Hot, edgy, I don’t like this sensation, like my skin’s about to jump away—or toward something. I should leave. I’m not feeling well. But I can’t bail this early, we haven’t eaten.
Mira springs from her seat and catches Lewis around the waist before he reaches the table. She hugs him and he returns it with one arm while gazing at me in the kitchen.
What is he doing? That’s his girlfriend in his arms. Why is he looking at me?
“Zach, I don’t know what to do with this chicken.” Nessa shifts a pot on the stove.
“To be continued later.” Zach smiles and sweeps the quarters into his hand. He walks into the kitchen and takes over for Nessa.
Zach’s grin is friendly. Not hot, or lecherous, just uncomplicated. Kind. Not that Lewis’s gaze was lecherous. It was … curious. I don’t like curious. Curious leads to interest, which leads to things I’m staying away from. Since the A-hole betrayed me, I’ve stopped noticing men. It’s disturbing that my radar pings around this guy. He has a girlfriend, and unfortunately, that seems to be the only kind of men I attract.
Being in a relationship back home—which he failed to mention—never stopped my ex from pursuing me, or Cali’s boyfriend from making a pass, or any of the men my mom brought home from flirting and letting their hands wander when they hugged me.
“Clear the table, peeps,” Nessa calls. “Dinner is on.” She delivers homemade tortillas to the dining table, along with a bowl of spiced, shredded chicken.
Zach reaches for a beer from the fridge and Lewis walks up behind him. He slaps Zach on the back and looks at me expectantly.
Zach glances between Lewis and me, then reaches for a bottle opener. “Gen is Nessa’s friend from work,” I hear him say while popping the top off his Corona.
Lewis studies my face as if he’s searching for something. He seems distracted—and interested.
What is his problem? His girlfriend is in the room.
So I stared at the guy’s arms. They were out there! And kind of hot. Sue me. I don’t recall checking out a guy’s body like that before—apparently, lusty thoughts can come on later in life. Women check out men all the time. Considering Lewis’s looks, he should be used to it.
“Sit next to me, Gen.” Nessa sets a bowl of Spanish rice on the table and pulls out a chair at her side.
I follow her lead and carry over the salad. My eyes want to stray to Lewis—is he still watching?—but I force my gaze down and sit beside Nessa.
“Food looks great,” Lewis says.
His voice, like a silky blade, cuts through my better sense, snaring my attention. He’s shoveling half a taco in his mouth in praise of the food, or because he eats like a horse. I follow the flex of his square jaw, the thick muscles along his throat, which suddenly still.
I look up. He’s watching me stare at him—and he looks intense. More than curious.
What am I doing? I’m making it worse.
Mira glances at Lewis, then glares at me. I take a small bite of rice, willing saliva into my dry mouth. I’ve never wanted to escape a situation more than I want to escape this dinner party. My heart’s jumpy and my face won’t drop below a thousand degrees. My fingers, which have never failed me in skill or coordination, can’t keep the stupid rice on the fork.
“So you’re here for the summer?” Zach says, his muscular leg brushing my calf as he aggressively loads food onto his plate. His narrow grandma table—which matches his thrift-store velvet couch and eighties parquet coffee table—makes dinner unintentionally intimate.
I take a sip of water and clear my throat. “I’m returning to Dawson in the fall for a graduate program in psychology.”
Mira’s upper lip curls at Zach, as if she’s annoyed that he dares draw attention to me. Considering I’d like to hide, I agree. She leans against Lewis as he digs into his second taco, her own food untouched.
I take a huge bite of my taco just to be contrary. Eating like a rabbit to stay ridiculously skinny is lame—and I eat more than the average girl anyway, so she’s just making me look bad.
“How’s your mom these days?” Mira asks Zach.
Zach’s hand pauses above the salad, his chest deflating. “Fine.” His tone is flat, devoid of emotion.
I inch forward in my seat. Mira hit some kind of nerve. Zach seems like such a nice guy. What is she doing?
Mira nibbles a piece of lettuce, her caramel eyes cold. “What’s she up to?”
