And then he kisses me.
Right there.
In Aunt Bette’s kitchen, next to an open box of takeout pizza, paper plates, and salt and pepper shakers shaped like cacti.
The rain pelting the window outside intensifies. Back home, when it would rain this hard, most people would stay off the road. It’s not safe to drive if you can’t see where you’re going.
Looks like he’s going to be here a while.
And I think I’m okay with that.
For now.
Chapter 20
Talon
I secure a towel around my waist Saturday morning as I step out of the locker room showers in a cloud of steam.
“Dude, you’ve been MIA this week,” Vin Chalmers says, snapping a towel at me—and missing—when I get to my locker. “What’s up with that?”
“Bullshit. I’ve been here every day.” Not that it’s any of his business. “Just not at five AM anymore.”
“You’re screwing that weird Irie chick, right?”
My jaw flexes. Weird? “You want to try saying that again?”
Just because someone goes left when everyone else goes right doesn’t make them weird.
“That Irie girl. You’re screwing her,” he changes his tune. “Right?”
“Fuck off, Vin,” I say, not in the mood. Now that I’ve got Irie right where I want her, I’m not going to let anything jeopardize that, especially not nosy assholes who have no qualms about sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong.
“Jesus.” He flings his towel over his shoulder. A few guys on a bench a few feet down stop what they’re doing and tune into our conversation. “The fuck is your problem?”
He walks away. Maybe I was a little harsh, but Irie is a sensitive subject for me. She’s so much more than some girl I’ve been chasing the last few years, the embodiment of my failures, my weakness, and my hopes for the future.
As cliché as it sounds, Irie Davenport is my real-life dream girl.
I’ll protect that any way I can, especially if it means having to make a lesson out of Vin Chalmers. He’s always sticking his nose in everyone’s business anyway. No one wants to fuck his loud-mouthed ass so he lives vicariously through everyone else.
I get dressed and check my phone on the way out, listening to a voice message from Ira.
“Talon, it’s Ira,” he says. “Why the hell haven’t you signed yet? What are you waiting on, kid? The deal’s not going to get any sweeter than this, so hope you’re not holding out. Call me. Let me know what’s going on, if there’s anything I can do.”
I delete the message.
I’ll call him later.
I haven’t signed because I haven’t signed.
That’s all he needs to know for now.
A few minutes later, I climb into my car and drive back to my apartment, windows down and music so loud it makes me forget about everything but her …
… and what I’m going to ask her tonight.
I want her to be mine. Exclusively. Indefinitely.
I don’t want to have to beg Irie for another date and another, Saturday after Saturday. I want to be her standing weekend plans. I want to be in her life, in her schedule, in her mind … in her body.
No more playing around.
Tonight, I’m making her mine.
Chapter 21
Irie
“I signed the contract,” I tell Aunt Bette Saturday afternoon as I wash dishes. “It’s official. Two weeks after graduation, I’ll be the head of the Kira Kepner Interiors in Malibu.”
Aunt Bette throws her arms around me. “I’m so proud of you. I really am. You’ve worked your ass off for this.”
Knowing I’ll be leaving her, leaving the only real home I’ve ever known, is a jagged little pill that doesn’t want to go down all that easily.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay without me?” I ask her. I offered to bring her with me to Malibu, but she insisted she stay here. All of her friends are here, her life is here. She told me if she outlives them all, she’ll join me, but until then she wants to stay put.
“I’ll be fine. I think Gladys is going to move into your old room and we’re going to share her assistant,” Aunt Bette says with a twinkle in her eye. I’ve seen Gladys’ assistant. He’d make my eyes twinkle too if he were going to be waiting on me hand and foot. “Just promise you’ll come back and visit.”
“Of course,” I tell her.
“This was more than an arrangement to me,” she says. “You filled a void I never knew I had. Never wanted kids of my own, but if I’d have had a daughter, I’d have wanted her to be just like you.”
She releases her hold on me and I turn away, blinking the sentimental tears away before she sees them.
I’ve never been good at showing emotion in front of other people.
“You’re going to go out and celebrate tonight, aren’t you?” she asks, taking a seat at the table.
“I have a date tonight, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right! With that hunky football player. What’s his name again?”
I turn to face her, chuckling. “You literally invited him to fly home with us to Lauren’s wedding and you don’t know his name?”
“It’s something with a T … Trent or Taron …”
“Talon.”
“Ah, yes. Like an eagle’s claw,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Who the hell names their kid Talon, anyway? What’s the matter with John or Ricky or Tommy?”
“Same could be said about Irie …” I remind her, though she’s well aware of the fact that my mother was going through some Rastafarian phase when she was pregnant with me. The word “irie” means “good, excellent, all right,” which is exactly how she felt when she held me in her arms the first time.
She was also probably high on drugs in that moment too.
“Talon’s father is a famous architect. Did I tell you that?” I ask.
“No, you didn’t.”
