Very Wicked Things

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  She’d refused my apology. She hadn’t taken my jacket.

  “Cuba,” she whispered from inside the room, and I straightened up, heart hammering. It didn’t take much to get me to moving when it came to her. Never had.

  I walked in, getting my words together, picking at my track pants. There was so much between us, her problems, my problems, our past.

  She eased out of the bed, checked to make sure Sarah was still asleep, and tucked the covers around her with light hands.

  Then she came to me.

  I swallowed, suddenly wanting—no needing—for her to see the real me. To know the truth. “I mentioned Cara earlier…” I drifted off. Afraid of what she’d think.

  “Yeah. You wanna talk?”

  I nodded and leaned against the bedroom wall, my body boneless. “My sister loved to ride horses and play soccer, a tomboy, I guess. One day—” my voice broke, but I coughed, yanking it back.

  “My mom left her with me so she could go shopping. We played inside that day because of the rain. We watched a Disney movie, something about princesses or fairies. I—I got distracted by a phone call from one of my buddies. We started talking about sports and girls, and before I knew it, she’d slipped out the door. And then sh—she rode her bike out into the street. A truck ran her down and ended up wrapped around a tree. Cara…she died in my arms. The man driving passed away at the hospital from injuries. I wasn’t paying attention. I—I killed them.” My voice splintered, my entire body aching from remembering everything: the screech of tires I’d heard from the house, the thumping sounds of my feet as I ran down our long drive, the groans that came out of Cara, and then the terrifying screams that had erupted from me until I had nothing left.

  And finally the sirens.

  I beat my fist against the side of my head. Trying to knock it out, make it all go away. God, please.

  She pulled down my hand, her eyes bright. “Oh, Cuba, please don’t hurt yourself,” she said gently. “You were a kid.”

  I shook my head. “I kept thinking she was okay because there wasn’t any blood, you know? Not a drop anywhere, but she was all broken on the inside.” I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling out. “People say everything happens for a reason. Do you think fate or God or whatever is out there, wanted my sister to die? Wanted it to be by my hands?”

  Her eyes softened. “No, life just happens, bad and good. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Did a higher power give Sarah a deadly disease? Or make my mama an addict? I don’t think so. Life is choices. It’s how we go on that makes us who we are.”

  I paused, forgetting about myself for a second. “You never told me about your mom.”

  “I didn’t trust you,” she said sadly.

  My hands clenched. “Yeah, I’m a selfish fuck.”

  “I remember you when you weren’t,” she said.

  “Don’t be fooled by me, Dovey.”

  She ignored me, taking one of my hands and unfurling the clenched fist. She pressed our hands together, palm to palm, her eyes soft with—God, I wanted it to be love.

  I bowed my head and yes, yes, yes, I wanted to sink into her softness; I wanted to drown in her gentle touch; I wanted to fall to my knees and cling to her waist for a thousand years.

  I just needed this, her.

  I leaned into her, inhaling her wildflower smell.

  Regret filled me for the love I’d thrown away when I’d used her.

  “I wish I could take this heartache from you,” she whispered, her eyes bright with emotion.

  And that was enough to make me feel lighter than I had in months, knowing she understood. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out and pulling her to me, gently so she wouldn’t flee. My head rested on hers, and I rubbed my face against her hair, enjoying the closeness, the warmth, the intimacy. I had to. Just this one horrific day, I wanted her tenderness and perhaps her absolution.

  After a while, she pulled away, and I stepped back, feeling awkward and self-conscious. My need for her hadn’t diminished. Could she tell? Yeah, that was dangerous ground.

  Needing some distance, I left her and pulled the curtains back from the window to check the street. The Mercedes was gone. “If that car comes back, call me. And you damn well better call me if those men come back.”

  She scoffed. “Barinsky’s men coming over was a huge misunderstanding. I’ll straighten it out tomorrow.” She smiled brightly, but I wasn’t so sure. It felt like she was trying to downplay it.

  “Why don’t I stay the night?” I offered. “Or better yet, come home with me. I have plenty of room for you and your family, Dovey.” And then neither of us would be alone. Maybe we could sit out by the pool and talk. Maybe, just maybe, I’d tell her more of what was eating me; I’d tell her why this entire year had changed me into someone she didn’t recognize.

