Trouble From the Start

  “Don’t you care about the environment?” I scolded him.

  “You’re not one of those, are you?” he asked.

  Ignoring his question, I walked over to the bushes, crouched, and tried to see into the darkness, but I suddenly felt light-headed and dropped to my butt.

  Fletcher hunkered beside me, balancing on the balls of his feet, his forearms resting on his jean-clad thighs. How did he manage that? I’d bet money he’d already swigged down way more than I had. “You okay?”

  “Yes, just—” I realized that I’d finished off my drink. Everything suddenly looked far away, like I was viewing it through a tunnel. The cup slipped from my fingers and onto the grass.

  “You need some fresh air,” he said.

  “We’re outside,” I pointed out. “It doesn’t get any fresher than that.”

  His fingers folded around my elbow and I was struck by how large his hand was, how strong, how warm against my skin. With no effort at all, he helped me to my feet. “It’s better by the lake.”

  He curled his arm around my shoulders, pulled me in just a little, and I had this insane thought that we fit together like pieces of a puzzle. I liked his height compared to mine. He made me feel normal, when I often felt like a giant. He guided me over the uneven expanse of land that led down to the lake. When we reached the bank, he didn’t release his hold, and while I wouldn’t admit it to him, I was grateful because suddenly nothing seemed solid beneath my feet.

  I knew I’d had too much alcohol too fast on a too-empty stomach. Snacks weren’t nearly as abundant around here as the drinks.

  “Take a deep breath,” Fletcher ordered.

  I did, and I could smell the brine of the lake, the sweetness of the wildflowers, the dankness of the dirt, and Fletcher. His was an earthy fragrance, nothing artificial, all male. With his arm around me, he was overpowering my senses, until he was almost the only thing I was aware of.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” There did seem to be more air here. I could hear the breeze stirring the leaves in the trees around us, feel it wafting over my skin. I turned slightly in his embrace until we were nearly facing each other. His nearness was making me dizzy. His hand came up to cradle the back of my head, and he settled my face into the crook of his shoulder. I had that same crazy faraway thought that we fit. I could hear his heart pounding—felt it thumping through his chest, sending tiny little shivers over my face.

  “Don’t drink if you can’t handle your liquor,” he said, his voice low enough that it didn’t disturb the chirping crickets. “There is always some guy willing to take advantage.”

  “Like you?” I asked.

  “Exactly like me.”

  I didn’t know why I had this crazy thought that if he leaned down to kiss me, I wouldn’t object. He had a reputation for being an amazing kisser. But he wasn’t leaning in. Was I really so unappealing that even a guy with no standards wouldn’t at least try? Still, I felt obligated to say, “Taking advantage of me would be stupid. My dad’s a cop. He carries a gun.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  I thought I heard sadness, secrets, in his voice, but that made no sense. Nothing made sense. I was having a difficult time thinking, trying to remember why I was out here at the lake with Fletcher Thomas. The world was spinning, fast, so terribly fast, from his nearness, his scent, his warmth—

  No, I realized with horror. Not from anything to do with him. From the vodka and whatever else had been mixed into the drinks. I shoved myself away from him and, to my everlasting mortification, I hurled.

  Okay, so I’d lied earlier. I was a novice at drinking. I’d had a few sips of beer at other parties, but when your dad keeps a Breathalyzer kit in his car, it’s not a good idea to come home in a state that might cause him to use it.

  A large, warm hand came to rest lightly on my back. It traveled up my spine and down.

  “Breathe deep.”

  “Deeply,” I forced out through my tingling mouth.

  “What?”

  “Deeply. Adverbs follow verbs.”

  “Seriously? You’re giving me a grammar lesson in the middle of your barfing?”

  With as much dignity as I could muster, I straightened. “I’m finished.”

  And horrified that I’d made such a spectacle of myself in front of him.

  “I’ll give you a ride home,” he said.

  Everything in me screamed, “Bad idea!”

