“Oh.” She looked away and I felt a little bad for rubbing my relationship with Katrina in her face. I wasn’t even sure why I’d said half of that stuff about us being so good together, except that I meant to discourage Mia if she was still harboring a crush. Only now, when she wouldn’t look at me, I wished I wouldn’t have said anything.
She didn’t ask any more questions and her eyes remained fixed intently on the Tv. It bothered me. I don’t know why, but ten minutes ago we’d been talking, joking and laughing. It was easy and natural. I wanted that back. I wanted her to talk to me again, so stupidly I said the first thing that popped into my head, flipping the questions on her.
“What about you and Mr. Frat Boy?” Of all the things I could have said, that should not have been the one to come out of my mouth, but admittedly it had been bugging me for a while.
Her pretty eyes found mine again, but they were closed off. “The guy from the night you drove me home?”
“That’s the one. He seemed like a real special guy,” I said sarcastically and she looked away again, ducking her head.
“His name is Leland, and we’re . . . he’s . . . he’s just a friend.” There was something about the way her voice trembled just slightly and her eyes remained on the floor that convinced me I shouldn’t have brought him up. In fact, I knew I shouldn’t have, for more reasons than just that it seemed to upset her.
“Look, Mia, it’s none of my business. I shouldn’t –”
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, “about that night. I’m really sorry for how I behaved. I should have apologized sooner and said thank you for the ride, but I was so embarrassed that I acted like that.” She sounded truly contrite.
“It’s alright, Mia. Don’t worry about it. We all have shit nights sometimes.” I’d been mad, frustrated and worried after that incident, for a lot longer than I wanted to admit. I don’t know why I let it affect me so much, but I’d still been upset with her days later. I didn’t have it in me to be angry with her anymore. At least, I couldn’t be mad at this Mia. There was a night and day difference between the girl from that night and the one sitting beside me.
Out of nowhere, Mia chuckled softly. I looked at her. “What?”
“It’s just that you called Leland a frat boy, and you kind of look like one yourself.”
My eyebrows shot up and I glared at her. “I do not look like that douchebag.”
“I didn’t say you look like him, but you have to admit, your styled hair and that pretty boy thing you’ve got going on. It’s kind of frat boyish.”
“Take it back,” I demanded.
“Come on, it’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she teased, biting her lip to hold back her laughter.
“I’m serious, Mia. Take it back.” She just shook her head. “You’re going to regret that,” I warned her.
“What are you going to do? Let me beat you at a bunch more video games.” There was her feisty side coming out to play again.
“Low blow, Mia. You just wait.”
I got my chance for payback a few hours later, after she had passed out on the couch while we were watching a movie. I slipped upstairs to the music room and took apart one of the cymbals on my drum kit, and gave her one hell of a wake up. She jerked awake with a yell and fell off the couch. I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t even defend myself when she stood and started hitting me with one of the throw pillows, telling me what a jerk I was. Then she stomped off toward the guest room, slamming the door behind her. I was still chuckling when I closed myself in my own room.
I should have known she wouldn’t just let it go. It wasn’t in her, just like it wasn’t in me, to take it without dishing it back out. I don’t know what it was that woke me. I didn’t hear her open my door, or feel her pull the blankets away from my feet, but when I woke, she was knelt down at the foot of my bed. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the dark, but there was just enough light spilling in through the door that was now cracked open, that I could make out the small bottle in her hand, and I detected the faint smell of something chemical.
“Tell me that is not nail polish, Mia,” I growled. She stood, twisting the top back onto the bottle, and slowly backed out of my room with a wicked grin on her face. “You better fucking run and hide, Mia.”
She turned and darted back into her room, swiftly closing the door behind her and no doubt locking it. I should have fucking locked my own door. I grabbed my cell phone off of my night stand, turning it on and using the backlight to look down at my feet. Sure enough eight of my damn toe nails were painted and obnoxiously bright shade of pink.
Mother fucker.
That girl was going to pay.
I closed my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips. I wasn’t quite as annoyed as I should be, and I was definitely looking forward to getting her back.
Chapter 10
Mia
Come on Mia, just go out there. What’s the worst he could do?
My internal pep talk wasn’t doing much good as I nervously hid out in my room. I knew Chris was out there somewhere and that he was out for revenge. After barricading myself behind the locked door last night, it had taken me almost an hour to fall asleep. I’d lain there just listening for any noise outside the room to indicate that he might be trying to pick the lock and sneak in. Then this morning, I’d been afraid to get in the shower in the en suite, sure that it would give him the perfect opportunity to mess with me.
Now I was showered, dressed, and sitting on the bed, staring at the door, trying to work up the courage to go out there and face him. There was no way he would let me get away with painting his toe nails. I knew it, but I also knew I couldn’t stay locked in here the whole day, if for no other reason than it would give him more time to plot.
What had I started?
I took a deep breath, steeling myself like I was going into battle, and then got up, marched over to the door and bravely yanked it open before I could chicken out. I braced myself for him to jump out, or something rigged up to fall on my head. In my mind I was imaging multiple scenarios straight out of Home Alone.
