“That’s not mine, Logan.” She gives a dark laugh. “It was Chloe’s.” She says it matter-of-factly before tossing her hand over her lips. “You still miss her. Your poor heart…” She looks me over as if I’d just had my balls flattened by a semi. “I haven’t read it.” It comes out sweetly. “Just give it back to me one day. I’d sort of like to have it.”
“Will do,” I say, bolting for the stairs. It was that easy?
“And if you read anything about me, it’s probably not true. I don’t even like bananas!”
I don’t question Michelle’s aversion to the perversely shaped fruit or wonder how that story begins and ends. I simply jump in my truck and head over to Skyla’s.
I look back and watch as Michelle Miller’s home shrinks in the distance.
Goodbye, Michelle. You’re all done cluttering up my relationship with Skyla.
Now to set things straight with the only girl I care about.
***
Drake lets me in, and I give a gentle knock on Skyla’s bedroom door, but she doesn’t answer, so I step inside and find her sleeping. Her hair spills over the edge of the bed like a golden waterfall. Her tanned legs are stretched over the length of the mattress. I should cover her. I bite down a wicked grin. I should cover her with my body, but don’t. Instead, I drop to my knees at the side of her bed like I’m about to say my prayers and land a series of soft kisses across the back of her neck—her skin tastes sweet like strawberries.
“Go,” she whispers, motioning me away as if I were Charlie. “Shoo,” she moans, writhing over the bed until her lids crack open. Her eyes spring wide as she bolts up and slams into the wall.
I tuck the diary under my arm and flex my hands in surrender before she knocks the lamp over my skull.
She glances down with wonder.
“You got it!” She screams, clapping her hand over her mouth to keep quiet after the fact.
I head back to the door and slide the dresser over. I’m not up for a piece of her stepfather’s lunacy tonight. Skyla comes over, and I hand her the holy grail of all things Bishop, the diary.
“You read it?” She looks up at me with apprehension.
“Not yet.”
I tried opening it in the car only to discover the pages are glued shut. Typical Chloe—all head games, all the time. If it’s one thing she liked, it was to be in total control, on and off the mattress.
Skyla swallows hard—she rubs her fingers over it as if it were Chloe herself. She didn’t know her, but she sleeps in the same room and shares the same four walls that Chloe did. I’m sure it messes with her head.
Skyla plucks something that looks like a coin from her pocket.
Holy shit.
I stop breathing.
“Ouch!” She snatches her fingers back as the pendant jumps from her hand and bounces across the room.
“You found it.” Something’s not right. The entire purpose of getting that diary was because it was supposed to be inside. I don’t want to freak Skyla out, but there’s a chance it’s either a fake or merely visiting with no intention of staying.
I sweep it off the floor and examine it. If it is a replica, it’s stunningly accurate—silver filigree with a blue stone in the center. Nope, I have feeling this is the real deal.
“Where’d you find it?”
“I didn’t.” She shrugs and brings her fingers to her lips like she’s done something wrong.
“You took it?” Worst-case scenario. “You went back to return the diary, but kept the pendant?”
“People lose things all the time.” It streams from her lips like a half-truth.
“Not things they need to eat, breathe, and see.” I say it low and quiet to let her know she can trust me with whatever it is she’s done.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a protective hedge.” I toss it up and catch it like it was no big deal. A flashback of my grandmother giving it to me washes over me, and I feel horrible for even acting like it could be worth nothing. I had gifted it to Chloe. It was a mistake, but it didn’t feel like one at the time. “I wondered why she took it off. Why she put it in her diary of all places.” I take up her hand and set the pendant in its new home. “Here—wear this. Don’t ever take this off. No Sector, Fem, or Count can kill you. You’ll be impervious.” I give her a tender kiss just above her left brow and slide the dresser over again.
Skyla gives a mournful sigh as I take off for the night.
I’m glad the pendant is in Skyla’s possession—where it was supposed to be all along.
