And Sue didn’t need to know any of those things, because like every other part of my personal life, they were mine to keep.
Cue Sue turning around. Staring at me from under what I suspect were fake eyelashes. Sucking her cheeks in.
Then she did the unbelievable and inhaled without finishing the act with another one of her huffs.
“Mr. Cole, will you need anything else from me today? I’m not feeling very well.”
“That would be all,” I said. “Take the rest of the day off. Go rest. You deserve it.”
She nodded.
I nodded.
Yeah, I wasn’t a bad person, letting my PA ditch me so she could teach me some useless lesson.
I fired my MacBook right back up and finished my transaction, sending twenty thousand dollars to her.
It was supposed to make me feel better.
It didn’t.
The next morning was a rehash of the one I had when Baby LeBlanc came to my apartment dressed to impress (by her standards.) Meaning, I woke up next to a stranger, braved a hangover from hell, which I decided to tame by smoking a big, fat blunt on my terrace while sipping a Bloody Mary. Not the virgin kind. These days I never took a virgin anything. After all, the last one I had fucked me over, ran away, and was now marrying one of my best friends.
But I digress.
Maybe it wasn’t the best idea I had in mind to stop at a convenience store in the armpit of New York on my way to JFK at six a.m. and grab a bottle of who-the-fuck-knows-what and finish it before the poor taxi driver even dropped me off.
I knew it was a shitty move on my end, but couldn’t stop myself from smoking and drinking before I boarded the plane.
Fuck you, Nina, I muttered the entire drive to JFK, like it was some kind of bullshit yoga mantra. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.
Zigzagging my way to the terminal, I hoped to hell Baby LeBlanc was already inside the plane and made good use of the ticket and taxi I sent for her. The odds were in my favor. I threatened her, and she had no clue I couldn’t, in good conscience, raise her rent, even by a penny. I always had a soft spot for this girl, and it seemed like the more she hated me, the more I wanted to prove to her that it was always us. That if I believed in that bullshit of two people who were meant to be with each other—it was because we actually were.
I was late, and the flight was delayed as a result. Little Miss CrankyPants didn’t take any of my calls, and I felt an invisible rope tightening around my neck. I wanted to get to Todos Santos, dump Rosie at her sister’s, and collapse into my childhood bed. Somewhere in the back of my head, I wanted more out of life. To stop drinking and smoking like a fucking chimney. To let go of the bad shit that kept ricocheting into my life. To ask her on a date instead of asking her to reverse-cowgirl me, because all the sexual crap I was dishing at her was a defense mechanism in case she said no.
Because no one ever said no.
No one other than her, and if she was going to turn me down, might as well offer her my dick and not my heart.
My last recollection was of the flight attendant showing me the way and the soft thud of my head hitting the headrest, followed by a sharp pain that suggested my brain had just detonated. I winced, scrubbing my forehead before I heard her strained, out-of-breath voice. At first, I thought she was going to yell at me for being late, for delaying the flight, and for fucking breathing. So, it didn’t register when my half-dead mind actually decoded her words into their meaning.
“Here. Two Advils and water.” She dropped something in my palm. “I’ll ask the flight attendant for some milk after we take off. You pull this shit on our way back home, and I will make sure every woman you bring into the building knows your dick is more contaminated than the public restroom in the subway.”
I opened my eyes, turning my head on the cushioned seat to face her, my gaze gliding over her face.
“You seem to take a lot of interest in my dick, Baby LeBlanc. First, you wanted to pour wax on it; now, you want to cockblock it. Maybe you should meet him and see if you two could be friends. I think you will get along great.”
“No, thank you, I’d literally rather eat someone else’s puke.”
“Literally? Somehow I doubt it. Unless you have a very peculiar taste for puke.”
Rosie had always been a bitch to me. I didn’t blame her, but didn’t trust her either. But now, her face looked blank and genuine and, fine, fucking gorgeous. Her cheeks the color of ripe peaches, freckles decorating her little nose, and those huge bluest-blues staring back at me. Two hundred different shades of brown and blonde on her head, all courtesy of Mother Nature. She was the very definition of a nymph. Everything about her was so incredibly smooth and velvet, there was no way you could tell she was sick.
