Wicked Me (Wicked in the Stacks Book 1)

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  “Okay.” Sam leaped from his stool—maybe fell off was more like it—with his hands out in front of him like he expected me to attack him with the box of aluminum foil or something. His legs wavered beneath him, but he caught himself on the corner of the island. “Put the bacon down and no one’ll get hurt.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

  “I’m very particular about my bacon. The grease splatter’s jus’ part of the experience. I’ll cook it so you don’t get...” His gaze roamed down to my bare legs, then inched back up again, and he trapped his bottom lip with his teeth. “Splattered.” He swayed to my side, his large frame towering over me, and slowly reached for the bacon.

  His fingers sizzled a current up my forearm as he touched it, and I held my breath to keep from gasping. Riley had said Sam was never here, and after what happened between us earlier today, a topic which I noticed we were skating large circles around, I had hoped he wouldn’t be here. But he was, and I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about that.

  With his precious bacon gripped tight, Sam concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other toward the stove.

  I followed to cut up the tomato on a nearby countertop and to make sure he didn’t burn the house down. “So bacon, huh? Is it a special kind of relationship between you two?”

  He grinned, and it lit up his entire face so bright, heat crept up my neck. I quickly turned back to the tomato.

  “Bacon’s its own food group.” He carefully arranged it in a frying pan. “You either like bacon or you’re wrong.”

  “Oh?” I said and attempted to steady the knife in my hand. I sucked at cutting vegetables and fruit. I would make a terrible serial killer despite my know-how about dumping bodies. “And how do your arteries feel about the new food group pyramid?”

  Another genuine smile. “I’m not dead yet.”

  “Good to know,” I said over the roar of my heartbeat.

  What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I getting all giddy about a boy turned man who was drunk out of his mind and three years younger than me? It couldn’t be because of the lean muscles in his arms that stretched and flexed as he prodded the bacon with a spatula. It couldn’t be because a section of his soft-looking blond hair skimmed the light scruff along his jaw. Nope. Couldn’t be.

  “It’s like how you feel about books,” Sam said over the crackle of bacon.

  “Huh?”

  “Bacon.”

  “Right. Bacon and books. Exactly the same,” I said, nodding. God, I really needed to concentrate better, especially with the knife in my hand. “So where did you get your, uh...” I spun a finger around my right eye.

  “Oh, that?” he said like it was just a freckle. “Work.”

  “And the bandage on your hand, too?”

  He flexed his fingers around the spatula handle, frowning, and several beats passed before he answered. “Yeah.”

  “Hmm.” I tried to imagine a way I could get a black eye at the Library of Congress, and I supposed it could happen if a box of books fell on my face. That happened once at the public library in Wichita where I used to work part-time. Instead of a box, though, it was a whole bookshelf, and instead of me, it was my boss. Still not fun. “Where is it you work?”

  “Auto Tech over on Ontario Road.”

  “So, is this a regular thing at Auto Tech? People getting black eyes?”

  “No, jus’ me.” The bacon was really snapping now, but he didn’t even flinch as bacon grease flew in every direction. “This guy I work with decided he didn’t like the way his girlfriend was looking at me, I guess, so he decided to rearrange my face.”

  I nodded at my tomato. “How nice.”

  “I thought so, too,” Sam said. “Which is why I gave him a matching one.”

  “Maybe it’s time to rethink the whole giving and sharing thing.” I set aside the mangled tomato slices and set to work toasting the bread. That I could do. Other than cutting things, I usually didn’t have trouble in the kitchen, except for those cans of dough that pop open. I couldn’t stand those. But cooking in my little apartment in Wichita meant slapping together a quick sandwich so I could do homework or write research papers.

  “Maybe.”

  “So was his girlfriend looking at you?” I couldn’t imagine a member of the female species not looking.

  He shrugged. “I don’t really notice those kinds of things.”

  Ha! Because it happened all the time? “Really? Never?”

  “Most girls don’t interest me.” He switched off the burner underneath the bacon. “Hand me a plate?”