Zach’s gaze turns cagey. “Not much. She’s still in rehab and you know it.” He glances at the untouched food on his plate and nudges a taco with his knuckle.
Why would Mira bring that up? Is she trying to hurt him—because he asked about me?
Nessa squeezes her fork and studies Zach, concern in her eyes.
Lewis peers at Mira with a frown. To Zach he says, “Broken in the new paddleboard?”
“A little.” Zach’s face relaxes.
“Work’s slow. Mind if I join you sometime?”
“Sure, anytime.”
Topic changed, tension diffused.
To keep things light throughout the rest of the meal, I take the opportunity to pepper Nessa and Zach with questions about hiking and jogging trails. Mira doesn’t piss off anyone else at the table, mostly because she’s too busy nipping at Lewis in a heated conversation the rest of us pretend to ignore. I’m catching most of it and imagine the others do too. Things like what are you doing and private and that girl—rise above our Tahoe trails discussion.
After the meal, I help Nessa clean up. “I should get going,” I tell her when we finish.
“Really? So soon?”
“I’m still adjusting to late work hours.”
“Yeah, that takes time. What are you doing tomorrow? We’re barbecuing at Zephyr Cove. You and your roommate should totally come.”
“That sounds like fun.” I get the details from her and thank Zach before making my way to the bedroom down the hall for my purse and coat. Mira and Lewis are speaking in hushed whispers in the corner. I feel like I’m sneaking off, but I really don’t want to get in the middle of that.
I collect my things and round the bedroom door, head bent, digging for my keys in the pit that is my purse—and bounce off a wall.
I’m going down and not in a pretty way. My body falls to the side, head at an odd angle, arms tangled in my purse. I’m going to break my neck.
Strong hands haul me up. I scramble to get my legs vertical, gasping to catch my breath.
Heat and the scents of soap and fresh-cut wood hit me. Lightly tanned skin over a thick, muscular neck with a pulse pounding at the base is the first thing in my line of vision, Lewis’s intense, enigmatic gaze the next. My heartbeat shifts from a startled gallop to the throbbing, fluttery mess it was when he first walked into the house.
I try to step away, realizing belatedly he’s still holding me up in a semi-embrace. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.” I shake my head. This is awkward and klutzy, when I’m not normally. The places where his strong arm cradles me burn, heat spiraling down my spine, wrapping around my hips and thighs and sending shivers to all the wrong places.
His breaths grow shallow. What was perplexing in his expression a second ago becomes clear. When he looks at me, it’s not with curiosity—though that could be a part of it—but something else entirely. Something I can’t say I’ve seen to this degree but I recognize—or my body does, because my chest tightens, my heart continues its fluttering dance, and I pretty much want to inhale his scent like oxygen.
His head drops a fraction toward me.
What the …? Is he going to …?
“It was nice to meet you,” I say in a panicked rush and step out of his arms. But for some stupid reason, I can’t get my feet to walk away.
The hand that embraced me slides into his front pocket. Other than that, he doesn’t move. His gaze dips to my mouth.
My breath hitches and I lick my lips, which suddenly seems like an invitation.
What am I doing?
Instead of reacting appropriately and looking away, my eyes dart to his mouth as if on autopilot, not listening to my thorough instructions for all body parts to get the hell out of here.
A diagonal scar mars the corner of his lower, nicely-shaped lip, a score in an otherwise perfect landscape. For some reason, I can’t look away from that scar, feathering at one end into a slight hook. How did he get it? Did it hurt? Would I feel the scar if I pressed my mouth to his?
His lips part beneath my stare and he shifts his feet, bringing him an inch closer, closing the space I created.
My heart pumps so fast that dots form in my vision. He has a girlfriend …
I stumble around Lewis, my shoulder slamming the wall, years of athleticism disappearing with the speed of my heartbeat. I glance back once before opening the front door.
Lewis shuts his eyes and turns away.
My hands shake as I make it to the car. Inside, I grip the steering wheel.
What was that? That’s not attraction, that’s just crazy. Crazy attraction.