I groaned, tossing the Advil and bottle of water into my dry mouth. I wiped my lips as the plane started sliding forward, gaining speed.
“Do you need help?” she asked, her voice neutral. She meant the drinking. The pot. The general mess that was my life. I was a high-functioning, borderline alcoholic who smoked like being stoned was an Olympic sport. Nobody complained when I sealed those deals and wired that money and fucked like a champion.
“I do, actually. I need you to leave me be until we get to San Diego. Think you can do that?”
Fuck, you’re a dick.
The last thing I remembered before I blanked out was Rosie’s chest rising and falling irregularly to her ragged breaths.
“Whatever,” she whispered. “I’m letting you off easy, because I’ve a feeling you had a shitty week. But if you wanna talk about it, I’m here.”
I wanted to tell her everything.
I didn’t want her to know shit.
She confused me, and right now, she was the very complication I talked about when I told her I always opted for the easy route. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. And when darkness came, so did she.
Nina.
Eleven years ago
What makes you feel alive?
Watching my reflection in the cool, calm water of the pool. Blue-hued, unblinking. Diving into a quieter space without even dipping my toe in the water.
DANGEROUS CHEMISTRY.
That was our main problem.
And that was why I vowed to never be home when Dean came to visit my sister. It wasn’t a difficult task. Millie had always been a creature of habit. Her room was neat, her notebooks tidy with perfect handwriting, granting her straight A’s back to back. Much like everything else, she allotted a perfectly specific time frame in which she hung out with her perfectly polished boyfriend. Tuesdays and Thursdays after school—because Dean had football practice in the mornings on those days—and on the weekends, they made plans outside of the Spencer’s mansion, because Millie couldn’t stand Vicious and vice versa.
It wasn’t like I was lying in my bed, listening to Miranda Lambert man-hating songs, and crying my eyes out. I was the C-minus troublemaker who loved a good thrill. I entertained myself with friends and after-school activities. Got my navel and nose pierced downtown, applied for odd jobs, saved money for a new bike, and skinny-dipped in the ocean near a deserted beach with friends when the weather permitted, which was always, because…well, SoCal.
Indeed, I did a lot of things that fall. Dutifully, none of them were my sister’s hot-as-sin boyfriend.
I can tell you flat out, right here, that being under the same roof with them made me want to skulk deeper into my skin and disappear into myself, vanishing into nothing. They made noises. I hated those noises. They were the worst type of noises.
Heavy breathing, panting, giggling, and loud, messy kisses. The fact that I was able to hear them through the closed door to Millie’s room only made the searing hole in my chest grow wider. Despite my shortcomings, I’d always been a sensible chick. I didn’t need this kind of negativity in my life. So, it was really for the best that I was never there.
If I could pinpoint the moment that brought on that resolution—staying away from Dean C
ole even when Millie was in the room with us—I would pick the pool incident.
It was a Thursday, and Millie was late. She had to stop at the gas station on her way home to fill some air in her bicycle tires. I was about to leave the servants’ house where we lived on the Spencer mansion’s lot. Everything about that encounter felt like it was ripped out of a movie scene. I opened the door just as Dean was about to knock on it. Our eyes locked and so did my jaw, because I was fighting a smile I was determined not to let loose, knowing it could very well rip my face in two.
Dean looked like temptation. And I don’t just mean the fact that he was stunning in his regal blue varsity jacket and panty-melting bad boy expression. The way he smelled, of faint laundry detergent and expensive sex, and his commanding height and build made me desperate. I swear, half the time he was around, my desperation for him hung in the air like stench.
“Hey.” My goddamn voice cracked.
“Right back at ya,” he replied. Our eyes were roaming again. Not good, but also not the first time it happened. It always made me feel guilty. If they were hands, his fingers would pull at my waist now, right after flipping my black Dead Kennedys hoodie down so he could see my face better; mine grabbing at his perfect, sun-kissed brown hair, and our bodies glued together like two pages in a brand new book.