  “Cuba, go home,” she said. “I don’t want your help.”

  My body flinched. What had I expected? That we’d be best buds now?

  Whatever.

  And didn’t I need to stay away from her anyway?

  Yeah, there’d be no getting her back someday. Not that I wanted to, because I didn’t.

  I didn’t.

  “I didn’t want something I needed. I wanted Cuba.”

  –Dovey

  AFTER HE LEFT, I went back to the kitchen and found Heather-Lynn. I needed details.

  “Why would you think asking Cuba for money was a good idea?” I asked her, still irritated with her audacity.

  She opened a can of tomato soup and poured it into a pot. “Because these men will do whatever it takes to get their money. Remember what happened to old man Carson, the one who used to own the tobacco place? Those men cut off his fingers when he didn’t agree to sell his store.”

  “That’s just gossip,” I said, downplaying what I knew to be truth. I rummaged around and found the pan to make us grilled cheeses to go with the soup.

  She grunted. “In case you didn’t know, Carson’s new nickname is Nubs. Face it. We’re in over our heads.”

  Yes. But there had to be a way out of this without involving my ex.

  She stirred the soup. “I didn’t say anything in front of Cuba, but the two men that came slapped Sarah around.”

  Horror filled me. I clutched the counter, and my words came out garbled. “Whhaattdoyoumean?”

  “When she told them she didn’t have the money, they hit her.” Her eyes blinked rapidly. “She has a bruise on her left cheek.”

  Bile rose up and my stomach churned. I paced around the kitchen. “I didn’t see it when I went in there. Does she need to go to the doctor?”

  She shook her head, her normally bright face pale. “We put ice on it as soon as they left. Poor thing, she was hysterical.”

  I licked my lips. “Maybe we need to go ahead and schedule a nurse to come in. You can’t watch her every minute I’m not here. You have your bingo nights and your dates. It’s not fair for you.”

  She nodded. “You know I don’t mind watching her, but you’re right. I’ll call her doctor tomorrow and get a list of references.”

  But where would the money come from to pay for that? We had to sell this house first.

  And then Heather-Lynn completely took my mind off of Sarah.

  “That Cuba sure is a fine piece of ass. Mmm-hmm. No wonder you fell for his charm last year. I’d tap that.” She jiggled her hips.

  I chuckled at her silliness, but then stopped, remembering all too well exactly how his smooth moves had reeled me in last year…

  “I had a dream about you. A good one,” a deep voice said, right as I took a giant bite from my peanut butter sandwich. I looked up, ready to shoot down the guy who was yanking my chain in the cafeteria at BA.

  “Yeah? Is that so?” I said, checking out the fine specimen who stood across the table from me. Over six feet tall and breathtakingly handsome, stood Cuba Hudson, a divine creature who looked as if he’d just stepped off the cover of Bad Boy Magazine, rich jocks edition.
>
  We were in the same history block this semester. And don’t think I hadn’t noticed him.

  He was the most gossiped about guy at BA. I’d eavesdropped on plenty of sex convos about him. Apparently he had a giant cock and great stamina. Whatever.

  “What’s the joke? I said, talking around my chews. Time was precious. I only had ten more minutes of lunch before my Geometry class.

  He seemed perplexed and sat. I checked behind him and then over my shoulder, but no one seemed to be encouraging him. Huh. At first, I thought Spider might have put him up to messing with me, but he was in detention this week for fighting.

  Cuba smiled. “No joke. I dreamed about you.”

  “Do tell,” I said, eyeing the black knit shirt he wore, not missing how it clung to his chest. Then, because I’m practical, I wondered how much he spent on it. I bet it was designer; I bet for the price of his shirt, I could eat out for a month.

  He leaned in. “You may not know this, but my mother’s a gypsy. She tells me what my dreams mean.”

  “Really?” I said. “I thought your mother was Brazilian. Aren’t gypsies Romanian?”

  “My father’s side is Romanian.”

  “Ha.” I packed my lunch up. “Everyone knows your dad is Archie Hudson, owner of the Dallas Mavericks, and as American as apple pie.”