Chapter Two
“Genevieve, your stepfather and I are planning our visit. You’d think you could spare me a call.”
You’d think my mom would have learned by now that I’m asleep at nine in the morning. Even if I didn’t work late shifts, I’m not exactly alert at this hour under normal conditions.
“Mom,” I croak into the receiver. “Can we talk later? And I don’t have a stepfather.”
My mother calls her latest boyfriend my stepfather, though they’re not married. It’s weird.
“He will be, darling. Fred’s got a contract in East Asia he’s wrapping up, then we’re making it official. He’s the one, honey.”
I roll my eyes, but even I have to admit Fred is different from my mom’s past conquests. She’s been with him for two years. For Chantell, that’s the equivalent of a silver anniversary.
“Where exactly are you staying in Tahoe?”
“Fred booked us a suite at the Timber Lodge. We’ll golf and shop, and of course visit the casino to see you in your outfit.” She squeals, and I hold the phone from my ear.
Of course she wants to see my uniform. I’ve tried to get my mom to tone down the cleavage and miniskirts, while she’s been trying to get me to show off my curves—since I was twelve.
“I can’t wait,” I say, deadpan.
Thinking back, I wonder, was twelve the age my mom’s corruption of me came in earnest? Nope, that’s just when she no longer saw me as a little girl. In her mind, I had breasts and a period, therefore, I was a woman and should desire male attention. Only, I hate the kind of attention my mom attracts. That shit I avoid.
“The Timber Lodge is a nice place, Mom.” I stifle a yawn. “Call me when you’re in town.”
“Genevieve, you sound like a frog. Get some coffee, darling. You don’t have a man next to you, do you?”
“Mom!”
“No? Too bad. It’s been months since the last one. I figured you’d be ready to move on. That boy didn’t deserve you. He was—what’s that expression when someone is uptight?”
“Anal?”
“That’s it. He had no sex appeal. He walked like he had a rod up his—”
“Mother!”
“Was he gay?”
“What? No. He—he had a girlfriend. At home.” My voice trails off. I sort of wanted to keep that tidbit to close friends only. My mom is not someone I confide in.
The other side of the line is silent for a couple of beats before I hear her sigh. “I can only guide the cow to water, I can’t make it drink.”
What the eff? “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve tried. Lord knows, I’ve tried to get you to reveal your inner beauty—”
“Through slutty outfits?”
“But did you listen?”
“Jesus, Mom. Some people would consider your form of parenting child abuse. Look, I picked a smart guy with average looks who didn’t party. I thought he was safe. It turns out he wasn’t. End of story. Everyone makes poor choices now and then.”
I’d waited three months to have sex with my ex, wanting to be absolutely certain he was a good guy before we took it to the next level. I’d learned in high school not to jump into relationships. At sixteen, the first boyfriend I slept with bragged about it to the entire swim team. My next experience wasn’t an improvement. Then came the A-hole. I look at sex as a downward spiral—it’s gotten worse with time.
Maybe I’m being too hard on myself; maybe the way I’ve chosen guys is all wrong. Whatever the problem, I’m over it. I can’t think about men right now.
An image of Lewis’s scarred mouth and dark eyes flashes in my mind.
I squeeze my eyes shut and huff out a breath. “Mom, sex appeal is overrated.”
“Oh, honey, I’m going to pretend those words didn’t come from a child of my flesh.”
“Stop talking about flesh and sex. Was there something else you wanted, or can I go back to sleep?”
“Still a grumpypants in the morning … Go to bed. I’ll call you later.”
I obsessively swivel my head like a psycho every two minutes, looking from the Zephyr Cove beach to the picnic tables near the parking lot to see if Nessa, or, more importantly, Lewis has arrived.
Cali is on her stomach, arms cradled under her head. “Told you we shouldn’t have come,” she says with her eyes closed.
After I returned from the dinner party last night, I explained what had happened with Lewis. Cali’s sage advice was to stay away from him. Her boyfriend had stood her up for their Skype date, so she wasn’t exactly on her game in the advice department.