  I followed the direction of his gaze and handed him a plate from the cupboard over my head. His fingers brushed mine as he took it, and I recoiled my entire arm away at the intense jolt buzzing through it. His gaze dipped down to my mouth, and when he connected with my eyes again, he looked hungry, and not just for bacon.

  “And...” I swallowed. “What girls do interest you?” The question fell out before I could even think. I didn’t need to know the answer, but somehow I sure wanted to.

  He leaned past me to the paper towel holder, filling the small space between his stomach and my hip with frenzied surges of energy. He tore off a paper towel, and when he straightened, he said, “Smart ones.”

  The words sighed across the back of my neck. Goose bumps lifted over my skin. I clutched the edge of the countertop as I drew in a long, ragged breath.

  “Are there a lot of smart girls where you work?” I asked, because I hadn’t embarrassed myself already.

  “Auto Tech is an equal opportunity employer, but so far...” He shrugged and began transferring the perfectly crisped bacon to the paper towel-covered plate.

  “I see.”

  My gaze strayed to his wide shoulders under his tight black T-shirt, then to the lift of his backside under his jeans. I saw alright, but I quickly ducked my head into the refrigerator. Back in the day, he might as well have been my little brother. I shouldn’t be checking him out. Yet there I was, totally checking out the hot, drunk guy I wanted to make out with earlier at the public library. I had no idea who I was anymore.

  I grabbed the mayo jar and focused with all my might on building sandwiches. Sam munched on several strips of bacon while I crafted double-deckers fit for a king. The food seemed to clear his head of the alcohol some because he no longer needed to lean against the stove for support.

  “Excited for your internship?” he asked, and even the timbre in his voice sounded stronger.

  An enormous grin bloomed over my mouth. I couldn’t help it, and he matched it with one that twinkled his blue eyes. My heartbeat stuttered, and I forced myself to look away.

  I pressed the nearest sandwich into the plate so I could slice it into two equal triangles. It didn’t have to be done, but I needed a diversion, any diversion. Even a hazardous don’t-chop-off-your-fingers-with-a-knife diversion.

  “I’m so excited I haven’t slept much this last week. I’m not sure I’ll sleep the next six weeks.”

  We sat across from each other on twin barstools at the island. He took one of the sandwiches and bit into it with a satisfied groan. I picked up mine, too, but my gaze aimed at the tip of his tongue that kept darting out to catch stray crumbs. It made his lips rosy, wet, and caused me to squirm in my seat.

  I chomped into my sandwich and tried to focus on how delicious it was.

  “Well,” he said once he’d swallowed. “There are a lot more fun things to do than sleeping anyway.”

  At the suggestive arch of his eyebrow, my food slid down my throat much too fast. I sputtered. My knees weakened at the possibilities surrounding his words, and as he drew closer to pat me on the back, I decided these next six weeks would be the longest ever.

  “Okay? You need some water?” he asked.

  I could only nod.

  He filled a glass from the sink and set it in front of me, and I guzzled it down until I could breathe again.

  “Thanks,” I said and took another cleansi
ng breath.

  “No problem,” he said between bites.

  “You’ve helped me a lot today.” This was my not-so-obvious starter to our might-have-been afternoon delight, public library edition, discussion we still hadn’t had and really needed to.

  He stopped chewing and fixed me with a knowing stare. “You don’t even have to ask. I’ll be your book retriever anytime you want me.”

  Anytime I wanted him? But I most definitely didn’t. I shouldn’t. “You could have told me who you were before you cornered me in the library. You took advantage of the situation.”

  “Hmm,” he said and picked up some dropped bacon pieces from his plate. “Did I?”

  My phone vibrated on top of the island, making me jump. No one ever texted me after midnight. Kay couldn’t stay up much past Aaron’s bedtime, and Mom and I had only progressed to communicating via cat video links on YouTube. And Dad... Well, he could hardly look at me.

  “Aren’t you going to check your phone?” Sam asked.