  He grinned.

  I got out my math homework and ran a quick finger down the page, checking the answers. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d go away. I didn’t have time for a rich boy who went through a new girl every month. And why would this hot as hell guy be interested in me anyway? With my consignment shop wardrobe and plain features, I wasn’t exactly his type.

  He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go, so I gathered my things and shifted my body to get up from the table.

  “Wait,” he said. “You didn’t ask about the dream. Don’t you want to know?” He blushed, and I watched in amazement as it spread up his neck, across his face, making even the tips of his ears turn a delightful shade of red.

  Could he be for real?

  I settled back on the hard chair. I did have a few minutes, I suppose. “Okay, I’m curious. Tell me about this dream.”

  He smiled big this time, his lips tilting up in a delicious way. A perfect mix of white and Latino, his skin was the color of pale honey, his longish, dark hair streaked with red high-lights from the Texas sun.

  I stared at him, perhaps blatantly, getting sucked in by his unusual eyes. Bordering on bizarre, they were nearly yellow, and right now they stared at me as if I was a tall drink of water and he was dying of thirst. Huh. How many other girls got this particular look from him? I’d wager about one or two a day.

  He cleared his throat. “It started out with you in this blue dress, cut down to here.” He grazed his hands down to his stomach. I eyed his obvious hard abs.

  “Blue isn’t my color. I’m more of a black girl. Sometimes grey.”

  “My dream and it is your color.”

  Well, okay then. I nodded.

  “Anyway, this dress had lace on it and…I don’t know…stuff. And it matched your eyes, a deep blue like a stormy sea.”

  “You’re very poetic,” I commented, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Thank you.” His tone was serious, but his mouth twitched.

  I chuckled. I couldn’t help it.

  “I made you laugh. I like it,” he said in a deeper voice, like he was sharing a secret with me, something just between the two of us.

  “Okay, blue dress, very revealing. Is there more?” I asked, waving my hand. Let’s get this over with. Sarah and I could laugh about this at dinner tonight.

  “You had on these amazing heels. I don’t remember the color. Maybe an animal print. But I do remember they made you tall, your face almost level with mine.” He rubbed his chiseled jaw. “I liked those shoes.”

  “Like these?” I stuck out my leg, showing him my plain Jane flats. Same thing I wore every day.

  His heavy-lidded eyes lingered over my legs a millisecond too long for it to be casual, and my breath quickened. Oh, he was good. Very good.

  “No, but I like those too,” he said, eyes at half-mast.

  Really? Dude was lying. These shoes were functional only.

  “Your legs are long, Dovey. It’s hot.”

  I straightened up in my seat. “I don’t think I like where your dream is headed.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. It was just you standing on these stone steps, maybe in front of a museum or a library waiting for someone. And when I showed up, you ran straight into my arms. Like we were a couple.” He bit his bottom lip, worrying it, his teeth scraping across it in the most mesmerizing way. “And then I kissed you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tongue?”

  “Most definitely,” he murmured.

  “Long? Short?”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Hot and deep. Languorous.”

  “Languorous? One of your SAT words?”

  He grinned. “It means leisurely and unhurried. It fits”

  Oh. That was, um, well…

  I nibbled on my nail, visualizing it: me…him…those full lips.

  “Is that it? No nudity?” Did I sound disappointed?

  He put his elbows on the table like he was settling in. “Nope. Isn’t it enough to be the most romantic kiss known to mankind?” He sighed. “Incredible doesn’t even touch it. The way your mouth fit to mine was perfect.”

  Oh. My toes wanted to curl he was so smooth. What girl doesn’t like to hear that a hot guy had a sexy dream about her? But still.

  I said, “This is good stuff. Maybe you should turn it in to Playboy.”

  “There wasn’t any sex, so I don’t think Playboy would want to hear about it.”

  He crossed his arms, and I stared at his tat, a twisting vine of gorgeous red roses that encircled his entire arm, from the top of his wrist all the way up under his shirt. The vine was thick with green leaves and long, sharp thorns. One lone black rose caught my attention. I’d always wanted a tat, and I had a thousand questions for him on the tip of my tongue. How far did it go? Did it dip over his shoulder and go down his back?