“We actually studied him in school,” I say.
“Seems like you’re really hitting it off with this guy. Have to say, Irie, I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“You and me both,” I say. “Though you may have scared him off with the pizza and candles. Don’t think I don’t know what you were trying to pull …”
Bette chuckles. “There’s no scaring off a guy who looks at you like you hung the moon—or the stadium lights.”
“I can’t believe you invited him to Lauren’s wedding, by the way. Totally didn’t see that one coming.”
She waves a limp hand. “I’m sorry, but one of us needs to keep things interesting around here. You and I both know the wedding’s going to be a complete snooze fest.”
“You don’t think you should have asked first? They’re going to freak if I just show up with some random guy.”
“Let them freak.” Bette rolls her eyes. “They freak all the time at church, do they not?”
I stifle a laugh. No disrespect to God or anything, but it’s impossible to keep a straight face at their church when the pastor busts out the snakes and tambourines.
“And Lauren,” Bette says, “one look at Talon and she’s going to be green with envy. I’ve only met Jack a couple of times, but I’ve never met anyone so dreadfully dull. They make a perfect couple though. I’ll give them that. They’ve certainly found their match.”
I think back to my cousin, who’s always taken her competitiveness with me to impressive levels. If I mentioned getting an A on an English test, she’d immediately mention the A+ she got in AP English the year before. If I said I went to bed early the previous night, she’d brag about how she always went to bed early and all the reasons why it made her so perfect at everything she ever did.
After a while, it became a game to me. I’d make shit up just to mess with her, and then I’d call her out on her lies in front of everyone.
She grew to hate me.
Which was probably why I’d never seen her so thrilled the day the entirety of our Iron Cross high sc
hool turned against me our senior year. It was like she’d won the lottery and a lifetime membership to Disneyland. She was straight up giddy for months after, even sneaking her way into my old circle of friends, filling the void I left with her perfect blonde bob and prissy little strut.
I shudder thinking back to that time in my life, how it seemed it would never end. It just kept going on and on, a teenage personal hell.
My stomach twists when I think about setting foot in Iron Cross again. I haven’t so much as visited since they put me on a plane and shipped me out here the summer after my senior year. If it weren’t for the fact that Aunt Bette really wants to go for some insane reason and can’t travel alone, I’d have RSVP’d to Lauren’s wedding with a drawing of a middle finger.
I dry the final dish and place it on the rack next to the sink before sliding my phone from my back pocket, checking my email out of habit.
My heart skips two beats
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Tonight
MESSAGE: Seeing as how we’re technically dating now … I think it’s only fair you finally give me your number. See you @ 7. ~Tal
I wouldn’t say we’re technically dating, but I will say that exchanging numbers might not be the worst thing in the world at this point—if only for convenience purposes.
I fire back a quick message that contains nothing more than my phone number, and then I head to my room to start getting ready for tonight.
I have no idea how he can possibly top last weekend, but I kind of can’t wait to find out …
Talon isn’t at all what I expected. He’s endearing and polite, attentive and generous. Part of me is pleasantly surprised. The other part of me is wishing I was right about him from the start because it’d make resisting him a walk in the park.
It would make the butterflies in my middle fly away.
I think I’m falling …
Maybe …
Sort of …
Just a little …
Chapter 22
Talon
I refresh my email for the twelfth time before I finally see it.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Re: Tonight
MESSAGE: 555 – 0797
Wasting no time, I program her number into my phone and hit the shower. An hour later, I’m cruising across town, windows down on this uncharacteristically balmy winter day. I found a new lounge on the west side of town in this trendier neighborhood that I think she’s going to like—not that she’s into trendy shit, but it’s definitely the kind of respectable place where you can kick off a hot date with a couple of drinks.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into Bette’s driveway.
I check my reflection in the rearview, finger comb my hair into place, and make my way to the front door.
I barely knock twice when it swings open and Bette stands there in her curlers and robe, wearing a wide grin that sets off her sparkling gray eyes.
“Hey there, handsome,” she teases, before calling over her shoulder, “Irie! He’s here!”
I smirk. She’s fucking adorable, she really is. I wish I had an Aunt Bette in my life.
“Okay, I’m ready.” Irie appears from behind Bette a moment later, squeezing past in her little black shorts, fuck-me heels, and strapless top. I try not to be obvious when I drink her in from head to toe—or when my gaze settles on her juicy red pout.
Red lip gloss—does she really thinks that’s going to stop me from kissing her tonight?
“You want to stare a little longer or can we get going?” she asks, giving my shoulder a soft punch with her fist.
“I’m sorry. It’s just …” I meet her gaze with a silent apology. “I’m the luckiest bastard in the world to get to take you out, that’s all.”
“Staaahp. You talked me into a second date. At this point I think you can dial down the flattery,” she says as she walks down the steps and makes her way to the car, her heels clicking against the pavement with each long-legged stride.
