So, wearing the bracelet felt like co-opting a culture that wasn’t mine. Yet I’d lived in Nepal longer than I’d spent in any Western country since toddlerhood.
“I’ll help you put it on.”
I held out my wrist though my jaw shifted, jutting outward with the need to balk at my mum’s request. My mum wanted this for me. Why, though, I wasn’t sure.
“I chose garnet because it enhances creative power,” she explained. “It can also help with feelings of abandonment.”
I clenched both fists and wrenched my arm back, not caring that the beads slipped from my wrist and pooled on the leather seat between us.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Mum closed her eyes, no doubt unhappy with my acerbic tone. “I need to get back to the US. I need… Let’s just do this one step at a time.”
She wrapped her fingers around the beads again and reached for my wrist, her long fingers cool against my skin. “Wear it, please. For me.”
I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, shrugging off my mother’s hand once the beads were in place. “I guess you’re going to make me go to that stupid rich-kids school, then?”
A thrill went through me, though, because that “stupid” school housed Nash Porter, currently my closest friend after years of corresponding. I had answered him initially out of boredom, but we had grown close through all those messages, and I… Heat spread up my chest and neck, suffusing my face.
I liked him. A lot.
I liked the way he teased me. I liked that I was the first person he contacted when he exited the school building. I liked that he confided details of his life that he didn’t dare tell others. Like that he, too, wanted a cat. Or about how his dad was riding him hard about composing new songs. I knew his favorite cake and that his musical hero was Asher Smith. I knew he lived near Jeddi’s mansion and that he hated to drive but had promised to teach me.
“Yes. You need an education, and it’s the best school in the area,” Mum said after a moment. “Your grandfather insisted.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” But the idea of seeing Nash in person caused my stomach to dip, swoop, and realign with giddiness. Then I touched the smooth, red beads with trepidation. How long would I get to spend with Nash before Mum and I moved again?
I released a tiny sigh. No, no more moving. After this, I wouldn’t have to make new friends, and I wouldn’t have to learn how to navigate a new town. In fifteen months, I would graduate from high school. Then I planned to attend a nearby university known for its engineering program. While I didn’t love the idea of living in a large city, I did love the idea of settling in. And now I could make my own choice.
This move—or the next, to college—would be my last. Austin, Texas, was now my home.
8
Nash
Aya appeared at Holyoke one morning in April—with just six weeks left in our junior year—like a gift from the heavens or something. I didn’t realize at first, didn’t know anything special was about to happen, then bam! The teacher called Aya’s name, and she answered. Her voice was as pretty as the rest of her—soft, melodious, and with a faintly British accent. I remembered those lilting vowels from when I was a kid. I’d tried, for days after meeting her, to emulate her posh string of words. I’d never managed to do so, but that hadn’t stopped me from attempting, much to my parents’ amusement.
I turned my head and caught her looking at me, a small smile on her face. She mouthed, “Surprise!” and then turned back to face the front.
I continued to stare, unable to tear my gaze away from the girl sitting the next row over and two seats up.
Aya was even prettier than I’d expected her to be. Her long, long hair was streaked with reddish highlights that added an interesting depth to the dark strands. Her nose was littered with freckles and the faint peeling of an old sunburn. Her chin was as stubborn and delicate as I’d remembered from our brief encounter all those years ago. Her eyes were even brighter, even more amazing up close than any gem my mom or grandmother had ever worn. Aya’s cheekbones sat high in her thin face, her neck slender and elegant, and her body that slim, lithe shape most of the Hollywood elite spent thousands to try to create.
I sucked in a breath as I took her in. She shifted in her seat, giving me a partial view of her chest. She had fabulous tits: high and perky and definitely enough to fill my hand. I might have emitted a strangled breath as I stared at them. She glanced back, caught my gaze, and frowned.
My face burned, and I looked away. When I turned back, I caught her looking at me from under her lashes. That time, our gaze held until the bell rang. I couldn’t remember what the teacher said, nor did I care.
