“Does he have your number, honey?” Mom asked me.
I swiped Train’s phone. If it weren’t for the dire need of cold air, I wouldn’t be punching in my number on his cell. When I was finished, I shoved his phone into his chest.
A barely there grin emerged. “It was nice meeting you, ma’am. Montana, we’ll talk soon.” Then he waltzed out with a swagger that I wanted to punch holes in.
I huffed. “I’m going to my room.”
“It’s okay to like a boy. Not everyone will break your heart like Nikko,” Mom said, raising her voice as I climbed the stairs.
I could return with a barb about one of her boyfriends, how she’d gotten hurt a time or two, and that she should consider a steady man in her life. But I wasn’t one to give advice. I’d only been hurt by Nikko. Still, a broken heart hurt, and I understood why my mom saved her love affairs or giving her heart away for the pages of her books.
I dodged one of the unpacked boxes as I threw myself onto my unmade bed. The cool breeze from the ceiling fan did nothing to relieve the anger that was burning my insides. Train had the gall to threaten me. I wanted to know how much he knew about my mom.
Then the blood rushed to my feet. Maybe Train did know, which was the reason he’d been sexually forward downstairs. And if he thought I was easy because my mom wrote erotica, then others at school would think the same thing. It wouldn’t be the parents I would be worrying about or my mom’s reputation. It would be my reputation on the line. With an entire school year ahead of me, I wasn’t certain how I would handle the backlash of boys ogling or asking me out just to get laid. Sure, I was all for a date here or there or a one-night stand, but I didn’t want to be dubbed a whore. I was beginning to understand why my mom wanted to protect me and my social life. I should find out what Train knew about my mom. Then Mom and I could prepare for any onslaught of rumors.
I got up, retrieved my phone from the clothes-infested window seat, then texted Elvira for Train’s address. I imagined she was the one who had given Train my info, so she shouldn’t mind returning the favor.
Within a minute, his address was on my phone.
Thank you, I sent back.
Good luck, she replied.
I laughed out loud. Luck wasn’t what I needed. Willpower was key. I had to refrain from throwing myself at him. When you get there, get straight to the point.
I checked myself in the mirror. My skin glowed with a sheen of sweat. My mascara was smudged underneath my blue eyes. And my hair was frizzy, as though I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
Great. I’d officially looked like hell in front of Train. I quickly freshened up, brushed out my hair, twisted it into a bun, splashed on some blush—mainly to absorb the sweat—then went in search of Mom.
She was in her office, which was situated off the kitchen. I poked in my head. “Mom, do you mind if I borrow the car? I forgot to ask Train about our computer project. We’re partners, and we should be working on it.”
A warm breeze seeped in through the sliding glass door that overlooked the well-manicured backyard. Like my bedroom, her office had boxes littering the large space.
She lifted her gaze from her laptop. “Can’t you call him?”
“I gave him my number, but I didn’t get his.”
“Fine. Don’t be too late.” She resumed typing on her computer.
I snagged the keys off the kitchen counter on my way out the door. I punched Train’s address into the GPS on my phone then got on the road. The GPS said it was a two-minute drive. Before long, I was in Train’s driveway. My heart beat in my ears as I cut the engine. I shouldn’t have been so nervous. I talked to guys all the time.
I climbed out of my mom’s air-conditioned Lexus. Dusk was setting in, but the sunless sky didn’t change the temperature one degree.
I rolled back my shoulders and headed for the two-story brick home, complete with columns and a stone porch. I pushed the doorbell and let my gaze wander to the porch swing. Ooh, one of those would be nice on our porch. Note to self: ask Mom to get a porch swing or rockers.
The door opened, and a blast of cold air hit me along with a slew of welcomed shivers. I almost threw myself at the brown-haired lady in the wheelchair.
She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “May I help you?” Her voice was dainty and very Southern.
“I’m here to see Train. I’m Montana.”
“Sure. Come on in.” She rolled back her wheelchair.