Too bad it won’t last.
I can see the wreckage a mile away.
Gage
Logan came home pretty late last night, said he was hyper-caffeinated and wouldn’t be able to wake up in the morning, so I volunteered to cover his shift. Technically, he announced that I’d be covering his shift, but I know when he’s messing around and when he’s being a dick—this was a bit of a combo. He also mentioned that he wanted to talk to me about something important and would be by later this afternoon.
The bowling alley hums with a steady choir of thunders and groans as the hours drone on.
It’s well past afternoon, and the crowd just keeps coming. If I ever hear Logan complain about how business is hurting, I’ll gladly open the register and wave the stack of dollars in his face.
Brielle cackles into her phone as she makes her way over.
“You get paid to talk on that thing?” I tease. I couldn’t care less what she does while she’s here. The place practically runs itself.
“I gotta go.” She bleats it out with the utmost sarcasm. “My boss has a big, fat problem in his pants, and he says I have to take care of it right away.” A moment of silence beats by. “Gage.” She laughs before hanging up.
“Who was that?” I’m only half-curious, and that half has to do with Skyla.
“None of your beeswax.” She slaps me on the stomach before helping herself to the mints Logan keeps by the register.
“It’s my beeswax when you start involving the baseball bat in my pants.”
Brielle belts out a laugh that goes on for an embarrassingly long time.
“It was Drake.” She hops on the counter. “Baseball bat—that’s a good one. Ego much?”
“So what’s Drake up to?” That’s code for what’s Skyla up to, only I’m not so sure Brielle will pick up on it.
“He’ll be here in just a little while to kick your ass. I hear throwing stars might be involved.”
“Great.” Sounds like an efficient tool of castration. “And Skyla?” I cut to the chase with a half-smile.
“Skyla?” She winces into me. “Hey, you like her.” Her mouth falls open. “You are so all over Logan’s girlfriend!”
A bomb goes off in my stomach when she says it. I guess it’s true. Skyla is Logan’s girlfriend. And I’m the invisible nothing.
“Oh, no!” She gasps, covering her hands over her mouth. “You’re wrecked over this. Stop liking her right this minute before I feel sorry for you and do something stupid.”
“How stupid are we talking?” Already, I know it’s an impossibility to stop liking Skyla.
“Like talking you up to my sweet L.A. neighbor.” She considers this a moment. “Only I really like Logan, too. Plus, he’s my real boss.” She shakes her head. “You’re on your own, dude. But you know what? You’ve got those eyes. They drive girls wild—and that hair. Girls are forever talking about how they want to run barefoot through it.”
“My hair?”
She leans in and her cleavage spills to her chin, but I try not to notice. “You know what they call you?”
“What who calls me?” God, I hope Skyla is involved with the name-calling. Unless, of course, it’s horrible, then in no way do I want Skyla involved.
“The girls, doofus. The girls call you, Orgasm Oliver.”
“Really?” I tick my head back a notch.
“Yeah, really.” She shakes out her copper curls. “
All it takes is just one look. You flash a smile, and half the student body is incapacitated. Have you seen your dimples? Dude! You’ve got it going on. If Skyla’s not interested, I’d question what kind of blood she’s got pumping through those veins.”
I huff a quiet laugh. I’ve been wondering the same thing. My only saving grace is that somehow, miraculously, Skyla’s bloodlines fall nowhere near Celestra. Because if they do, then she must be the girl meant for Logan. But why in the hell would destiny want us both to have her?
“And what do they call Logan?” I’m betting this is the part where she remembers “Orgasm Oliver” was his nickname.
“Lusty Logan.” She says it with her lids partially drawn. “Sometimes it’s just plain, Long Logan.” She shrugs off that last one. Her eyes widen as a she looks past my shoulder. “Booty brigade six o’clock,” Brielle whispers, hopping off the counter.
I turn to find an ingloriously, mostly undressed Spencer Jameson and the rest of Ellis’s “love honeys.”
