She grinned. “I’m headed down to Rodeo Drive for some errands. You wanna come with?” She bit her lip at my silence, tucking her purse up under her arm. “It’s just … I moved here a few weeks ago, and to be honest, you’re the first girl who seems like someone I could get along with.” She gave me a crooked grin. “Plus, I’d love for you to meet my friends.”
There were more like her? I stifled a grin.
Her offer of friendship made me waver, but I shook my head and mumbled a stupid excuse. Hanging out with her wouldn’t change the fact that I couldn’t have friends. It was dangerous to care for people. Something would happen to her. She’d die. Or she’d decide I was too much effort. Too strange. I didn’t need anybody. I was better alone.
She gave me a disappointed smile, hopped in her little white Mercedes and drove out of my life.
Or so I thought.
“I was sorrow with skin.”
—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons
A FEW DAYS later, I went for my daily run around seven in the morning.
I looped past his house as usual, noting the gray Hummer and the vintage Mustang in the circle drive. I saw something new: a white Mercedes parked to the side and facing the road, giving me a clear view of the front-end. Surrounded by pink rhinestones, Mila was stamped on the nameplate.
Whoa. I came to a stop at the bottom of their drive. What was she doing here this early in the morning? Of course, the implication was she’d slept over.
That thought made my stomach drop.
Was she seeing my guy?
My guy? I laughed out loud at my idiocy. I’d never even met him.
Part of me—the ballsy side—wanted to knock on his door, see what Blond Guy looked like close up, see if he was hooking up with Mila. Yup, crazy.
My feet had ideas too, and I took a step toward the door … and another … and then stopped.
I couldn’t just show up at his door like we knew each other. Right?
Hey, how are you? I’m the girl next door. You spy on me? I gave you the finger?
Yet, I couldn’t deny that he fascinated me, that the night I’d played for him it had felt as if a gossamer thread connected us, his house to mine, his eyes to my body.
I stood there, wavering. Don’t be a chicken. Just go knock on the door.
Then what? Chew him out for spying? Ask him over for dinner?
Someone inside the house walked past a window, and my bravado disappeared.
I spun around and ran. Stupid, stupid, stupid. No way was I ever knocking on his door.
About a mile down the street, I stopped at Mr. Wilson’s gate, where he stood messing with his rose bushes. He’d lost his wife to cancer about a year ago, and we’d actually met at a local grief meeting. It wasn’t until later we realized we were neighbors. In his sixties, he claimed to be a simple man, but I knew at one point he’d been a Hollywood bigwig, some kind of movie studio head. Ha. At one point, I’d been on the cusp of a great music career. We had a lot in common.
He set down his shears, wiped his face and came out to the road to greet me. It was our thing, and I looked forward to talking to him. He reminded me of my dad.
I leaned over my knees to get my breath while he talked about pruning.
“You meet the new neighbors in my cove that moved in a few weeks ago?” I asked him a bit later. He was the head of the Homeowners’ Association, so if anyone had info, Wilson would. I whistled and walked around his roses, like my asking wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for me.
“Sure did. I stopped by the week they moved in. One’s got blue hair; an English fellow. Cusses a lot. The other one, a tall guy, seems like the responsible one.”
I grinned. I’d come to the right place.
“Who are they? Actors? Models? Directors? Mental institution escapees?”
He gave me a pointed look, a glint in his eyes as if he were trying to suss me out. “Why do you care so much about the new people? In fact, I’ve sent you several invites to our monthly pool party mixer and you’ve never responded. You’re practically a hermit.”
“Just curious. They are my nearest neighbors, and I’d hate to bother them if my music was too loud. I play my violin outdoors, which was fine when no one lived there, but now that someone’s there …” I trailed off and shrugged. Obviously, I was digging a hole.
He cocked an eye at me.
