“Oh, so you’re brothers?” It comes out doubtful. They look nothing alike. Or maybe they’re step? Mothers marrying morons is on the rise.
“Cousins.” Logan ticks his head toward Gage. “I live with them. My parents are both deceased.”
His words jar me from my lust-struck stupor.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My dad died, too.” It’s only when I look down that I notice he’s still holding my hand, cradling it soft between both of his. The awkwardness of the situation comes to light and he gently replaces it next to my waist.
“Sorry.” He gives a pensive stare, bearing right through me with those amber lenses—like he sees me, but too much. I feel naked under his watchful supervision, and it sends an errant shudder up my spine.
We reconfigure at a nearby table with Brielle next to me, and Logan across from her.
“So you’re a junior?” Gage rasps his knuckles across the table like a nervous habit. He’s fixed on me with those piercing blue orbs, pulling his gaze across my features slow as honey. He takes me in with an open intensity as if he sees our future written across my forehead.
“Yup,” I try to sound casual, ignoring the fact I’m shaking in their godlike presence. “And you guys?”
“We’re all juniors!” Brielle rattles my arm as though it were the most exciting news in the world.
When she touches my flesh, I can hear her thoughts. It’s an odd gift that I underutilize. I think my mother is onto me because she bolts like a cat out of water if I dare let a hug linger.
Bet they’re both already in love with her. She glances at the ceiling. All that perfect hair, and what color are those eyes anyway? Crystal clear? Really, I hate how beautiful she is.
She hates my beauty. The thought of it brings a slight curve to my lips.
“So tell me about Chloe,” I ask no one in particular. If I’m going to be holed up in her bedroom, it’d be nice to know something about her.
A stunted silence fills the tiny space around us, and I suddenly get the feeling I should never have brought her up.
Logan’s face darkens. His eyes flare, something akin to anger. Gage cuts a look across the room as though he were seething.
Chloe may be dead, but it’s clear her name still holds a great deal of power.
3
Cult of Personality
Turns out Chloe was the subject of much lust at West Paragon High—cheerleader, all around American girl, dated both Logan and Gage on and off—been dead a good nine months.
I blink up at the canopy above my bed. My mother had the movers replicate my old bedroom under her strict delegation of authority. She dreams of us falling in love with this rat-trap, playing the piano and singing by a roaring fire. I think she needs an entire family transplant for something of that moronic magnitude to happen. Doesn’t she realize our family died two years ago? We buried it back in L.A. with my father.
I glance out the window as the morning stretches out in a sheer bloom of fog, and a sad smile plays on my lips. Already I don’t want to leave—already I’m in love with this haunted, arid island.
I dreamed of Logan last night. Logan on the beach, Logan at the movies, his oven-hot hands racing up and down my body—crying out my name on a lonely stretch of highway.
A horn goes off outside in a series of short staccato beeps.
I glance over at the alarm—nine on the button. Brielle managed to convince me to join the cheerleading squad with her. She said, ever since Chloe died they’ve yet to fill the void and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The horn goes off again as I round my legs over the bed. I ignore her impatient honking and head into the shower.
When I get out, I find Brielle is sitting Indian style on my bed, messing with her phone. “Morning sunshine.” She doesn’t bother looking up.
“So Gage or Logan, which one’s yours?” I try to sound indifferent, lacing my words with sarcasm, but I’m digging for the truth and we both know it.
I towel dry my hair like it’s no big deal, like I didn’t whisper I love you to him all night long in my dreams.
“Which one do you think?” She cocks her head to the side like a dare.
It couldn’t be Logan. What we shared was electric.
“Gage?”
She pulls her lips in a line. “Neither.”
“Oh.” I let my towel fall to the ground and snatch the hairbrush off my desk. “Which one are you hoping for?” I can spot a crush a mile away. If she says neither I’m going to hold her down by the wrists until I hear the truth stream through her mind.
“I don’t know. I’ve known them all my life—kind of find them boring. I like fresh meat. You know, undiscovered terrain.” She gives a hard squint hard and points toward Drake’s room.