I stepped out into the hall and looked around. I didn’t see anything. No sign of booby traps or any place he might be lying in wait. That almost made me more nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. It certainly wasn’t to find him sprawled out on the couch watching Sports Center.
He must have sensed my presence behind him, because without even looking over the back of the couch, he tossed out, “Good morning, Mia,” like it really was a good morning.
“Uh, good morning,” I said suspiciously.
“I made blueberry pancakes earlier. There are still some in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” His eyes hadn’t left the Tv once.
“What’d you poison them with?” I asked seriously.
He just chuckled and then his head turned, his eyes finally meeting mine. “I didn’t put anything in them that the directions didn’t call for. I promise they’re completely safe. I ate six of them.” He nodded his head at the plate on the coffee table, sticky pools of syrup were all that remained of his breakfast.
“Uh huh,” I muttered, not entirely convinced, but walked over to the kitchen anyway. There was a big round plate with four pancakes stacked on it. I picked one up and sniffed it. It looked and smelled like a normal blueberry pancake. They actually smelled pretty damn delicious and I was starving. I grabbed a plate and piled a couple of the fluffy pancakes on it, then looked for the butter and syrup. They were both sitting out on the counter, and, like the pancakes, they both passed the sniff test. Still, when I went to take my first bite, I was cautious, prepared to spit it out at the first indication that something was off about them. However, they tasted just as delicious as they smelled. I pulled out a stool on the backside of the breakfast bar and sat, devouring the syrupy, blueberry deliciousness on my plate.
I went to the fridge for something to drink, pulling out the carton of apple juice, bringing it to my nose for a whiff before pouring myself a gla
ss and downing it. So Chris’ plan wasn’t to poison me. I tried to think of what else he could be up to as I took my plate and glass over to the sink to rinse them before loading them in the dishwasher. I turned on the faucet and immediately let out a surprised screech as the handle fell off and a barrage of cold water sprayed me in the chest and face.
“CHRIS!” I yelled. It took me second to figure out that he’d wrapped a rubber band around the spray head on the pull out hose beside the faucet, after loosening the main handle so that as soon as I turned the water on, I had no way to shut it off.
The water continued to blast my upper body as I worked to get the rubber band off. It was wrapped too tightly and my hands were wet so it remained in place and I moved on to trying to get handle reattached to the faucet so that I could turn the water off. It took a good minute before I accomplished that. As soon as I shut the water off, I turned to yell at Chris and found him in the doorway laughing his ass off. I just glared and then shoved past him to go retrieve a dry shirt, as the one I had on was now soaked.
Stupid ass.
Okay, it was pretty funny, but I wasn’t about to let him see that.
When I came back out, he was on the couch again, engrossed in his stupid program. I plopped down on the couch next to him. “Okay, you got me. We’re even now,” I said.
He looked over at me with a pleased grin. “Oh, I got you alright, Mia, but you painted my fucking toe nails pink. We’re nowhere near even yet, and just so you know. I’ve played this game before. Jaxyn was a devious fucking brat and the master of pranks, growing up. You will not win this.”
“Uhnn,” I groaned and tipped my head to rest against the back of the couch.
“You started it darlin’.”
The rest of the morning was war.
There was pepper mixed in the coffee grounds. Of course he’d only done that after he made his cup.
I emptied the cookie jar of his favorite chocolate chip cookies, crushed them (after eating two) and filled the jar with the crumbs.
He didn’t like that.
He covered the toilet seat in Icy Hot.
And filled the soap dispensers in the bathroom with oil and food coloring.
I moved his laundry from the dryer back to the washer for another rinse cycle. I did it twice.
When I took Ivy outside to go to the bathroom and play fetch, he locked me out of the house.
While I was out there, I covered his pretty Porsche in dirt from the flower bed.
He really didn’t like that. When he looked out the window and realized what I was doing, he came barreling out and grabbed me by the waist, lifting me and throwing me over his shoulder to carry me back inside. He grabbed for the door knob, only to realize that in his rush to save his car, he hadn’t unlocked it, but had let it close behind him. We were both locked out until I remembered that I’d left the window cracked open in my bathroom to let the steam out when I showered.
Chris had to give me a boost to get in, since it was pretty high off the ground. It was also a tiny window that I barely fit in, and he put a little too much launch in his boost, which sent me flying in and almost crashing down on the floor.
“Stupid ass,” I grumbled. “See if I let you in now.”
“Oh, you’d better go unlock that damn door or I’ll call and have your car towed away, Mia.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and waggled it at me.
I reluctantly let him in the house and begged for a truce.
“For now,” was all he said.
For now? What the hell did he mean, for now?
After a little while, he pulled me up out of my seat in the recliner, where I was catching up on more of The Walking Dead, and started dragging me toward the front door.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked him, trying to dig my feet into the carpet.
“You’re going to help me wash my damn car.”
“Oh,” I giggled and stopped fighting. “I guess I could do that.”