  I opened my mouth to ask, but stopped myself just in time.

  Inquiring about his tat was not the smartest move. He was bad news.

  The bell rang.

  “Okay,” I said, standing. “This was fun but I have class.”

  He rose and grabbed my backpack before I did. “I’ll walk you.”

  I shrugged. If the rock star of BA wanted to slum and walk me to class, I’d take it.

  We walked out of the cafeteria together while it felt like every girl there watched, some openly glaring at me, some looking at me in confusion. Yeah. I understood that one.

  “This is me,” I said, stopping at my Geometry room door.

  He handed me my backpack, letting our hands brush. I froze at the delicious sizzle I felt when we’d connected. Oh.

  “I bought two tickets to see Les Misérables in a few weeks. Primo seats. Wanna go?” he asked.

  “Guys like you aren’t part of my plan,” I said. Amen, sister.

  “If that’s a challenge, then I accept.”

  I arched a brow. “No challenge, just the truth.”

  He hesitated, and I saw a flash of insecurity on his face. “Okay, tell me straight. Are you just completely disinterested in me? You say one thing, but your body is saying something else.”

  “My body?” I may have raised my voice. He was crazy.

  “Yeah, I’m getting this vibe from you. Makes me want to ditch school and drag you out to the barn at the back of campus where we can be alone. Maybe it’s all me, I don’t know, but I think you feel it too.”

  Whoa. He went fast. “You really put yourself all out there, don’t you?”

  “Maybe. If this is my only shot, I’m going for it.” He paused. “Let me in, Dovey.”

  “Why me?”

  And then he blew me away.

&nb
sp; He sang out in a low voice, “Why do birds sing? Why do phones ring? Why does my heart fly? For all I know, you’ll make me cry. Why do fools fall in love? Why were you named after a dove?” He stopped and grinned.

  My mouth opened. “That was the most atrocious thing I’ve ever heard.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “It was pretty cheesy wasn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Award winning crap.”

  “Don’t tell anyone I sing silly songs,” he said teasingly. “Football players are supposed to be tough and mean.”

  Hmmm, visions of him in tight football pants came to mind. “Everyone says you’re pretty good on the field. That no quarterback is safe.”

  “Maybe you can come and watch me play? I could use my own personal cheerleader in the stands.”

  Ah. No. That was not me. I am not that girl.

  “I’m pretty busy.” And then I said something ridiculous. “But I’d love to see you in uniform.”

  His eyes widened. “That can be arranged. Maybe you could wear your little ballet skirt?”

  Visions of him slipping his hand up under my skirt flashed through my head. Maybe I’d unlace his football pants, see what all the fuss was about him. Maybe he’d fall in love with me and—

  I mentally slapped myself. Hold your horses, Dovey Beckham. This boy was wicked.

  One side of his mouth tilted up. “Ah, I shouldn’t have said that. You’re thinking dirty thoughts.”

  “Am not.”

  “Uh-huh.” His lids lowered.

  My breathing escalated and heat settled in my body and I strained to be closer.

  Perhaps I’d jumped to conclusions about him.

  Maybe Cuba was more than just his reputation.

  Yeah, right. I was blinded by lust. Even a nun would crack under the charisma of Cuba Hudson.

  “Get to know me, Dovey. Let’s hang out. I promise I won’t bite unless you want me too.”

  And what a picture that made in my head.

  And that cinched it. I inhaled a cleansing breath. “I appreciate your balls in coming up to me. I even applaud your whole ‘I dreamed about you’ line, because it was smooth. Just the right amount of humor with a touch of sexy. It’s obvious you’re a master at picking up girls, a real charmer. And the kissing part? That was excellent. Very subtle, and just enough to get my mind to thinking about us...you know…kissing.” My words faltered. “But at the end of the day, it won’t work. We aren’t compatible. We come from two different places. You’re rich; I’m not. You like to party; I don’t. You like high heels; I don’t wear them. Good grief, your friends call you Hollywood. Then there’s me. I work my ass off to get everything I have. So yeah, not feasible.”