  Or maybe I was screaming it out loud because he said, “Look, I won’t take advantage of you being drunk. Besides, your dad has a gun.”

  With a wry smile, I peered over my shoulder at him. The world wasn’t spinning as fast, but I still felt awful. I wanted to go home. I could probably find Kendall, talk her into leaving the party. Jeremy would take us to her house, and from there, I could walk past the six houses to mine. But why spoil her evening just because drinking too fast had spoiled mine?

  “You’ve been drinking,” I pointed out. On second thought, so had Jeremy. I was going to have to call a cab.

  “I’m fine to drive.”

  Bad-boy Fletcher, not drunk? I didn’t think so. I backed up a couple of steps. “Close your eyes and walk toward me in a straight line.”

  “Any line I walk is going to look crooked to you, because you’re the one who’s drunk.”

  That was probably true. Maybe. I was finding it hard to think coherently. And I didn’t really want to explain arriving home in a cab. “Yeah, okay, I’d appreciate it.”

  He gave me a long look and that corner of his mouth hitched up again. “So . . . are you a novice at riding a motorcycle?”

  I considered lying, but I was past the point of thinking anything I did was going to impress him. Not that I wanted to. “It’ll be my first time.”

  His grin grew wider. “I like taking girls on their first ride.”

  I flushed. I didn’t want to think about how I was one of many he’d given a ride to. Besides he was just being nice because he knew I wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t like he was interested in me or anything. I’d just hurled in front of him, after all.

  As we walked toward the front of the house, I tried to fire off a text to Kendall to let her know I was leaving. It was easier than trying to find her. Or it should have been. My fingers kept hitting the wrong keys. Normally I could text and walk at the same time. Not tonight. I staggered to a stop and started over.

  “What are you doing?” Fletcher asked.

  “I need to let Kendall know I’m heading home so she isn’t looking for me later. Dang it! Stupid autocorrect.”

  “Dang it?” He chuckled. “Such harsh language, Grandma. Give it here.”

  He plucked my phone from me. In spite of the fact that his hands were much larger than mine, his fingers thicker, he didn’t seem to have any trouble typing. I heard the swoosh of a message being sent. He handed the phone back to me and I glanced at the screen.

  Hot guy giving me ride. Catch U l8r.

  I released a tiny shriek. “That’s not what I wanted to say. And you’re so not hot.”

  “It’s eighty degrees out. Course I’m hot.”

  His hand rested lightly on the nape of my neck, and he led me over to an assortment of coolers near the patio. Some guys standing nearby hooted, whistled, and gave him a thumbs-up.

  “What’d you do?” I asked.

  “What?” Fletcher asked.

  I made a half-wave toward the guys. “They seem excited for you.”

  “They’re drunk idiots. They get excited about everything.”

  Ignoring them, he reached into a cooler and handed me a bottle of water. As we continued on, I swished water around my mouth and spewed it out a couple of times before drinking. It was nice to get rid of any lingering aftertaste from my embarrassing performance by the lake. When we got to where his motorcycle waited, he took the bottle and dropped it into a nearby trash can.

  “The environment thanks you,” I told him.

  “Don’t make a big de
al out of it. It was right there.” Fletcher lifted the helmet off the seat and held it out to me.

  “I can’t wear that,” I said. “It’s yours and if we crash—”

  “We’re not going to crash.” His voice held impatience, his hands not so much as he worked the helmet over my head and secured the chin strap. He straddled the bike and patted the area behind him. “Come on, Einstein. You can figure this part out.”

  Yeah, I could. I settled in behind him. Reaching back, he took my hands and pulled my arms around him. He was so sturdy, all muscle and sinew. Not an ounce of fat. I really wished I wasn’t noticing that. It made me sound breathless when I gave him my address.

  “Got it,” he said. “Hold on tight.”

  “Tightly,” I corrected.