I groaned. “Okay, fine, you got me. The blond guy is interesting. He laughs a lot, plays a guitar, and takes midnight swims if you must know. He’s got nice pecs, too, not that you care to hear it. Anyway, I’ve never seen a girl at his house—but this morning there was a white car parked in his drive with Mila on the front tag. I’m guessing this means he has a girlfriend—not that I’m interested.”
“Uh-huh. You thinking of opening a detective agency?” He might have been laughing at me.
I crossed my arms and fake glared at him. He grinned.
“Forget the car thing. Did you get a name? An occupation? Is he dating some chick who wears pink and looks a lot like Charlotte from Sex in the City?” I bit my lips to stop the madness.
He guffawed, looking pleased. “You have a crush,” he teased.
I felt my face redden. Did I? It had been a long time since I’d been genuinely interested in the opposite sex. Not since Geoff.
“Why don’t you bake them some cookies? See what happens,” he said.
“I can’t cook. All I have are Oreos.”
“Then just show up. Smile. Make some new friends, V. I worry about you being alone all the time.”
He was the only one who knew the truth of who I was. In fact, he’d met and worked with my parents on a charity benefit for the Metropolitan Museum in New York several years ago. Somehow out of all the people in LA, I’d ended up being friends with someone who’d had contact with my parents. Here’s the thing, it had felt like fate, and perhaps that was why I was easy with him. Hanging on to the shreds of my past.
Wilson made a funny noise in his throat almost like a choke. His brow shot up and his eyes darted back and forth between me to something behind me. I stifled a grin, figuring it was Mrs. Milano, his fiftyish, widowed neighbor who wore her bathing suit most of the time. She must be watering her lawn again in her sparkly gold bikini. This was LA.
I sighed. “Anyway, back to the neighbor. He’s probably a total wiener. At the very least he’s a Peeping Tom—” I stopped as Wilson shook his head emphatically, eyes flaring.
I froze, except for the leg tapping. “Shit. Tell me he isn’t standing behind me,” I hissed.
Wilson gave me an apologetic smirk. “Okay, I won’t tell you.”
Dammit.
I turned.
Him.
My breath snagged in my throat. My ovaries exploded.
With impossibly broad shoulders and a jawline that could cut glass, Blond Guy grinned, his otherworldly ice-blue eyes raking over me, lingering on my pink running top. My body sizzled in awareness and my hand shot to my chest, trying to hush my heartbeat.
My telescope hadn’t prepared me for the vision he made, tall with skin so sun-kissed beautiful I needed sunglasses just to peer at him.
And his sexy lips. They were way too sensual looking for a white boy.
He stood there, his stance wide and arms crossed, those big biceps mocking me with their tattoos of skulls, music notes and even a Superman emblem. I sucked in a shaky breath. Whoever this man-candy was, he belonged in the limelight where people could gaze at him adoringly.
He was trouble with a capital T and hott with two t’s.
He was everything I didn’t need.
We stared at each other, everything else fading into the background. Seconds ticked by, maybe an entire minute, but I couldn’t let him go, taking in the way he stood there, so effortlessly, so nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t seen me play half-naked.
Wilson cleared his throat, and we both startled.
Blond Guy stepped past me and handed Wilson a letter, his arm brushing
against mine, and I hissed at the contact, tingles rushing up my spine.
He stopped momentarily at my intake and tossed me a questioning glance before he turned his gaze to Wilson. “Good morning, Mr. Wilson. This accidentally got put in our mailbox yesterday, sir. Thought I’d return it.”
I stood there tapping as he and Wilson chatted. I confess I have no idea what they spoke of. It could have been as mundane as the humidity; it could have been as titillating as military secrets.
He abruptly turned back to me as if to speak, and the toe of his shoe got tangled up on the curb. He lost his balance, and I watched in fascinated horror as his body lunged toward the concrete, but at the last minute, he caught himself on the gate that led up Wilson’s drive. Not as smooth as I’d thought. A weird laughter burst out of me, and I tried to reel it in. Unsuccessfully.
He straightened up, spread his hands apart and grinned manically. “Crazy, right? You called me a wiener, and I’m still falling all over you.”