“Millie’s not here yet, but you can come in.” I stepped sideways and pushed the door wider. “I’m just heading out. She should be back any minute.”
“Where you heading?” he asked, placing his arm on the doorframe and blocking my way out.
“I’m sorry.” I folded my arms over my chest. “I didn’t get the memo. Is it suddenly any of your business?”
“Maybe the memo got lost in the mail.” He took a step in, forcing me to take a step back, and Jesus, I couldn’t even look him in the eyes I was so flustered. Luckily, my head was level with his pecs. “Because you’re definitely my business, Baby LeBlanc.” My heart jumped to my throat, making it impossible to suck in a breath, before he added, “And I think we both know better than to pretend I don’t keep tabs on you.”
I pulled my hood all the way down to cover my burning face.
Normally, he was the poster child for cocky. The whole cliché of the rowdy badass the HotHoles were feeding All Saints High about themselves. Their subjects and minions ate that shit up and came back for seconds. Perhaps I was at fault for not caring for that type of thing, but I never got the power trip and ‘grownup’ vibe the HotHoles were sporting. Part of the reason I noticed Dean in the first place was because he didn’t take himself too seriously, and wasn’t as brooding and douchebaggy as the rest. Ever since he started to date Millie—which wasn’t that long ago—he always tried to catch a word with me. At first, he assured me that he wasn’t touching her. After I told him that he should touch her, he got really mad. Nowadays, he was going out with her and acting like it—kissing her, God, I heard them just the other day—even though his eyes were on me. Always on me.
“I, ah…” I zoned out, the rusty wheels in my brain reeling, searching for a potential lie. My alibi was sound. I did need to go someplace. But I didn’t share it with people, much less fellow students, and definitely not the dude I had a huge crush on. Dean wasn’t a guy to back down, though. I had to say something—anything—so I opted for the truth. “I have a doctor’s appointment.”
Chancing a look up, I saw recognition and calm washing over his face. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Something wrong?”
Yes. My whole life is wrong.
“No, it’s nothing like that.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear under the hoodie. “Sometimes I just need to…” shut the hell up, the voice told me. Feeling small and vulnerable wasn’t my jam.
“To…?” He dipped his chin down, egging me on. And it was a crying shame that chemistry was an unexplainable string that pulled and bound two people together. Because that was how I felt at that moment. Chained. The way he looked at me, like I was the center of the world, bothered me. Flattered me. Possessed me. God, I had to say something fast to make him shut up and leave me alone. No matter how embarrassing the truth may have been.
“To get a chest massage.” I had to get all the mucus out of my airways, but that wasn’t something I was eager to share with him. I quirked a brow and shoved my fists into my pockets. “You know, just keeping it sexy, and stuff.”
My eyes were securely covered by the hoodie, but it still wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough next to him. Even with three layers of clothes, I had always felt naked.
Chest massages were a weekly occurrence. Sometimes I had to go to the clinic. Sometimes a nurse would come to me. And even though Millie didn’t say a thing about my illness to her boyfriend, I knew that if he really stuck around, he’d find out eventually.
Shouldering my way past Dean, I marched to the main entrance of the manor. There was a flagstone walkway leading straight to the gate, but I liked to take the long way, through Vicious’s massive pool and Dean’s-eyes-green-lawn. To walk on its edge. To feel alive.
I heard Dean’s steps jogging after me. Without looking back, I knew that he was sporting that smile that made me angry for some reason.
“Chest massage, huh?” He sounded cunning. “A lot of guys would love to help you with that.”
“Thank you, Dean, for the creepy comment.”
“What’s creepy in pointing out that guys wanna touch your tits?”
“The fact that it’s my sister’s boyfriend who is telling me this. It is also slightly inappropriate. And by slightly, I mean extremely.”
“Never said I wanted to do it myself.” He tsked, adding, “Why the fuck would you need a chest massage, anyway? You get a boob job or something?”