My embarrassment dissipated as my excitement to actually speak to Aya grew. I leaped from my chair and wrapped her in a hug, letting my nose fall against the side of her neck. Aya felt so right, so perfect in my arms. Her hair smelled like fresh air and sunshine, the first of which was in short supply even in outdoorsy Austin. Too many cars had led to a layer of smog that I doubted Aya had seen in Nepal.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” I said, not caring that the voices around me rose in excited chatter. Nash Porter wasn’t affectionate. Nash Porter didn’t have girlfriends.
Aya hesitated. She sucked her plump, pink lower lip deep into her mouth.
Now, seeing it in person, I really wanted that lip in my mouth. I wanted that mouth on mine. And…shit. I breathed through the excitement and need even as I moved back enough that she wouldn’t realize my body was jumping at her nearness.
“My grandfather’s sick,” she murmured.
Instant boner killer, and not at all the way I wanted to get there. I grabbed Aya’s backpack and then my own. “Oh. Like sick or…sick?”
She hesitated, a frown tugging at her brows. “He’s going to die soon. We’re staying with him.”
I winced even as I took her hand and led her out into the hall. “That totally sucks.”
She nodded as her lashes dropped to her cheeks. Even sad, she was gorgeous.
I cleared my throat, hoping my body wouldn’t betray me yet again. “That’s a bad thing? Staying with your grandpa?”
“It’s…unexpected.”
That I could understand.
“I’d not met him until a few years ago when my parents divorced. I guess Mum’s marriage caused a bitter rift between them. He told me last night he’d disinherited her until she came to her senses and kicked the rounder to the curb.”
I smirked. “Rounder,” I muttered. “Good British insult.”
Every set of teenaged eyes in the hallway stared as we walked together, their gazes landing on our joined hands.
“Um…why are people staring at me?” Aya whispered, inching closer.
Nice. I liked her there, pressed into my side. I could feel the warmth of her skin against mine. I thought back to the day we’d met, how her hand had felt in mine as I pulled her out of the water.
Something had clicked then, and I felt a similar happiness now.
“They’re not. They’re staring at me. I don’t hold hands. I don’t really like the girls around here all that much.”
“Nash!” She tried to extricate her fingers, but I gripped her hand even tighter.
“You’re different, Ay. Always have been.”
“Because you know me so well from text messages,” she said, her tone on the snarky side. But she relaxed, no longer tugging her hand away. A shiver ran the length of my spine at her acquiescence. And when she met my gaze? Perfection.
“We’ve known each other for years. Most of our lives.”
She laughed. “You didn’t know my name.”
“Didn’t need to. You knew mine.” I winked.
“Sure did, Superstar.”
At my hot look, she dropped her gaze and tucked some of that luscious hair behind her ear.
I nearly purred. Then I saw Hugh from the corner of my eye, his arm draped over Naomi and a knowing look on his stupid
face. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. My thing with Aya was nothing like Hugh’s besotted relationship with Naomi. She bossed him around, which was part of why I refused to hang out with either of them. I dropped Aya’s hand.
“What’s your schedule?”
She sighed. “Science, then English.”
My smile grew as she rattled off her schedule. “Same as mine. Oh, this is perfect.”
This time I did purr. Her startled gaze searched my face, and I thought I saw the flare of desire burning in the depths of those pretty violet eyes.
“You can take Lindsay Herrington-Smythe’s seat,” I said, my lip curling. “I can’t stand that girl.”
“I’m not stealing someone’s seat,” Aya replied, her face haughty. “That wouldn’t be kind.”
“Lindsay keeps trying to grab my junk,” I said. Total lie. Well, she had stared at my crotch often enough to make me self-conscious.
And my dislike of her was the truth. Something about her reminded me of Lord—in the worst possible way. She took genuine pleasure in hurting others’ feelings. It was one thing to be aloof, untouchable—I had perfected that art early and used it to my advantage—but Lindsay was mean.