  What I wanted was to continue this conversation, but because it might be Riley or even Charlotte telling me her burst pipe was fixed and I could move in tomorrow, I swiped at the screen.

  It was an email from Mom with the subject Her Number.

  Oh. I bit down hard on my lip under Sam’s watchful gaze and forced a swallow down my desert-dry throat. A million thoughts rushed through my head, and every single one of them knotted up my chest. Tears sprang to my eyes because of Her and what I did. No way would I be calling Her Number. I wouldn’t be able to speak over the rapid-fire guilt puncturing my insides.

  “Paige?” Sam said softly.

  I pushed off the stool, my sandwich only half eaten. “I think I’ll go to bed now.”

  5

  Sam

  THE ONLY THING THAT cured a hangover was waking up at the butt crack of dawn. Somehow, that shock to the system sucked up the last of the alcohol better than sleeping it off. Worked like a charm every time.

  The morning after Hill had tried to have me killed because of—what had Slim called it? A peace offering—and Paige had made it all better with double-decker BLT’s and just existing in my kitchen, I wandered out of my bedroom. Low voices drifted from downstairs and around the corner. Riley and a woman.

  I glanced across the hallway and found Paige’s door shut. The voice wasn’t husky and sexy enough to be hers, anyway. So who had my older brother dragged home with him this time?

  Downstairs, a tall, skinny blonde pressed up against Riley by the front door. Likely one of Dad’s interns, judging from her wrinkled jacket with a button that read Cleary For President!

  Still barefoot, I crept up to them and clapped Riley on the back hard enough to make him jump. “Did you see the letter from your doctor with the list of all your STDs? I left it on the table for you, bro. You’re welcome.”

  Riley’s face turned all sorts of red, and I grinned bigger at each and every shade.

  “Calista,” he said through clenched teeth, “you remember my brother SamRam, the comedian?”

  She held out her hand while her gaze wandered over my bare chest, down my happy trail, and back up again. No way was I touching the hand that had probably just handled my brother’s dick.

  “SamRam? Is that really your name?” she asked, lowering her hand. She tilted her head, and a speck of dried makeup slid down her cheek from the black smudges under her eyes.

  “Nickname,” I said and turned back to Riley before this chick brought my hangover back in full force all over her blue heels. “You do remember who’s upstairs, right? Or did you forget for the five minutes you were here yesterday?”

  The veins in Riley’s neck stuck out. I figured I had just a couple seconds before he was going to blow.

  “Yeah, I fucking remember, Sam,” he said.

  “Who’s upstairs?” the blonde asked.

  “Nobody, just some girl he kidnapped and locked inside the padded room he built.” I wriggled my finger back and forth between them. “Has he shown you that yet?”

  Riley rolled his hands into fists, the red on his face crawling past his hairline. I widened my feet in case he dove at me.

  The blonde shook her head with a skeptical smile. “Padded room?”

  “He usually saves that for at least the third date,” I said and winked at my dear old brother.

  “Okay. That’s it.” With his glare aimed at me, Riley yanked open the door. “Carissa, will you wait for me outside, please?”

  “It’s Calista,” she said. When Riley didn’t say anything, she ducked out the screen door.

  As soon as she was a safe distance away, Riley stepped up to me, his face inches from mine. “I get what you’re trying to do.”

  I shrugged. “And what am I trying to do?”

  “Make me feel guilty for not helping you. Make me look bad in front of Paige and everyone else. Don’t you see what I’m doing is for this family, too?”

  Oh, that fucking fuck. “And how is screwing an intern helping our family? I got shot at last night.”

  The beet red color drained from Riley’s face within seconds. His throat ticked with a hard swallow. “What?”

  “Hill set me up,” I hissed. “Sent me to a party with rat poison, I guess to get rid of some of his competition.”

  “Shit.” Riley raked his fingers through his hair, eyes about to bug out of his head, then glanced in the direction of the stairs. “Keep your voice down.”

  I jerked my head in the blonde’s direction. “Did she keep her voice down last night?”

  Paige might’ve thought it was me fucking someone. But I never wanted to be the one to make those big dark eyes of hers look at me with disgust.