I paused by the deep end of the pool, turned around, and held his gaze in a way that felt too intimate. We were face to face. Body to body. The wind was cold but gracious. I took a step back. From that angle, Vicious could see us from his bedroom window. The last thing I needed was to arm him with more ammo against Millie, so he could tell her he saw me flirting with her boyfriend. I needed to make sure she was protected, no matter what.
“I have an illness,” I said, the words falling out of my mouth before I could stop them. His eyes darkened, leaking suspicion and disbelief to the rest of his face.
“What illness?” he demanded, looking confused, annoyed, and…hurt? Maybe.
“Cystic fibrosis. It’s a lung disease.”
“Curable?” He pressed, his voice hard. His brows dropped like a stone. It was almost like he was accusing me of something.
“Nope.” I felt my cheeks warming up. “Was born with it. Will die with it. Most likely because of it, too. Young, probably. Both my parents carry the gene.”
“Millie doesn’t have it.” There it was again. Was he hoping to catch me in a lie? Because if I were a liar, I was pretty sure I would have tried to sell myself as having a superpower or Einstein’s IQ. I snorted out a laugh, because it was attractive and all.
“Well, Millie’s lucky,” I spat out. She was. In more ways than one. “Just because both parents carry the gene doesn’t mean all their kids will get it. Call it nature’s Russian roulette, if you would. And it’s me who got the bullet in the effing neck. There’s your fun fact for the day. Now can I go?”
With any other guy, I would have turned around and left. Simple. But with Dean ‘Ruckus’ Cole, nothing was simple. I wanted to milk every second I had alone with him. I wasn’t even sure why. It felt strange, agonizing, and thrilling to have him around, and then the moment he was gone, I knew I’d hate myself for every single word I’d said, every way I’d acted, and every single breath I took.
“Rosie.”
I lifted my head, and before I knew what was happening, I felt his rough palms on my waist and my body flying into the pool. I didn’t have time to brace myself for the fall. Literally or figuratively. My body hit the water flat, the plunge painful like I smashed right into concrete. I used my arms to swim my wa
y up to get some air. The chill of the water only hit me when I took one, desperate breath. I opened my eyes, my whole body shivering violently, and before my eyes adjusted, there was a huge splash beside me. Dean jumped in, too.
My heart went haywire, jackhammering everywhere. I felt it pounding against my ribcage, dipping down, trying to fight its way outside, through my stomach, through my throat, wanting out, out, out. Dean’s body swam to mine, pinning me to the tranquil-blue wall, and I started throwing fists at him. Frantic, angry punches. They weren’t the kind of banter-slaps a girl gives a boy to flirt or warn him to stay away. No. I clawed at his chest with my fingernails, wishing to draw blood.
Then I started crying.
That, too, was completely out of character for yours truly. I’d never cried in front of people I didn’t know. And for the sake of argument, anyone who wasn’t Millie, Mama, or Daddy was a stranger. Yet there I was, my hot, salty tears mixing with the cold, sweet water.
Life ain’t fair.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I roared, my fists continuing their assault on his chest. He’d taken his jacket off before he’d jumped in, and now the only thing separating our flesh was his tight black and gold tee and my soaked hoodie. His skin was warm despite the water and I needed more of it. He wanted to give it to me. His whole body said it. Sang it. Shouted it from the rooftop of this monstrous mansion. No words were spoken at all, which made our body language so much louder. Dangerous chemistry, it warned. Run away, Rosie.
“Your lungs work fine,” he growled into my face, capturing both my wrists and jamming me to the wall, hard. What was he doing? Vicious could see us. Hell, Millie could, too. If she walked in the gate right now, what would she think? Her boyfriend and sister in the pool together. Body to body. Soul to soul. “You’re fucking fine!” he added, his forehead inches from mine.
Was he trying to convince me, or himself?
And why the hell did he care, anyway?
I forced myself to calm down. I needed to talk some sense into this guy. He had to let me go before we got caught doing whatever it was we were doing.