I flash a quiet smile, and their mouths fall open.
Looks like I’m living up to my name.
***
Logan shows just as my shift ends.
“Ready to take over?” I don’t bother to ask what might have happened last night with Skyla. He said he had news, and my blood curdled. All I could think about today was the two of them bonding on an intimate level.
“I’m not working tonight. Your parents want to take us out to dinner.”
“And the occasion is?” I’m half-afraid Logan scored a home run—that he shared the news with Mom, and now she’s in a celebratory mood. She’s not the biggest fan of me untying the apron strings, but the last thing I want her to feel is that Skyla is a threat.
Logan pushes out a dry smile. “I think they want to talk us off the ledge. They think a girl getting between us is going to change things.” It comes out serious, a little miffed, like it already has. “Skyla’s got the pendant.”
“What? Shit, that’s great.” My palms break out in a sweat just thinking about it. “How’d it happen?”
“Long story.” He slaps me on the back. “You mind if we hit the jewelry store before dinner?”
A dull laugh rattles through me. I’m pretty sure I won’t be helping “Lusty Logan” pick out his engagement ring. That’s for damn sure.
18
Logan
A Single Strand of Silver
Tarasco’s Cantina is lit up like an electrified piñata.
Barron and Emma meet Gage and me in the parking lot, and we head in together.
Emma has an obvious spring in her step, overjoyed that her son’s penis has dodged yet another vagina. She doesn’t quite realize that he’s a growing boy with hormones—that girls puddle to his feet whether he realizes it or not. Nevertheless, she’s pleased beyond measure that Skyla is taken, even if it is by me. I suppose they’re going to demand he hand his balls over and give Skyla and me his blessing. Doubt that will happen, but at least I can shovel some chips and salsa while hoping.
Barron opens the door as we make our way inside where a bloated man with dark hair and a pasty face argues with the girl in charge of seating. He looks vaguely familiar.
Gage leans in and whispers, “Skyla’s here.”
I look over and see her dreamily inspecting the layout of the restaurant and head over.
“Hey.” I land my hands soft over her shoulders, and she turns, startled at first, before offering her signature sexy smile.
She glances past me for a second at Gage, and her grin widens.
“What are you doing here?” The sweet scent of her perfume calls me closer, a gentle whisper of vanilla and gardenia, a familiar combination I can’t quite place at the moment.
“Hopefully, we’ll be eating.” Alone, I want to add, but don’t.
“Skyla!” Emma bursts forward, charged with enthusiasm. She couldn’t be happier that Skyla isn’t fostering Gage’s hormonal tendencies.
Skyla wastes no time in introducing her parents to Barron and Emma.
Her mother is fascinated by my aunt. Looks like they’ve found a friend in one another, and this makes me happy. I want our families to get along.
Gage catches my eye with that sour puss he doesn’t bother hiding. Shit. Now I’ll have to deal with his sulking all night, and my heart breaks for the guy.
The waitress pops up in our midst. “Melissa?”
That’s Skyla’s stepsister. And judging by the tiara on her head, I’m guessing it’s her birthday.
“Why don’t you join us?” Skyla’s mother lights up at the thought.
“Yes!” Emma beams back. “We would love to. Right Barron?”
Barron pulls his lips to side as he glances over at Gage. He can see the uncomfortable writing on the wall but gives in with a nod.
The waitress herds our pack toward a table, and I take the opportunity to pull Skyla to the side. “Where’s your pendant?” I give a sly smile.
“I…” She starts.
“You don’t have a chain, do you?” I pull the newly purchased silver cord from my pocket. Gage helped me pick it out. The links are so tight that it looks like one solid piece of liquid silver. It’s going to glow against her tan skin.
“Excellent.” She bites her lip like it’s not. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I secretly returned the pendant last night?” She gives a forced laugh.
And gave it back to Chloe?
“It would be very not funny,” I say. “It couldn’t help her now. But you, you’ll be safe.”
