Heart Stopper: Rebels of Rushmore Book One

by Hercules, Michelle

  I don’t see Troy when I arrive home from class, so I quickly make a sandwich, grab a couple cans of Red Bull, and head to my room. To really keep my mind on the task at hand, I put on noise-canceling headphones and get to work. I’m making good progress until I notice a pattern in the manuscript that begins to irritate me. The author has a crutch phrase that she’s already repeated a dozen times throughout the story, and I’ve only read half of it. Curious, I do a quick document search and get the exact number of offenses. She’s used the same phrase twenty-two times. Worst of all, it’s not even a good one.

  “Oh my God. My eyelids pressed together? It’s called closing your fucking eyes, damn it!” I yell at my computer screen.

  Shit, I’m tired.

  “Is everything okay in here?” Troy’s voice sounds from the door, making me jump in my seat.

  Pressing a hand against my chest, I swivel the chair around. “What the hell, Troy? Don’t you knock?”

  “I did. You didn’t reply.” He smirks. “What’s making you so angry?”

  “Ugh, nothing. It’s just this book I’m editing. Bad writing gives me hives.”

  “Can’t you make it better?”

  “No. That’s not my job. I was hired to fix grammar mistakes and point out glaring plot issues. If I mess with the manuscript too much, I’d be changing the author’s voice.”

  “Gotcha. Anyway, I was going to watch a movie if you’re interested in joining me.”

  My heart skips a beat, and my mouth turns suddenly dry. “What movie?” I ask when, instead, I should have told him I have work to do.

  “It.”

  “Oh, the horror movie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t do horror.”

  He curls his lips into a grin. “Why not? Are you scared?”

  “Fuck yeah. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I once tried to watch The Exorcist on a dare, and I couldn’t sleep for weeks unless the lights were on.”

  He chuckles. “We can pick something else. What’s your favorite movie?”

  Why is he being so nice to me? Immediately, suspicion sneaks into my brain. “Lord of the Rings. More specifically, The Two Towers. Why?”

  “We could watch that. I confess I’ve never seen the whole trilogy.”

  “What? Are you serious?” My voice rises to a pitch.

  “I might have fallen asleep during the first movie.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish.

  “Oh my God, Troy. Take that back. It’s sacrilege.”

  He laughs. “Come on and help me atone for my sins then. Maybe you can turn me into a fan.”

  A fuzzy feeling spreads through my chest. I’ve never seen him so open, unguarded. Damn it, I don’t know why girls prefer bad boys. Troy’s nice version is much more irresistible.

  I’m about to cave when a text message catches my attention. It’s from the author of the book, asking when I’ll be done.

  I let out a heavy sigh. “As much as I’d love to indoctrinate you in the ways of Tolkien, I’m afraid I have to finish this job. Rain check?”

  “Sure thing. I can’t wait to be indoctrinated by you.”

  I don’t know if it’s the way he replies that sounds like a sex proposition or how his eyes turn to molten lava, but I’m most definitely hot and bothered now.

  * * *

  It goes without saying that after my convo with Troy, it took forever to get my groove back. I kept staring at the computer screen, seeing nothing, as my mind kept replaying his visit. But I had to push through, which resulted in burning the midnight oil and acquiring a bad kink in my back.

  The pain doesn’t improve after roughly four hours of sleep. My alarm blares at 8:00 a.m. like a banshee from hell. I’m tempted to shut it off, but unfortunately, I have Mom’s work thing, and I’d like to drop by Golden Oaks first.

  Resigned, I drag my ass out of bed, bleary-eyed and annoyed. I have to learn not to overcommit to things. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t juggling a million balls in the air.

  As I brush my teeth, I eye the bathtub. I won’t be able to survive the long day if I can’t alleviate my back pain. I think I can spare thirty minutes to soak my sore muscles in a bubble bath. I turn on the water, and when the tub is half-full, I toss in one of my bath bombs.