I entered the large, elegant foyer decorated with flowered wallpaper, an oblong glass table that had a vase of eucalyptus on top, and a fabric wicker bench adjacent to the door.
“Hi, I’m Train’s mom, Lucy. I’ve met all Train’s friends. Are you new in town?” Her red-painted nails stood out over the white capris she was wearing.
“My mom and I moved down from New York over a week ago. We’re renting a house on the other side of Palmetto Plantation.” I was curious as to why she was in a wheelchair, but it would be rude of me to ask.
She turned her chair and wheeled herself to the massive family room that looked out over the golf course. “Train!” she called out.
Heavy footsteps trudged from above, growing closer before Train appeared in a doorway off the family room. “I told you I would call when my dad got back to me.” His tone was snooty.
“Train, you don’t talk to girls like they’re beneath you.” His mother’s tone went from sugary to salty.
Ah, someone was on my side.
His hard features softened. “Yes, ma’am.
“What’s going on?” Lucy asked, her dark eyes appraising Train.
“Montana’s air conditioning isn’t working. I thought Dad might be able to help.”
“Call him again,” she said, holding onto the salt in her tone.
Train gnawed on his lip as he stomped away like a boy who had gotten scolded.
“Follow me,” Lucy said. “We were about to eat dinner. Would you like to join us?” She wheeled herself down an open hall and through the same doorway Train had come in from.
I crossed the threshold into the gourmet kitchen, which also had a view of the golf course. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner. I can come back.”
My mom had rented a beautiful house, but Train’s was gorgeous and looked expensive. I wasn’t that surprised, considering he drove a Hummer and the plantation homes were upscale.
She pushed a button on the arm of her chair, and it rose to the height of the marble counters. “It’s no trouble.” She pulled out a plate from a cabinet adjacent to the stove. “I love New York. Did you live in Manhattan?”
I inched in further until I was standing behind the island. “Yes, ma’am.”
“When I think of New York City, I think of Wall Street. Is your dad a big-time executive?” she asked.
“My mom is. Dad died in Iraq.”
“What does your mom do that would bring her from the big city to a small Southern town?”
“My mom works from home. Marketing.” Not exactly a lie. Books required sales; therefore, my mom had to market herself, even with a big-time publisher.
Train trudged in. His shoulders were stiff. “She’s not staying, Mom.”
“Young man, I told you to watch your manners,” she said tersely.
He sighed heavily as he locked eyes with his mom. I didn’t see too much resemblance between them except the lips. Hers were as full as Train’s.
Train crossed the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. “I left Dad a message. I need to talk to Montana about our computer project. I’ll be back in a few. Okay?”
Liar. Although we’d both told our moms the same excuse as to why we needed to talk. So I was a liar too.
Lucy’s rosy face brightened as though she was the proudest mom. “Don’t be too long. I’ll keep your dinner warm.”
Train opened the sliding glass door. “We’re going for a walk along the golf path.” He prodded me with his eyes. “After you, Montana.”
Argh! The boy was… I coul
dn’t think of a word except asshat. “It was nice to meet you, Lucy.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” she returned.
Anytime meant never if Train had any say.
Once outside, the scent of freshly cut grass floated on a light breeze. Train stomped down from the deck to a flower-lined stone walkway then to the black tar path along the golf course. An old man was hitting a ball from the sand onto the green.
“I told you I would call you.” Anger laced his words.
I clenched my fists at my sides. “So it’s okay for you to show up at my house unannounced, but I can’t show up at yours without an invitation?”
He ran a hand through his hair, his sea-green eyes seeming to darken. “We didn’t have anything else to talk about.”
“Computer project comes to mind.” Of course, that wasn’t the reason I was there, but with his defiance, now wasn’t a good time to ask him about my mom. He would sense my fear and use it to his advantage. I had to wait until he at least got rid of his grumpiness.
“We’re never going to be more than two students working on a project,” he said.