“Oh, dear God, no.” In a way it’s a good thing because there won’t be any weirdness between us, like ever. Let the record show I will never challenge her for Drake’s affection.
“What?” She breaks out in a giant grin. “He’s cute.”
“Gah!” My hands rise instinctively over my ears. “It’s like you’re cursing.”
“Anyway,” she tosses her phone onto the mattress, “they’re not seeing anybody. And when I went to work last night it was obvious they were already warring over you. Guess they like fresh meat, too.”
Warring?
My entire body flushes with heat.
Fresh meat, indeed. Good thing I’m partial to carnivores.
***
West Paragon High sits landlocked an unfortunate distance from the miles of sandy shore the island has to offer. Another fog filled afternoon greets us, and I welcome the dew as it kisses my face, caresses my arms and legs as we cut through it with haste.
We’re a good forty minutes late to practice because of my ‘hygiene habit’ as Brielle so delicately put it.
On the ride over, she informed me of the triune goddesses who run the team and apparently the school with their wicked charm, of which no one can stand, and yet everybody secretly wants to be a part of. Sounds like your typical power bitches.
“Michelle Miller, Emily Morgan, Lexy Bakova,” Brielle spits their names out like curses. They have that ripped from the pages of an expensive magazine look written all over them. And I’m guessing the set of matching scowls is their signature smirk.
“Nice to meet you.” I manufacture a smile.
“Natalie Coleman, Kate Winston.” Brielle concludes the introductions with a set of homelier girls with bright friendly faces—Natalie with her rust colored ringlets and Kate as pale as paper.
It’s uncomfortably quiet, save for a few shy hellos from the last two. The trio of wickedness glares over at me with a special brand of callousness I’ve yet to encounter. A sense of vulnerability washes over me, and suddenly I’m self-conscious of everything right down to my breathing.
“Hey,” a booming voice calls from the side.
With lightning quick strides Logan appears next to me, swooping his arm across my shoulder like it belonged there—not that I’m protesting.
“Trying out for the team?” He’s sporting a half-shirt, worn out grey sweats and has a football helmet tucked under his arm.
“Yeah, I think so.” I don’t tell him that I’m in. That they’ll give me Chloe’s spot if I want it. I don’t want to see his amber eyes smolder with anger at the mention of her name.
He’s far more attractive than he was yesterday, and I’m not entirely sure how that’s even possible.
“Morning,” I say as though magically we were the only two people on the field.
“Morning,” he counters, soft as a whisper. He smiles into me with his eyes lighting up like beautiful flames.
I keep staring at her and I’m gonna have a really big problem right here, right now. I hear him say.
I bite down a smile, fighting back the laugh trying to rumble out of my chest. I can feel the heat stinging my cheeks an embarrassing shade of scarlet.
God—I think I’m in love.
&nb
sp; His eyes widen with pleasure.
Love? He looks right at me as he says it in his mind.
My eyes widen with horror as I jump free from his grasp.
Shit!
He heard me.
I heard him and he heard me.
Judging by the shocked expression on his face. He didn’t expect it either.
4
Listen
Later that night, I watch mesmerized as the trees appear and disappear in and out of the fog as Brielle races us down the narrow streets of Paragon.
Mom was so tired, there was hardly any fight left in her when I asked if I could go to a party tonight. Mom’s only concession was that I let Drake tag along. She wants him to get acclimated before school starts. She and Tad are afraid he’ll have a hard time fitting in. I wanted to tell her that most likely he won’t fit in anyway—primates usually don’t fare so well at public school. But I paid the piper and issued Drake a get-out-of-the-house-free-card instead.
“Ellis Harrison is sort of a dick,” Brielle says, turning down the music in her bright red Jeep.
Earlier she informed both my mother and me that he came from old money, that he lived in one of the biggest homes in Paragon Estates, a gated community not too far away.
She recites his name to the security guard at the tower who lazily punches in a code and the wooden arm in front of the car rises to let us through.