Of course the car wash ended in an epic water battle, with him chasing me across the lawn, hose in hand. That was after I’d thrown the bucket of soapy water on him, but that was only in retaliation to him wringing out his wet sponge over my head. We were both dripping and laughing so hard by the time we finally called a truce and he turned off the hose. It was mid October, and even though it was a nice day for October and the sun was out, it wasn’t exactly hot, especially not when I was soaked and there was a light wind.
“Wait here,” Chris said when we were both standing on the porch.
I started to object that I wasn’t about to give him another chance to lock me out and leave me standing here wet and cold all day, but he started stripping out of his clothes, and I lost the ability to speak. His shirt came off first, and my eyes were glued to his glistening chest. Hot damn, what a chest it was. Lean and rippling with strong, but not bulging, muscles. He clearly made use of Ace’s workout room. And his skin still held a nice golden tan, left over from the summer. And the “V” that led right to Heaven. Okay, that probably wasn’t right. It was probably the other place, but how was a girl to resist all that?
It was then that I came to the conclusion that Chris wearing a shirt was a crime against humanity, or at least the female half of humanity. And the gay half. In my head I was forming a plan to fight this injustice. I was ready to march into his room with a pair of scissors and shred every shirt he owned. Letters were going to be written to the governor, or the president, or whoever I had to petition to make it illegal for Chris to wear shirts. And if that didn’t work, I was actually considering the practicality of carrying a bucket, or bottle or really any large container that could hold water, with me every time I was in his presence, so I could throw it on him and be treated to this sight.
My eyes about bugged out of my head when he started unfastening his jeans and sliding them down his legs. “What are you doing?” I choked out almost breathlessly, while in my head I was screaming “Take it off!” like a horny bridesmaid in a strip club, during a bachelorette party.
“I’m going to go get us towels, but I don’t want to drip all over the floor and carpet,” he explained as if it should have been obvious what he was doing, and maybe it should have been, but my mind was struggling to put together any thought other than how supremely and unfairly gorgeous he was. It almost hurt to look at him. Okay it definitely hurt, because I knew looking was all I’d ever get the chance to do, but oh man, did I ever look as those jeans slid down his hips and strong thighs.
Oh hot damn. That ass in those boxer briefs.
I should probably have looked away. I should definitely have looked away, but I couldn’t look away.
Then he disappeared inside, leaving the door cracked enough to reassure me that he wasn’t going to lock me outside. I leaned my back up against the house, sagging against it and knocking my head back into the wood siding.
Pull your shit together Mia.
It was easier said than done. Being around Chris was . . . well it was a lot of things, but mostly it just felt right, too right. He was fun and had a way of loosening me up and distracting me from all of the things that had been weighing on me lately. Being with him made me forget about all the reasons why he could never be mine. He made me forget about everything except him and the damn fluttery feelings he incited. That wasn’t good for me, because there were so many things I needed to remember, like how he was eight years older than me and had a girlfriend. Not to mention that he was famous rockstar who didn’t see me like that in the slightest way. I was just. . . I was . . . I didn’t even know what I was other than an eighteen year old college student with too much shit going on in her life because I didn’t seem to be able to get anything right.
My parents were only part of why I’d chosen to hide out for the weekend. Avoiding Leland was another part of it. Or I guess, avoiding him avoiding me. My texts had remained unanswered all week. I don’t know what I’d exp
ected, but I hadn’t thought . . . well, I guess that was exactly the problem. I hadn’t thought. Now I was too embarrassed and ashamed to face him, and even though I was still pretty sure I didn’t want a relationship with him, it was humiliating that he’d used me and now appeared to be done with me. Apparently, not only was I easy, but I was an idiot too, or just awful in bed. Considering how drunk I was, it was probably all three.
Before my thoughts could spiral downward any further, Chris reappeared in dry clothes with a plush towel in hand that he offered to me.
“Thanks,” I said, taking it from him. I started to wrap it around my body, noticing the softness in Chris’ eyes as he watched me. That softness, that bordered on something else, banished everything else from my mind. My eyes remained locked on his as I used the towel to absorb some of the water from my clothes and hair. I stilled completely as his hand reached forward toward my face. My entire body was frozen in anticipation of feeling his touch on my skin, but it never came. Instead, he just brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, running his fingers through a strand, pulling his hand back to reveal a small twig he must have freed from my hair.
He grinned and my lips split in a matching grin. It must have gotten in there when I slipped in the grass as he chased me with the hose. I’d ended up flat on my back, trying to cover my face and roll away from the spray of the hose that he had directed down on me.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“I was planning on taking Ivy for a hike out at Middlesex Fells, do you want to come?”
“Oh,” I was surprised by the invitation, but I eagerly accepted. “Sure. I have no idea where that is, but I’ll go with you guys.”
“It’s a reservation, not too far from here. It’s a long hike though, and it can be a little rough, so you’ll need good shoes and might not want to wear anything too nice.”
“I should be okay, and if I need to, I can borrow a pair of shoes from Sadie,” I said, trying to mask a little of my excitement. The prospect of spending the afternoon on a hike with Chris was almost too much.
Saving Ever After (Ever After #4) Page 9