  A moan escapes my lips when I sink into the water. This is exactly what I need. Using a folded towel as a pillow, I lean my head back and close my eyes.

  Immediately, Troy’s image pops in my head. The memory of our kiss comes to the forefront of my mind, making my lips and other parts of my body tingle. My nipples turn into pebbles, and there’s a new ache between my legs. Ah hell. This need won’t go away until I get some relief.

  I glide my hand down my belly, then flick my clit with my fingers. A zing of pleasure unfurls in my core, making me arch my back. Damn, I’m so horny, this won’t take long. I imagine it’s Troy’s fingers playing with my sex, probing and teasing. I slide two fingers inside while I apply pressure on my bundle of nerves with my thumb.

  “Fuck,” I whisper.

  I pump my fingers in and out, imagining it’s Troy’s cock pushing in, filling and stretching me. The pressure keeps building and building, but I don’t want to climax just yet. My toes curl, my legs tense as I fight the wave of pleasure that’s on the horizon and fast approaching. I slow my movements, but I’ve already passed the point of no return. There’s no stopping this from happening now.

  A strangled moan escapes my lips when the orgasm hits me. My hips buckle from the intensity of it. I’m not a fool to give credit to my hand for this; it’s all Troy’s fault for invading my thoughts, for making me crave him as if he were a drug I was addicted to after one single taste.

  I’m uber relaxed now, and if I keep my eyes closed, I run the serious risk of falling asleep.

  Fuck it. I guess I’m skipping my visit to Golden Oaks today. I’m too tired to even feel guilty about it.

  * * *

  I’m not sure how long I’ve napped in the tub, but when I blink my eyes open, the water is no longer warm. It’s nippy actually. With a groan, I brace against the edge and stand up. Then I notice something alarming. Oh my God. I’ve turned into a Smurf.

  “What the hell!”

  I jump out of the tub and look at the mirror. My skin is blue from the neck down. I glance at the bathwater, which looks like raspberry Kool-Aid. I didn’t notice before thanks to the bubbles. How is that possible? I grab a towel and begin to scrub. The white fabric quickly becomes blue too, but the stain doesn’t vanish from my skin.

  Realization hits me then. This was a fucking prank.

  A roar comes from deep in my throat. I can’t believe I was that stupid. Troy played me. He let me believe all was fine between us when in fact he was plotting his revenge. And I fell for it.

  Propelled by anger, I wrap myself in a towel and march out of the bathroom. I don’t stop until I barge into his room. I find him coming out of his closet, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. Of course he has to be half-naked.

  “You ass! I can’t believe I fell for your good-guy act.”

  His eyebrows shoot to the heavens as his eyes widen. “Charlie, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Quit the act already. You won. Look at me!” I open my arms wide, not caring if the towel stays in place or not.

  “Why do you look like Smurfette?”

  I breach the distance between us, then poke his chest with my finger. “I’m like this because you exchanged one of my bath bombs for something with blue dye in it. Don’t even try to deny it.”

  He shakes his head, still keeping the innocent façade in place. “I swear, Charlie, I didn’t do this.”

  My nostrils flare, a sign that I’m about to go savage on his ass. But what would kicking him in the nuts or punching him in the face accomplish? Nothing. He got me, just like I’d gotten him with the chickens. Now we’re even.

  I step back. “I should have known you wouldn’t simply forget everything. Con
gratulations, Troy. You really got me.”

  My eyes prickle, surprising me. I haven’t cried in anger since I was a kid. Not wanting him to see me bawl my eyes out, I whirl around and leave his room as fast as I can. By the time I slam my door shut, the first tears have already rolled down my cheeks.

  The big hole in my chest tells me these aren’t angry tears. They’re the broken kind.

  When the fuck did Troy get hold of my heart in order to stomp all over it?

  19

  CHARLIE

  No amount of soap or scrubbing gets rid of the blue tinge from my skin. Running late, I give up on trying to find a solution to my problem. The alternative is to wear a long-sleeved turtleneck and jeans. There’s nothing I can do about my hands. I can’t wear gloves to a barbecue. It’s not that cold.