His easy words slammed into me, and my laughter stopped. My mouth opened.
Not only was he easily the most gorgeous male I’d ever seen, but he was disgustingly charming.
But his hotness was irrelevant.
Because I sensed a guy who crushed hearts like saltine crackers in soup.
I sensed a guy who thought he was so awesome he was fairy dust.
I turned around and ran as hard as I could, away from those eyes, that body, that smile—and that fucking perfection I didn’t need.
AS IF FATE meant for us to be together, my reprieve from him didn’t last long.
The next day, after my run and a hot shower, I skipped the coffee shop to avoid Blair and instead went to the ice cream shop next door that opened at eleven.
That was how I found myself trying to decide between ice cream flavors, mostly the chocolate ones. Major decisions for a junk food addict.
“May I taste the Brownie Chocolate again?” I asked the young girl behind the counter. I smiled sheepishly since I’d sampled at least ten already. She sighed heavily and left to get another spoon for me.
“You know, if it’s that hard to decide, why don’t you just get them all,” a husky voice rumbled from behind me.
“That’s thirty-five flavors. I want to enjoy my ice cream, not make myself sick.” I tossed a grin over my shoulder at the mystery voice, expecting to see some dad with his kids waiting in line.
Instead, my gaze crashed into Blond Guy. I sucked in a sharp breath and all the hairs on my body rose up in unison.
A choir of angels may have sung in the distance. I told them to hush.
I stood straighter in my white shorts and Foo Fighters shirt, immediately wishing I’d put on something prettier. “Did you follow me?”
He scoffed. “No.”
“So this is a coincidence? Out of all the ice cream shops in LA, you walk into mine?”
He cocked an eye. “Your gin joint, huh?”
He’d gotten my Casablanca reference. “I love old movies,” I said.
“Me, too,” he said quietly, studying me intently although I refused to reciprocate. I’d already taken a good look in those few seconds and knew he wore a Dallas Cowboys hat pulled down low, his thick hair curling up around the ends and framing his masculine face. He looked like a dessert I wanted to sink my teeth into, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was on a low calorie diet when it came to relationships.
He leaned in. “Uh, I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for spying on you. It’s just … the first time I heard you play, I wanted more. You’re—”
I shook my head.
“What?” he asked.
“Don’t apologize. I need to practice knowing someone sees me. Hard to explain, but I freak out when I play in public and haven’t played on stage in a while.”
“I’m sorry,” he said as he considered me. “That must be very hard. It’s brave for you to tell me.”
I swallowed at the butterflies that had taken up in my belly. “Yeah, I’m not a beauty queen or a genius or an athlete, but violin was the one thing I excelled at.”
“I might have to disagree on the beauty part, but regardless, I’m glad to be part of your comeback.” He eased up closer and I felt his eyes on me as I tasted the sample the shop girl handed me. I shifted, moving a step back. Distance. I needed it.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a torn expression on his face. “I’m actually here to meet someone, but I’ve got ten minutes before she shows. You wanna hang till then? I’d love to hear more about how you got started on the violin.”
She? He had a date coming?
“Can I help you with a sample?” Counter Girl breathed at him as she came to life and tittered behind the counter like a teenage groupie. Figures. All it takes is a muscular chest to get all the free samples you want.
He ignored her, his ice-blue eyes on me. “Well?”
“Er, I’m actually in a hurry”—total lie—“and …” I petered out as he suddenly grinned. “What?”
“You really have no idea who I am, do you?” he said softly as he leaned in my space and whispered in my ear.
My breath hitched at the swirl of air his voice created on my neck. “No. Should I? Want to fill me in?”
“Nah, I like this. No expectations. No questions.”
I eyed him. “You’ve piqued my interest. Should I bow down?”
This time he laughed loud, the sound echoing through the tiny shop, causing more than a few pairs of female eyes to linger on him. Male, too.