“I already said yes to Nessa. That stuff with Lewis happened on my way out. It would have been weird to cancel on her last-minute. I didn’t want to come across as a flake.”
Cali yawns. “He might not show.”
I glance back once more. “Maybe.”
Even if he comes, I’m not avoiding Nessa to avoid her friend Lewis. That’s lame.
I force my gaze to the lake in front of me. Some of what happened last night was my fault. I stared at the guy; of course he would look at me. I’m probably overreacting.
Brushing coarse Tahoe grains of sand from my calves, I give myself a mental pep talk. This is no big deal. Nothing happened. He didn’t say he wanted to hook up. I mean, the tall athletic-looking guy could have lost his balance and swayed—toward my lips.
Shit.
He didn’t say anything with words, but something happened between us that had nothing to do with spoken language and everything to do with body language and sexual pheromones. I usually have to convince myself that sex is the right thing after I’ve carefully selected a guy. Only this time, I didn’t select Lewis—just the opposite. My body was all on board while I mentally waved the wrong guy flag.
Cali raises her head and blocks the sun with her hand, her mouth twisting. Damn, I thought she was asleep. “Don’t rule out Jaeger and Mason. They are both totally hot—and available. That’s a key factor right there.”
Mason is a bartender from work who has flirted a little with me. Cali and I have hung out a couple of times with him and his friend Jaeger Lang, who turned out to be an old buddy of Cali’s brother. Cali didn’t recognize Jaeger at first, because he put on like sixty pounds of muscle after high school.
Seriously though, Cali needs to simmer down with the matchmaking. I was depressed during our last month of college, and okay, I didn’t leave my apartment for a solid week, but I’m over the betrayal of the A-hole. Mostly. I don’t need a guy to make me complete.
And why is Cali throwing Jaeger my way? She is the one who flirts with him when we’re all hanging out. Nothing egregious, just like she has a little crush on him. I’m thinking Cali should replace her crappy boyfriend with—
Cali’s gaze snags on my book. “My Troubled Vampire? Jesus, Gen. What is that crap?”
I shake a bit of sand from the pages, which is exactly why I didn’t bring the Kindle. I
’d have a coronary if anything happened to my all-access source of smut. “What? This is one of the best books I’ve read all year. The vampire has OCD. He’s compelled to swab the skin of his prey with an antimicrobial three times before he bites. The guy has issues.”
She sits up, her weight on her elbows. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Cali, there’s some deep stuff in here. The vampire’s habits tip off his prey. The poor guy is malnourished because of his psychological problems.”
She stares in stunned silence, then points— “Literature intervention. Tonight. That shit is garbage.” —and flops onto her stomach.
Not good. The last time Cali gave me a literature intervention she forced Faulkner on me. I fell asleep before I finished the first page, every time I tried to read it, for two weeks straight.
“Look, if I want to read for intellectual stimulation, I’ll pull out a psych text. Don’t you ever want to escape into a fantasy world?”
She looks up and squints. “Why would I want to do that?”
Right. Cali didn’t grow up with financial stability, but she had a dedicated, supportive mother. Not that Chantell was the worst mom in the world—the woman loves me—she’s just … different. Cali knows more than most people do about my mom, but not everything. No one knows the whole story. Not even me.
“Books were my escape growing up and they still are. I like to be swept into a world of happy endings.”
Cali grumbles something unintelligible about quality books, then goes silent. I think she has finally fallen asleep, which is good because I could really use my fantasy world right now. Real life is too stressful.
Nessa arrived thirty minutes ago with the rest of her group, including Lewis. I’ve managed to avoid him. Mira has helped. She hasn’t left Lewis’s side for more than five minutes and grips him like he’s her personal life preserver.
Does he like that sort of thing? Seems clingy to me. I’m not jealous. In fact, Lewis appears to be avoiding me as much as I’m avoiding him, which is great. I haven’t caught him looking at me once. Which means I’ve been looking to see if he’s looking, and I need to stop.
Blue Crush Page 2