  And to think I masturbated to Troy’s image while marinating in blue dye. That added insult to injury. He made me cry, something no boy has ever been able to claim until him. That’s what I get for lowering my defenses. Lust played keep-away with my intelligence. It made me forget what type of person Troy is—an egomaniacal asshole.

  I don’t have time to stop by Golden Oaks. It’s the second weekend in a row that I haven’t gone. I miss Ophelia and the rest of the gang, but I have to drive to Littleton first because Mom wants to go together as a family. Never mind that the party is halfway between where I live and Littleton.

  When I arrive, the garage door is open, but only Mom’s car is in it. Shit, did Dad have to work on a weekend again?

  When I walk in, I get my answer right away. Mom is in a bad mood, sporting a glower as she finishes getting ready. Ben is on the couch, playing a video game, while Bailey naps by his feet.

  “About time you showed up, Charlie. We’re already running late.”

  “Sorry. I had a late night.”

  She stops in her tracks and takes in my clothes. “What are you wearing? It’s going to be a lovely day today. You’ll get hot.”

  I glance at Ben and debate if I should tell Mom about Troy’s latest prank. In the end, I decide against it. She’s already acting like a dragon; I don’t need to give her more reason to be aggravated.

  I plop on the couch next to Ben and bend over to rub Bailey’s head. She doesn’t even stir. Poor thing must be tired.

  “What’s up with Mom?” I ask softly so she doesn’t hear.

  “Dad said he couldn’t make it to the barbecue. They had a big argument last night.”

  “Really? Ah, man. I’m sorry, Ben.”

  He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the game. “It’s okay. I had my noise-canceling headphones on.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you. I know how busy you are with school and your side jobs.”

  “What are you two doing, sitting around?” Mom stands at the edge of the living room with her hands braced on her hips. “Come on. Let’s go!”

  I jump off the couch, walking fast to meet Mom in the garage. She already has the car on.

  The drive to her boss’s party is tense as hell. I try to put on a radio station, but Mom barks that she isn’t in the mood for music. Considering the shitty beginning of my day, it’s fitting that I have to endure a party with Mom in a hellish disposition. I hope Ben and I can escape at the party and not interact with her at all.

  Her boss’s house is in Malibu, not a usual spot for a technology mogul. He’s a genius who built a company out of nothing, and he’s now one of the wealthiest businessmen in the country. Mom has been working for his company for over six years, and this is the first time he’s hosted a barbecue for his employees and their families. Any company event has been only for the employees and their significant others in the past.

  Several cars are parked outside the beachfront mansion, but if we’re indeed late, that’s another story. Mom asked me to drop by the house at a certain time, and I was only ten minutes late. We didn’t encounter a lot of traffic coming here, so it’s possible she blew the situation out of proportion because she’s in a funk.

  Well, that makes two of us, but you don’t see me acting out on it.

  An attractive man in his fifties greets us when we come in. A beer bottle is in his hand. He’s wearing a casual linen button-down shirt and pants. I can tell with only a cursory glance that he likes to work out.

  “Tara, welcome! I’m so glad you could come.” He gives Mom a casual hug that lasts a second. “Where’s Jason?”

  Her expression darkens for a moment, but she’s quick to put on a phony smile. “He couldn’t come. He feels awful, but he had an emergency at the warehouse.”

  “That’s too bad.” He switches his attention to us. “And who do we have here?”

  “This is my daughter, Charlie, and my son, Ben.”

  “Hi.” I smile feebly, keeping my hands hidden behind my back.

  “I’m Jonathan. Nice to meet you, Charlie.” He extends his hand, which I was afraid of. I have no choice but to shake it.

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  Mercifully, he’s one of those people who maintains eye contact—probably something to do with being a successful CEO—and he never glances at my blue hand. He shakes hands with Ben next and then returns his attention to Mom.