I had the urge to scream at the top of my lungs. Instead, I pushed him. He stumbled into a cluster of bushes.
“Get off your high horse. I wouldn’t date you if…” I couldn’t think of a word.
That asshat grin started to show. “If what, Montana? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?”
More like a tall sexy quarterback sucked me in with one look that said, “I want you, but I hate you too.”
“Why do you get on my nerves?” I asked.
“Because you want me, and you’re afraid to admit it.”
True. I rolled my eyes. “You do nothing to wake up my jumanji.”
“What the fuck is that?”
I pointed to my crotch. “Some girls call their lady parts hoo-has or whatever. I call mine jumanji.”
He roared with laughter as he brushed off the leaves that had clung to his shirt. “That’s one for the books. I also can’t believe you told me that. You sure aren’t shy.”
I said what was on my mind and didn’t care what people thought. But suddenly I did care what he thought, and for that, my cheeks flushed. Mom had always said never let them see you sweat. Now it was my turn to laugh. Sweating was an everyday thing here in the South.
He turned. “Are you laughing at yourself?”
I shrugged. “I guess I am.”
He laughed harder. When he did, I did. Then the tension between us snapped. We strolled along the golf path, the freshly cut grass lingering in the air as the snakelike hiss of the sprinklers sang their tune.
“Why do you call your puss jumanji?” He tightened his lips, trying not to laugh.
“A friend and I had been talking about names that girls call their lady parts, and I came up with juji. Then she fired back with jumanji. So the name stuck. Why did your parents name you Train?” He had an odd name, and I could think of all sorts of innuendos about it that would make it fun to rib him.
The crack of a golf club hitting a ball echoed.
We weren’t in harm’s way of getting clobbered from a golf ball since we were beneath a cluster of trees, but we both checked behind us. The ball soared through the air and landed in the middle of the fairway.
Train shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “My paternal grandfather’s middle name was Train. His father was a conductor, and his wife thought the name would be unique. When I was born, my dad wanted to keep the name in the family.”
We passed beautifully landscaped backyards and two men putting on one of the holes. No sooner had we cleared a curve in the path than a familiar voice shouted Train’s name.
We both whipped our heads to the yard on our right. Nina jogged up, sporting a bikini and wet hair. The humid air suddenly got as thick as a brick.
A muscle ticked in Train’s jaw. It was clear he was fighting some inner demons. Elvira had said on the beach that Train would never take Nina back, but I wasn’t so sure.
She glared at me then set her confused attention on Train. “Are you dating Montana?”
“It’s none of your business,” he volleyed back.
One side of her nose twitched. She reminded me of a rabid dog about to attack her prey—that prey being me.
“He’s right,” I said. “It’s none of your business.” I couldn’t just stand there and let her think I was scum. Sure, I could’ve told her the truth. But I didn’t think she would believe me, and I didn’t like her.
“Train isn’t over me,” she said with a tone as sure as the grass was green.
I tilted my head. “You cheated on him. On what planet do you think he’ll take you back?” Okay, he could take her back, although that would make him a fool in my book. I believed once a cheater, always a cheater.
Nina’s orange lips split into a smile. “I know he will.”
Train rubbed the nape of his neck. “Montana’s right. I will never take you back.”
She knitted her perfectly shaped eyebrows at him. “Not even to take me to the debutante ball?”
Either the girl wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, or she really believed she could get Train back.
“You’re a piece of work,” Train said to Nina.
A little girl called to Nina.
Train tipped his head at the girl with bright-red hair. “Your sister wants you.”
Nina regarded me. “Train will never stay with you. You’re just a distraction.” Then she twirled on her bare foot and marched back to the pool.
I ground my teeth together as my body stiffened. Then I shrugged off her comment. I wasn’t dating Train. So whatever she’d said shouldn’t bother me.
“Let’s get back. I have to help my mom.” His tone matched his grimace.