  “We were quiet, okay?” Riley said. “Look, I’m sorry. We had to come back here to get some files anyway. Dad leaves for Dallas in a couple hours, and then I’ll be home. Just go do whatever it is you do all day. And why are you so worried about what Paige thinks?”

  “I... I’m not.” I stepped away from him so he couldn’t see the lie that was probably written all over my face. Jesus, I needed to pull it together. We had enough happening in this house without a brother showdown.

  “Good.” He slapped my cheek lightly and held his hand there, in a caring older brother sort of way that couldn’t fool me. “I know you used to like Paige, but stay away from her, got it?”

  Too late. “Not my type at all.”

  He nodded while he slapped my face a little harder. “That’s right. You prefer skanks, right?”

  “Mmm, actually sloppy seconds,” I said, jerking my head toward the screen door. “Why don’t you give me the number of the therapist your ex went to? I’ll go give it to Calista as soon as I’m done with her.”

  There was that red shade of pissed that leaked into his face and tight jaw again. “Leave my ex the hell out of this,” he said, then pushed against the screen door to leave.

  “I’m fine, by the way,” I said. “No bullet holes, but thanks for asking.”

  He sighed. “I’m glad you’re okay. Just...don’t bring your work home with you.”

  Like Rose had. All ten pounds of heroin she’d promised Hill she would sell had gone straight up her nose over the course of a month. That was why we were in this situation in the first fucking place. Well, part of the reason. The other was that Hill refused to sweep the debt Rose owed him under the rug. He didn’t want to be paid in money; he wanted a drug dealer starter kit with me.

  Plus, Hill had gotten his hands on a certain set of pictures of Riley and Daddy-o handing over money to beautiful women who weren’t standing behind a sales counter. If I didn’t deliver for Hill—both figuratively and literally—those photos would be leaked and Dad’s bid for presidency was screwed. But I didn’t give a shit about him and Riley. Not really. I was doing this for Rose.

  Riley glanced in the direction of the stairs. I did, too, in case Paige was standing there.

  “And I’m not just talking about Rose, Sam. What if you had been followed ba
ck home?”

  I hadn’t. Tony and I had made sure during the hour we drove around the neighborhood, trying to unfry our nerves with the rest of my tequila. But if there was even a slight chance Paige was in danger just by living in this house, she needed to go. The whole shitty day yesterday had proved to me that the drug business was just as unpredictable as a desperate junky.

  “I was trying to help Paige out by letting her stay here, but if she finds out—”

  “That you can’t keep your dick in your pants?”

  Riley sighed. “Just hurry up and pay the debt back so we can be through with Hill.”

  All 1.1 million dollars of it. No problem.

  It didn’t matter that Dad was running for president, or maybe it was because he was, but Hill didn’t make deals. It was his terms, nothing else, or he would expose my family for what they truly were—a cancerous wound. His words, not mine. But he was right.

  Dad didn’t know anything about Hill. I intended to keep it that way until the debt was paid back the way Hill wanted it to be—my “services.” I didn’t become a drug dealer to protect Dad and his stupid race to be president. This was all for Rose, so when she got out of rehab, she could concentrate on being my little sister again instead of worrying about any kind of debt owed to Hill.

  “You agreed to be the one to work for Hill,” Riley said in a low voice. “If you don’t want Paige here, then you be the one to tell her to leave. I’m not doing it.”

  I nodded, completely unsurprised. Sure, he could be an asshole behind her back but never to her face.

  But if I could not fuck up for once, she would be fine. As long as I did whatever Hill asked, showed up on time, learned to detect rat poison before I got shot at, everything would be okay. Paige could continue to sit in the kitchen with me every night for the next six weeks with her hard nipples jutting against her Reading Is Sexy T-shirt. That would be just fine. I could pay the debt off within record time. Paige would never have to know.

  I was such a selfish prick sometimes.

  While turning the lock on the door, I started to shut it on Riley before he made it outside. “Nah. I’m not doing it either.”