Aya took a protective step closer. “I’ll sit next to you,” she said. She seemed to struggle to meet my gaze, her pupils dilated.
I wanted to fist pump. Yes. Aya Aldringham wanted me, too.
Her tongue darted out, bathing that plump lower lip I’d obsessed over for years. I leaned in closer, mesmerized. Her lips parted, her breath flooding past that luscious pink perfection in a tumble of heat. Desire licked hard and hot up my middle.
Someone bumped my shoulder, breaking the spell. I blinked and stepped back.
Fuck.
Fuckity fuck.
Aya was my friend. My only real friend. No way I was messing with that—not even if I suddenly needed her taste like I needed air.
I cleared my throat, my smile weak. “Great.”
What had I gotten myself into?
“Where did she come from?” Lindsay asked her friend as she passed Aya and me in the hall later that afternoon. Lindsay narrowed her dark brown eyes, and her thin, bright red lips smashed flat as she stared at me holding Aya’s hand, though she never broke her stride.
“Is she English?” Aya asked, her chin lifted toward Lindsay.
“Yeah. She’s from some suburb of London. Her dad’s in IT. He came here and set up a thinktank or something. He’s kind of a big deal in Austin circles.”
“Weird. I didn’t realize Austin was so…”
“Urbane?” I asked. “Cultured?”
“International,” Aya replied, her tone dry.
“I have no idea,” Lindsay’s friend, Stef, said as they paused a little farther down the hall.
Lindsay popped her gum while trying to give us a filthy glare. I held Stef’s gaze long enough for her to flush and look away, though Lindsay remained too bold and angry to bow under my stare. I’d been practicing the expression after watching Camden Grace use it on an overstepping journalist this past weekend.
“What’s with that look?” Aya asked.
“Something I’m trying out,” I murmured, refusing to be the first to break eye contact with Lindsay.
Stef tugged at Lindsay’s arm, finally leading her away. The girls turned the corner, cutting off the staring contest. Aya heaved a huge sigh of relief.
“You weren’t kidding about the mean-girl vibe,” Aya said.
“Wait for it,” I told her. “The boys are just as gossipy and mean.”
Aya leaned her head back and groaned. Somehow, I palmed her hip. Her warmth saturated my skin even through the denim. I flexed my fingers, enjoying the supple give of her flesh.
Aya’s tits rose and fell as she glanced over my shoulder. Her voice came out a bit higher than normal, and her pulse pounded in her neck.
Already I craved her. How had I gone so long without this? How could I manage a full day, let alone weeks of being near her, needing to be nearer? Emotions jangled through me, terrifying in their ferocity.
Her lids lowered, her lashes covering her eyes. “Nash…”
“Omigod, Nash likes her,” a girl squealed.
We both startled. I stepped back.
“This situation is scarier than those cliffs I showed you,” Aya murmured.
“More dangerous, too,” I deadpanned. “But don’t worry, as long as you stick with me, kid, you’re golden.”
“Because of your parents?” Aya asked. Her wide eyes caught mine. “Do you think that’s right? Fair?”
I shook my head. “Neither. But it’s the pecking order. And it’s not just my parents—my mom’s father owns the hotels these people stay at all over the world. We’re rich fuckers who lunch with global leaders. That’s also why no one cares if I’m feeling sad or lonely or whatever.”
“That’s impossibly sad.” Aya looked down.
“Maybe. But as much as they want to take me down—and they do, so bad—they can’t touch me without pissing off the head of the RNC, DNC, SBU, Jetsetter Records, you name it.”
“You never told me how you ended up in Austin,” she said, tilting her head so all that glorious hair spilled down her neck, cascading over her chest. I nearly groaned. Being near Aya was the most perfect torture.
I shrugged and attempted a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “My Pop Syad—my grandfather—he owns a large IT firm in addition to his hotels. He moved my mother here when she was a teenager, and she liked it. My dad bummed through all the live music venues. That’s how they met. His band, Quantum, played lots of clubs and scored its first national record contract about ten years ago.”