  “Whatever, Hemingway.” He fired up the bike and the roar rumbled through me. He revved the engine, and I cringed with the realization so much power was beneath us. “Ready?” he yelled.

  I tightened my hold, locked my fingers together so nothing could separate us, nodded, then realized he couldn’t see that so I yelled, “Yeah!”

  He took off, and I clung to him as though I’d never let him go. I heard his deep laughter echoing around me, felt the wind rushing over my face. The force of it sobered me. I figured this was why he liked giving girls their first ride, because it was at once both terrifying and exhilarating and caused them to hang on tighter. I was acutely aware of the scent of him filling my nostrils, the warmth of his skin seeping through his clothes.

  As the world whizzed by, I snuggled more closely against him. It was hard to believe that I was here—on his bike. We were on the opposite ends of almost every spectrum known to man. Or at least every “Who’s Your Perfect Match?” quiz I took in teen magazines. He would be at the bottom of the list. I wanted someone smart, motivated, nice—

  I furrowed my brow. He’d been nice tonight, sticking around when I got sick, giving me a ride home. Straight home. We arrived long before I was ready to give up the experience of riding a bike.

  Fletcher pulled into the driveway. I peeled myself away from him, swung my leg back, and scrambled off the seat.

  “Fun?” he asked.

  I released a small laugh and smiled. “It was awesome.” Much steadier on my feet now, I unbuckled the helmet and held it out to him. He took it and set it down, then gently cradled my cheek with one hand and stroked my lower lip with his thumb.

  “You’ve got a nice smile,” he said quietly, as though he was totally surprised by it.

  Suddenly I was feeling dizzy again, but it had nothing to do with alcohol, and had everything to do with the way Fletcher was studying me as though he was going to be tested about every facet of my face Monday morning at school and would have to draw it from memory. I knew his reputation, knew girls fell over themselves if he snapped his fingers, and I wondered why he’d approached me tonight. Did he have a secret crush on me? Had he thought tonight might be his last chance to make a move? Was he going to kiss me? Did I want him to? Yes, yes I did.

  He sat there so still, the engine rumbling. And the way he was looking at me . . . No guy had ever looked at me so intensely, with such a magnetic pull. Right then, I was pretty sure that he wanted to kiss me. That something special, magical was happening between us.

  “I’ll wait,” he said, and it was like a moment from a movie. I’ll wait until you’re ready. I’ll wait forever. I’ll wait until you’re finished with college. I’ll be right here.

  “Till you get inside,” he finished.

  I snapped back to reality.

  Obviously I had not sobered at all if I thought Fletcher Thomas was going to wait for me any longer than two minutes. Or that he was even contemplating kissing me. Or that anything special was developing between us. As I backed up, his hand slid away, and I felt this pang of grief, as though I’d lost something. What was wrong with me?

  “Uh, thanks for the ride,” I said.

  “Anytime.” He didn’t smile, just studied me somberly as though I’d somehow disappointed him.

  “Be careful driving,” I said, backing up another step.

  “Always am.”

  I took two steps toward the house, stopped, swung back around. “Do you even know my name?”

  “Einstein.”

  I growled. He didn’t know my name, didn’t know who I was. He’d just seen a girl . . . only he hadn’t made any moves. I was pretty sure I was going to be mortified when I was sober.

  Then because I really didn’t want to leave and I wasn’t sure why, I turned on my heel and rushed toward the front door. I took the keys from my pocket, fumbled with them, and had to try three times to get the door unlocked. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, leaned against it, and waited a minute, two, three—

  Finally I heard Fletcher throttle the engine and leave.

  And nearly jumped out of my skin when my cell phone barked. Kendall insisted I use that ringtone for her since she loved dogs.

  “Yeah?” I whispered, trying to slow down my heartbeat.

  “Where are you?” she asked harshly.

  “Home.”

  Mom stepped out of the family room where she’d probably been watching TV while waiting for my return. She always tried to be casual about it, like she couldn’t wait another day to watch a particular movie or show, but I knew she was just concerned when I was out late at night.

