukewarm answer for one of the top recruits in the country
.” I frown at him. “We both know there’s a good chance you’ll be drafted into the NFL. So since it’s likely going to be your career, shouldn’t you like it more than ‘well enough?’”

  Dean studies me, his turquoise and gray/green eyes vivid in the light. “You’re a direct little thing, aren’t you?”

  I make a face at him, like “well?”

  He laughs softly. “I like it enough that should it become my career, I’d be okay with it. Football keeps me in shape, and I get to hurt people occasionally. But, no, it’s not really what I want to do with my life.”

  “You like hurting people?”

  “Sometimes,” he admits.

  “Hm.” I don’t know what to do with that. I hug my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. “So what do you want to do? What do you like to do?”

  “Drive,” Dean says with a slow smile. “I like to drive. Fast.”

  “Like racing?”

  “That’s a lot of questions,” he hedges. I think it’s my turn. So, what do you want to do with your life?”

  I squirm uncomfortably at the sudden turnaround. “I don’t know,” I blurt out. “I’m not really good at anything. I’m kinda freaking out because I have absolutely no idea what I want to do, or who I want to be. I mean, I don’t even know where I want to go to college!”

  I make my confession all in a rush. Worries about the future are always at the back of my mind, and just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt. I didn’t mean to unload all that on Dean, though. He looks slightly taken aback by my vehemence.

  “What about what you’re doing now?” he asks cautiously.

  “What, you mean at the rec?” I laugh. “That’s just a part-time job. I’m not going to work there forever. At least I hope not!”

  “I mean the work you do with the the Jubilee kids,” he says patiently. “When you talk about them, everything about you lights up.”