“Not flattering you. Just being honest,” I say, maneuvering around her and getting the passenger door.
Making my way to the driver’s side, I catch her checking her reflection in the side mirror for two seconds—proof that she wants to look good for me … which is also proof that she cares what I think of her … which is also proof that she’s beginning to like me.
Even if she won’t admit it yet.
* * *
We’re on our second round of drinks at the Hyacinth when my filter loosens and my impatience wears off.
“I think we should date exclusively,” I tell her.
She places her drink down so hard a bit of pink liquid sloshes over the rim and falls on her marble coaster.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Warn a girl before you drop a bombshell like that,” she says. “Shouldn’t we wait and see how the rest of the night goes? We’re only thirty minutes into our second date. A little early to start talking all crazy.” Her words are slow and relaxed and her eyes are smiling. She’s making light of this, brushing it off like I’m half-kidding, half-flirting.
“Irie, I’m being serious,” I say.
She twists the stem of her cocktail glass between her thumb and forefinger, the nails of which are painted the color of snow. “What’s the point of labels anyway, you know?”
“I used to say the exact same thing. But now I’m thinking there’s something sexy about it. So much implied in that one little word. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Whatever. If I told someone you were my girlfriend, it’d take all of two seconds for them to know exactly how I feel about you.”
“I signed a contract today,” she says, taking a sip. “I’ll be starting a job in Malibu two weeks after graduation.”
“That’s great,” I say.
She laughs through her pointed nose. “You don’t mean that.”
“You’re right.” I exhale. “I mean, I’m sorry. I’m happy for you. I am. Hell. Landing a job straight out of school is big. Congrats.”
I lift my glass and clink it against the rim of hers.
“You’re going to Richmond in a few months, I’m going to Malibu,” she says. “I’m flattered that you want to date me exclusively, but there’s really no point. We’re young. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us. And we both know long-distance relationships don’t work. Life’s already complicated enough, don’t you think?”
“Can’t you technically work anywhere?”
“With Kira Kepner? No. She’s only based in California.”
“No, I mean as a designer.”
“Well, yeah, but Kira offered me my dream job and a six-figure salary. I’d be insane to walk away from that …”
She doesn’t finish her thought, but she doesn’t have to. I already know what she was implying, and she isn’t wrong. She’d be insane to walk away from her dream job to follow some guy she barely knows across the country so he can live his best life.
“I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”
“I’m sorry.” I exhale. “I didn’t realize it was your dream job. You never talk about it that much … I had no idea how much it meant to you.”
Her expression softens and she’s quiet for a beat. “Well, now you know.”
“There has to be a way,” I say, getting back on track. There always is.
Irie lifts a bare shoulder to her ear. “I don’t do long-distance relationships. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Then give me the rest of the semester with you. I’d rather have that than nothing at all.”
“What part of let’s just have fun and not make this complicated did you not catch earlier?” she asks.
“We can have fun without making things complicated,” I say. Our hands rest on the table and my fingers forage for hers until they become intertwined. “I don’t care what comes next. I only care about right here, right now.
You and me. I want to cram four years’ worth of what might have been into this last semester. It’s going to be challenging as hell, but there’s nothing I love more than a good challenge.”
Her full lips part, still slicked with their candy-apple shine. “You don’t think you’re rushing this a bit?”
“Oh, I know I am,” I say. What choice do I have when it’s the last quarter and the clock is ticking? “Be mine for the rest of the semester, Irie. And I’ll be yours.”
Her gaze drifts to the half-empty cocktail before her as she loses herself in thought for a moment, and I take the opportunity to pluck a napkin off the table and swipe it across her full lips until all traces of red are gone and it’s nothing but her full lips in all of their bare glory.
Leaning in, I taste her mouth, sweet like the hibiscus flower in her drink, electric like the peppermint gum she popped in her mouth when she thought I wasn’t looking earlier.
“What do you say?” I ask, voice low against her ear.
Her body rises and falls with the deepest of breaths. “Yes.”
Chapter 23
Irie
Talon’s childhood home makes the Vanderbilt Estate look like a backwoods vacation cabin. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but good Lord. The ornate pillars and manicured boxwoods and alabaster fountain in the driveway make simply pulling up an experience to remember. And the windows. This thing has windows for days.
He parks the BMW along the circle drive before leaning across the center console, cupping my cheek in his hand and depositing a kiss on my mouth. It’s been exactly one week since he asked me to be his exclusive.
I still can’t believe I said yes.
“Fair warning,” he says. “They’re assholes, but they’re going to love you.”
I was taken aback when he asked me to join him this weekend in Laguna Cove for his mom’s birthday. He said she was having a small family gathering at his house and he thought it’d be a good opportunity for me to meet everyone. If you ask me, this isn’t my definition of just having fun—this is taking things to the next level. But I managed to talk myself into it by realizing I had nothing to lose by coming … not to mention I thought it’d be neat to meet the woman who was once married to an architectural legend.
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