  “Hold up,” I said to Kendall. I smiled at Mom and said unnecessarily, “I’m home.”

  “Did you have fun?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. I’m heading to bed.”

  “Sweet dreams.” I couldn’t help but smile, because I had a thousand memories of her saying those words to me. She’d probably say them when I was fifty. And they would still fill me with a sense of warmth and security.

  Heading up the stairs, I returned my attention to Kendall. “Didn’t you get my text?”

  “Yes, but it did not say the hot guy was Fletcher Thomas.”

  “How do you know who it was?”

  “Someone saw you leave with him. God, Avery, your reputation is toast.”

  “Nothing happened.” I stepped into my bedroom, closed the door behind me, crossed over to my bed, and flopped backward onto it.

  “No one is going to believe that. Everyone knows he doesn’t give girls free rides.”

  “Well, he did tonight. I drank too much. Threw up. Trust me. The most desperate-to-get-laid guy at school would not have found me attractive. And Fletcher isn’t desperate.”

  Silence. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Finally, she said, “Nothing happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Wow, that’s not the Fletcher I know.”

  “Do you really know him?” I asked.

  “I know his reputation. Same thing.”

  Was it? Before tonight I would have agreed with her, but now I wasn’t so sure. Because if he expected something in return when he gave a girl a ride—even if it was only a kiss—why hadn’t he tried to collect from me? Why was I bothered that he hadn’t? “Where are you anyway?” I asked Kendall, trying to get my mind off these disturbing thoughts.

  “In the car with Jeremy. I got worried when I heard about who you’d left with. Why didn’t you come find us?”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your fun. Sounds like I did that anyway.”

  “No. Jeremy was getting hungry. We’re going to hit an all-night breakfast place. Want us to stop by and get you?”

  “Thanks, but I’m really tired.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you at school Monday. One more week.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, one more week.”

  Setting the phone aside, I stared at the ceiling. I tried not to think about Fletcher, but suddenly he was all I could think about. I’d never really talked with him, but he was kind of funny, and I’d actually enjoyed bantering with him. Although I couldn’t figure out why he’d approached me. I was known as being the good girl of school. Had he seen m
e as a challenge?

  Suddenly I was confused. I hadn’t wanted him to put any moves on me, but my pride was a little hurt that he hadn’t. Even the bad boy of Memorial High didn’t want to kiss me.

  With a groan I rolled over and covered my head with a pillow. Graduation could not come soon enough.

  Chapter 2

  FLETCHER

  I did know her name.

  I’d known it since sophomore year when I’d gotten held back because I’d missed too many classes to meet the state requirement for attendance. Even when the counselor warned me that I couldn’t have any more absences, I hadn’t cared. I’d been too embarrassed to show up to school with bruises.

  When I was a sophomore for the second time, I’d spotted her in the hallway, all bouncy and happy. Pretty in a simple way. She didn’t paint her eyes or her lips or her cheeks. She didn’t look like a plastic doll. She appeared real and touchable.

  She’d said hi to me in the hallway as though I didn’t have a reputation for trouble, as though I wasn’t a year older than everyone else in the class, as though I mattered.

  But then slowly the wariness crept in. I knew she was hearing the rumors, accepting them as truth. The smiles and greetings became fewer. Then they were completely gone.

  I didn’t know why I’d come to her rescue tonight. The irony was that she’d never realize that I had. Which was probably for the best.

  Most girls loved when I gave them attention. But not Avery Watkins. She was smarter than four hundred and forty-eight people in our graduating class. And she threw around fancy words like novice. She was probably waiting for Mr. Right—someone equally good, naive, and smart, which I definitely was not.

  We hadn’t had many chances to talk over the years. Had no classes together, and other girls were usually occupying my time in the hallways. I hadn’t expected Avery to stand up to me the way she did. Or maybe it had all been the booze talking, making her daring.