He slipped on some aviators, adjusted his cap lower and shot me a cocky grin. “I’m just a simple, hot guy out for ice cream. Just like everyone else.”
I laughed as he turned to the counter girl, who was currently ogling his well-developed ass. He acted like he didn’t notice, ordered our ice cream, and then handed me a jumbo bowl of Double Mocha Fudge.
I took it from him with glee, taking a big bite with the plastic spoon. “I’m not sure If I should be flattered or scared that you noticed what my favorite flavor is.”
“I watch you do a lot of things,” he said silkily. “I watched you tap dance across your patio one day—not very well, I might add. I’ve also watched you gaze at the stars and write in your little notebook—which I presume is a diary.” He paused. “Is it weird that I like watching you?”
“Very.” But it made me hot all over. “You can’t see into my bedroom can you?”
He stilled, his eyes finding mine. “No.”
A shiver went over me, heat flooding my face at the intensity of his gaze. I had to look away. “I guess if you’re buying me ice cream, I could sit with you.”
“Don’t act like it’s a hardship,” he teased as he escorted me to the back of the shop to find a table. “Millions of girls would mow you over to share ice cream with me, so sit your sweet ass down and talk to me.” He pulled out a seat for me.
I sat, but rolled my eyes. “Modesty is not your forte.”
“No, but honesty is. I promise never to lie to you.”
Oh. His words were said lightly but seemed like a warning.
We settled in and ate our ice cream while he kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes skating over my face, lingering longer than necessary on my lips.
I licked them. “What? You’re making me paranoid. Is there ice cream on my face?”
“No, it’s just—you seem vaguely familiar to me. But then, I’d never forget a girl like you.” He took a bite of ice cream, still scanning my face.
I didn’t want him to piece it together, so I played it off. “You’re dangerously smooth. My mother always said to avoid boys like you.”
He snorted, his lips kicking up in a grin. “Me? Moms love me. I can cook—thanks to my big brother Leo—I like romantic movies like Casablanca, and best of all, I talk to my one-year-old niece on the phone every day. She’s my bro’s daughter and her name’s Gabby, and she’s the most beautiful girl in the world.” He winked. “You’re the second prettiest,
of course.”
I mulled that over, my stomach doing a topsy-turvy thing at the image of him cooing on the phone to his niece.
He cleared his throat. “So, no-name girl, I’ve been wondering who you are and I have some theories.”
I blinked. “Yeah?”
He smiled back. “Are you an ex-porn star?”
“Uh, no.”
“Ax-murderer who killed her last boyfriend?”
“No, he still lives.”
He chuckled. “Then I think we’re good.”
“So … are you a famous surfer?” I asked, eyeing the shark’s tooth necklace resting against his shirt.
He rubbed the necklace. “This little gem was taken from a shark the size of a bus. True, I had to kill him with my bare hands, but it’s quite eye-catching. I call it my lucky necklace.”
“You kill sharks in your spare time?” I could see it with those nice arms he had.
He grinned. “Truth is, I actually wore this necklace in a video I made, and it is lucky. Our video made us huge.”
Music video? My interest was piqued, but I dampened it. “Cool.”
Suddenly, he took it off from around his neck and draped it over mine, his fingers brushing over my collarbone. “Wear it for me when you play again.”
A hush settled over our table at his words, and my heart took up its crazy pounding as I imagined playing for him wearing nothing but the necklace.
Maybe he was a mind reader because his eyes went low and he leaned in over the table. “This is going to sound crazy, but it feels like we have this thing between us—” he stopped, indecision working his face.
“Thing?”
“Never mind. It—it’s stupid.”
I let it go.
“Why do you do that?” he asked later, nodding his head at my tapping fingers as they beat against my thigh.
I stopped as heat washed over my face. God. I hadn’t even been aware of it.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “It’s just you did it yesterday when I saw you at Wilson’s and now, so naturally, I’m curious.”
“Uh, yeah. I have a tapping problem.”
Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy #3) Page 3