“You mean, she’d still die?” Skyla seems puzzled by this as if in some way she thinks she caused Chloe’s death.
“Of course. It doesn’t change. Besides, the odds of going back to the exact same place and time are phenomenal. I don’t think it could happen.”
“So if I had…” I can see her mind ticking, and it makes me nervous. “When I put on the pendant, I’m free of all things scary?” She pulls her hair back and spins around while I clasp the necklace, which is noticeably free of the aforementioned pendant. I’m getting a pretty clear picture here.
“And nobody will be able to kill you. Ever.” If nothing else comes from this conversation, at least she’ll realize the value of the pendant. Not that it’s going to do her any good without it.
And I get the feeling we are definitely without it.
***
During dinner, Skyla looks down at her food mournfully. She makes tracks in the beans and mixes the rice around before burrowing holes in her wet burrito.
Gage insisted on sitting by her side, proficiently freaking Emma out in the process. If that didn’t send a clear signal to her that he was still interested in who we now lovingly refer to as “my girlfriend,” then the fact that he’s offered to do everything for Skyla but chew her food should do the trick. And can he stop stealing glances? It’s becoming painfully obvious the obsession is one-sided. If he keeps up the insanity routine, I might be moved to see Ellis’s mother about a restraining order for both Skyla and me. I’m definitely going to have to find a way to cool those baby blues for a while.
After dinner, Melissa is presented with a piece of flan, and we sing happy birthday. She blows the candles out and glances up at Gage as if he had appeared as a direct result of her wish. Maybe that’s who Gage is supposed to marry? Maybe he saw Skyla in the background holding a bouquet and got confused. A swell of relief fills me as I go with it.
“Ten spoons please,” Skyla’s stepdad, Tad, barks up at the waitress. Skyla mentioned he was tight but really?
Emma bows into the birthday girl. “Melissa, did you make a wish?”
“Yes”—Mellissa swoons—“I wish that when I grow up, I marry Gage.”
A light round of laughter circles the table—all but Emma, of course. Emma looks like she just dodged one bullet only to land in the path of another.
“Actually,” Skyla says it bored with no real affect, “Gage is going to marry me.”
Emma bleaches out, powder whi
te, and sways in her seat. She can feel the vaginal walls closing in on her baby, and she doesn’t like it one fucking bit.
“Skyla!” Her mother clutches her chest. “I thought you were seeing Logan?”
“I am,” she whispers. “It’s twisted.”
The check arrives, and Tad and Barron spar over it for a brief moment.
“I don’t mind one bit.” Barron is a quick draw with his wallet. “I’d love to treat the birthday girl.”
“It’s my daughter, I insist,” Tad’s voice escalates, but it sounds fake, like he’s putting on a show.
Barron inspects him for a moment. I can tell he’s not impressed. “Well, if you insist. I’ll get it next time.”
“Next time?” Tad shoves the check in his direction. “I see what you’re doing here, trying to outsmart me.” He gives a hard wink. “I’m the one who’s getting it next time.”
I’m pretty sure there won’t be a next time.
We clear the table, and I’m quick to shake her parents hands.
“You mind if I treat Skyla to dessert?” I ask her mother, the seemingly more reasonable of the two. Her red hair frames her face, and she doesn’t look a thing like Skyla. “I’ll bring her home right after.”
“Not at all,” she says. “Take your time.” She whispers something to Skyla before they head out.
Gage catches my eye. He holds the door open, still waiting for Skyla and me to make our way over, and when we don’t, the fake smile he’s been holding up all night dissolves to nothing—and it breaks my heart.
The waitress reseats us at an intimate table for two—the way I wish things were an hour ago, before I had to listen to her stepfather gripe about the gas prices on the island for an inordinate amount of time.
We check out the dessert menu, and I talk her into trying the deep-fried ice cream.
“I can tell my mother loved your parents.” Her mouth falls open once she realizes those weren’t my parents.