  They’re talking shop now, which allows me to observe him more. His dark blond hair is peppered with gray, and expression marks deepen when he smiles, but other than that, he looks quite young. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. I remember Mom saying he was divorced, but a guy who looks like him and with all this money must have a young-looking girlfriend.

  Charlie, you’re being judgmental. He could be single or dating someone his age.

  I realize that with Mom distracted by her boss, this is the best opportunity for Ben and me to escape. I pull on his sleeve and point at the outdoor area where several people are mingling near the pool. He nods silently, and together, we slink away from Mom.

  Most of the female guests are wearing summer dresses, which makes me stick out like a sore thumb. My turtleneck has to be black to boot. It’s not like I don’t own brighter colored sweaters. Maybe I was going for something that represented my mood, but now I’m regretting it.

  “Let’s get something to drink,” Ben says.

  I follow him to the bar, where a lanky ginger is prepping drinks like a pro. He moves so fast, I’m afraid he’s going to drop one of the bottles he’s handling.

  When it’s our turn, I ask him, “Are you training for something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never seen someone move that fast behind a bar, not even at a nightclub.”

  He laughs. “I am actually practicing. I’m auditioning for the lead role in the remake of Cocktail next week.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Is Cocktail that eighties movie with Tom Cruise?”

  “Yep.” He bobs his head up and down. “So, what can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a dry martini, please.” Ben casually leans his forearm against the bar, acting like he’s a leery thirty-year-old man, not sixteen.

  The bartender chuckles. “Sure, pal. How about a Sprite?”

  Ben steps away from the bar, returning to his old self. “Nah. I’ll have root beer if you have it.”

  “Sure thing. And how about you, sugar?”

  “Sugar?” I laugh.

  “She’ll have a Blue Lagoon cocktail,” a hateful and familiar voice answers for me. “I think it’ll match her… suit.”

  The bartender gives me a quizzical look, but I’m no longer interested in him.

  Curling my hands into fists, I turn around. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Troy crosses his left arm over the sling and stares at me with eyes that are cold and ruthless. Gone is the good-guy persona. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Charlie!” Jane walks over. “What are you doing here? Did Troy invite you?”

  Oh my God. One of their parents must work for the same company Mom does. This is like a nightmare tha
t will never end.

  “No. I’m here with my mother. She works for Slate Corp.”

  Troy’s eyebrows almost meet his hairline. “Your mother works for our father?”

  “Wait. Jonathan is your dad?”

  “Yeah,” Jane replies. “What a small world.”

  “You don’t say,” I mumble.

  “Hi, I’m Ben, Charlie’s brother.” He waves in Troy and Jane’s direction. “This is a really nice house.”

  “Yeah, it’s cool.” She shrugs while Troy keeps glaring at me. “I’m Jane, by the way, Troy’s sister.”

  “Are you in high school?”

  “Yeah, it’s my senior year.”

  “Uh, miss? Do you still want a drink?” the bartender asks.

  I glance over my shoulder. “Just some water, please.”

  “Right away.”

  When I turn around, Troy is already going back to the house. He goes out of his way to not come near the pool, glancing at it as if some danger lurks in the crystalline water.

  “What’s the deal with your brother and pools?” I ask, interrupting Ben and Jane’s chatter.

  “Oh, Troy can’t handle pools. Not since the accident.”

  “What accident?”

  Jane’s expression clouds. Her mouth tenses, giving me a clue that it’s not a subject she likes to talk about.

  “It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me.”

  “It’s fine. Our family doesn’t really speak much about it, so it’s weird to do so. But I guess since you’re Troy’s roommate, you should know. It would help you understand my brother.”

  I’m sensing it’s something that irrevocably changed Troy. My heart clenches a little in expectation. Despite my animosity toward him, I’m already suffering in sympathy without even knowing what his trauma is.

  “What happened?” Ben asks.

  “Our younger brother drowned in a pool when he was three. Troy was eight when it happened.”