Quietness hung over us all the way back to his house. Train kept his head down. Meanwhile, my stomach clenched. Nina could be trouble even if I weren’t dating Train. After all, she was a jealous ex.
When we reached my car, his shoulders finally relaxed. “Why didn’t you tell her we weren’t dating?”
“Would it have mattered what I told Nina?”
He clutched the back of his arm. “No.” His tone was even. “Thank you for having my back.”
“No problem.”
A beat of silence stretched between us until Train’s next-door neighbor started his car and the muffler backfired. I flinched a little.
A strand of hair fell over Train’s forehead. “So why did you come over? Did you think about my offer?”
And we were back to that. “Before we were rudely interrupted, I was about to ask you what you knew about my mom.”
“Are you going to push this football thing?” His tone was husky, his expression deadpan.
The camaraderie we’d had in the few moments where we laughed and shared personal details about ourselves vanished. The anger and frustration I’d harbored on the way to his house was front and center.
“Seriously?”
“I’m waiting,” he said.
Wow, this dude was moody, although I could be too.
“Screw you.” I opened my car door, but he cocooned me with his body.
He planted one hand on the roof of my car, while he tucked a stray hair behind my ear. The butterflies and nerves rushed back stronger than before. The boy had a softer side. The boy had manners, although only when his mom was present. The boy had a way of making my heart race, my belly ache, and my palms sweat. He was probably right about one thing—I would be throwing myself at him, especially if he kept showing subtle hints of niceness.
“I’ll call you when my dad has a refrigeration guy pinned down.” Then he pushed off the car and hurried toward the house as though I were some kind of demon that was there to take his soul.
I stomped my foot. “Train, wait.”
The house door slammed shut, and I jumped. I couldn’t make heads or tails about what was transpiring between us or what had happened in the last hour or so. All I kne
w was my stomach hurt, and not from lack of food. The guy drove me mad. If he thought I would cave on football or jumping his bones, he was in for a rude awakening. I was about to bring out the big guns.
Chapter Nine
TRAIN
Dark clouds skated across the sky, but every now and then, the sun would make an appearance, albeit briefly. Football practice happened rain or shine, especially the day before a game. Two solid days had passed since Montana came to my house. I’d been taken by surprise that a girl I barely knew would have my back like she had when we’d run into Nina. Maybe I could trust Montana. Maybe she wasn’t the type of girl to stomp on my heart. I also liked Montana a little bit more for not asking why my mom was in a wheelchair. That told me she didn’t pry into other people’s business.
In the four short days since I’d met her, she was making it difficult for me not to break my own promise of no girls this year. Not to mention, she’d traded T-shirts and jeans for low-cut semi-see-through blouses, colored bras, and short shorts. Granted, most girls wore short shorts to school. The principal didn’t have a strict dress code unless a girl’s butt was hanging out. Regardless, Montana wasn’t most girls, not with her long, long legs. Not only that, she’d been wearing her hair up, displaying a smooth neck that drew my attention to her cleavage—big, round, and inviting. If her physical appearance hadn’t caused me to walk around with a semi-boner, her stubborn and feisty attitude pulled me to her yet pushed me away.
“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Austin asked as we walked out to the field. “Is Coach sticking to his guns about Montana trying out for football?”
“Didn’t bother to ask Coach.” I also hadn’t broached the subject again with Montana. I was trying like a motherfucker to stay away from all girls, although I was having a hard time since Montana sat next to me in computer class and I thought about her constantly.
“So you didn’t get Montana to drop football?” Austin asked.
“Dude, I want her to drop her pants. Okay, I said it.”
He slapped me on the back. “Feels good to get that off your chest, doesn’t it?”
Not as good as I would feel getting laid, and by no one but Montana. I knew if I had sex with some chick, I would be envisioning Montana, and that wouldn’t be cool. “I overheard something at Montana’s house that I probably shouldn’t have. It’s been bugging me.”
Breaking Rules Page 7