I frowned, my high of spending time with Aya fading as the realities of my life slammed back into me. For a few moments, Aya had managed to keep those worries at bay. Even after all this time, I didn’t have much ability to create new music. The last song I’d composed had been another one with Cam, and Dad wasn’t going to be happy when he found out about that.
Aya snorted. “The inability to touch you must drive these kids crazy.”
I lifted my chin, trying not to think about how I wanted her to touch me—or where. “Lord the most. That guy hates me.”
As if he knew I was talking about him, Lord lumbered over and bumped my shoulder hard, forcing me closer to Aya.
“Looks like Nashville’s got himself a girlfriend. I wonder if she knows he used to cry about his mommy’s drug problem.”
I feigned a disappointed sigh, even as the bite of shame slid up the back of my neck. I had cried the year Lev died—blubbered in the bathroom—because it was the first time I’d had to sit at a lunch table without him.
“She likes vodka, dipshit. Coke was so last year. Might want to pass that on since your mom’s known for her coke nose. Oh, right! You don’t see her or her nose because your parents refuse to live in the same state as you.”
Lord raised his fist, his face florid, but Aya stuck out her foot, tripping him as he hurtled toward me.
“How clumsy of you,” she said, batting her long eyelashes. “Would you like a hand up?”
Aya started to bend down just as Lord rose with a snarl, slamming his shoulder into her chest. The impact caused her to fly backward into Hugh, who’d been walking by. He dropped his book bag and a big, messy pile of papers flew from his binder as he attempted to catch her. The two of them tumbled to the floor, Aya sprawled atop a befuddled Hugh.
Lindsay and Stef shrieked with laughter, sounding like hyenas ready to close in on their kill. They must have been lurking right around the corner. They were probably the ones who sent Lord to bug me. I never underestimated Lindsay’s mean streak, and this situation seemed to be the kind both she and Lord lived for.
Hugh shifted, his hand sliding over Aya’s chest. I heard a deep whooshing in my ears as her eyes widened and her jaw trembled.
“That’s it,” I said, my voice quiet but carrying an intensity that caused everyone in the hallway to
stop.
I stepped closer and helped Aya up, even as red tinged the edges of my vision.
“You okay?” I asked, searching her face, desperate for reassurance.
She nodded, eyes wide, cheeks redder than the Oscar carpet.
“Yeah?” Lord said. He cracked his knuckles. “That’s it? What the fuck does that even mean? You think you’re going to take me down? By yourself.” He snorted.
“I don’t need to hit you, as enjoyable as that would be. I have much more effective means of dealing with your assholery.”
Still, I pulled my arm back and shot my fist into Lord’s Adam’s apple. He gasped for air.
“Don’t fuck with me, Lord. Don’t touch my friends. You hear me?”
Lord choked, his face mottled but filled with hatred.
I wasn’t done. I sent Steve a text. Got a situation in the hallway. Lord Prescott threatened me and shoved my friends around. I want to hit him.
I left off the again because Steve was going to be pissed when he found out I’d hit Lord in the first place.
My phone rang. “I’m on my way inside,” Steve said. “And I’ll take care of Lord.”
“I want him gone, Steve,” I snapped. “As in expelled. He shoved a girl.”
I risked a look back at Aya, who I’d kept behind me, not willing to let Lord hurt her again. A flush burned under her tanned skin, and I liked the look on her. She was slightly exotic but completely familiar—an electric combination.
“I’ll deal with Prescott,” Steve said again.
Lord must have heard Steve’s comment, because his mouth fell open and his eyes bugged. I didn’t bother to hold back my smile. “One phone call,” I’d told Lord. I’d told them all. But until the douche monkey came at Aya, I hadn’t cared enough to follow through.
That all changed when Lord put his hands on my girl.
My girl.
Sweet Oblivion Page 5