The Paragon Estates feels far more open, more spacious than the quasi track housing the rest of the island is subject to. We glide down a mysterious winding path flanked with tall blue ponderosa pines lining the periphery. You can feel the affluence just driving past the sprawling homes, each one more extravagant than the last, hiding behind neatly trimmed bushes that nestle their borders. A white bridal fence stretches out alongside the road for what feels like miles as giant eucalyptus shag their leaves into the wind.
The dark velvet night glows an eerie shade of purple, the color of a storybook world, a fairytale. Even through the thick rolling fog you can make out the crystal expanse of stars glinting above. They sparkle down their glory like shards of broken glass.
Brielle pulls into a long stone-paved driveway that widens until it reaches a monolithic estate lit up like a jewel. A giant chandelier glitters out from the second story window just above a set of glass doors adorned with wrought iron. The whole place has a Spanish villa feel, equipped with an enormous three-tiered fountain in the middle of the circular driveway. The base of the manmade spring is surrounded by an entire pride of stone lions. The water illuminates an unearthly glow, and it occurs to me while taking in all of the majesty that I could never get used to living in a place as fantastic as this. I’d have to wear ball gowns to bed and pearls to breakfast. Hell, I’d probably have to eat pearls for breakfast.
“Holy shit,” Drake hisses as we get out of the Jeep.
The entire upper portion of the driveway is bombarded with cars. I look around suspiciously, trying to decode which one Logan might drive, or Gage for that matter. Speaking of which, I’m not particularly looking forward to seeing the mind reader in question tonight. I still haven’t had the chance to properly process what happened this afternoon. He didn’t say a word after the strange incident, just took off for practice like a bat out of hell.
Maybe it was my imagination? Maybe I only thought he could hear me? Honest to God I’d die if he could. Proclaiming my love for someone, on this, the second day of our acquaintance, is enough to spook anybody. And the last thing I want to do is spook Logan Oliver.
Brielle leads us in through the front door without knocking.
It’s noisy inside. My chest picks up the bass from some rap song I don’t recognize as an army of shadows laugh and sway to the beat. I don’t say anything about the music blowing out my eardrums. I just follow the scarf of Bree’s perfume into the next room, which is scarcely illuminated by the residual light from the entry.
It’s not wall to wall bodies like the parties I’ve been to back home, but then those houses were the size of a shoebox and come to think of it, if we shrunk this place down to size, it would probably be wall to wall bodies, too.
“Ellis!” She flings her arms around a tall, good-looking guy with sandy hair and a deep dimple in his right cheek. My stomach gives a hot pinch at the sight of him. “This is Skyla,” Brielle shouts over the music, “and her brother!” She pulls Drake over and laps her arm around his waist.
Ellis doesn’t hesitate to offer me a full-blown hug. His hands ride up and down my back like a pair of rabid snakes, nearly unhooking my bra in the process and something tells me that might have been the point. “Nice to meet you.” He slithers to my hand and shakes it.
Damn, she’s hot. I want to…
I snatch my hand back before the visual has a chance to take over. Some thoughts just aren’t worth hearing.
“Look who decided to join the party?” A voice emanates from behind.
Gage appears next to Brielle. His eyes shine bright as beacons as if he’s got a blue flashlight in the back of each one. He introduces himself to Drake by way of a high-five.
Gage looks sharp in a stark white polo. It gives off an eerie glow in this low light and matches the white of his teeth.
I press out a quiet smile. Innately I can tell he’s sweet. He has a warmth about him, something that every part of me wants to gravitate toward, but it’s the prospect of seeing Logan that has my heart racing.
They’re a package deal, right? Living together, the bowling alley, football team…
I turn and startle to find him behind me.
“Hey,” he says it low, seductive. He folds his arms across his chest and shifts into a defiant stance. The shadows in the room play with his features, sharpening his already cutting good looks, and I can’t tell whether or not he’s happy to see me.
Brielle pulls Logan over with robust enthusiasm and introduces Drake as my brother. So much for pretending I don’t recognize him as a species. At least he’s not picking his nose. For that I can be thankful.
Drake reaches up and scratches at the side of his nostril, giving me a mild heart attack in the process.
“You shoot pool?” Logan directs the question at me as though we were the only people in the room.
“I’ll break some balls with you guys.” Ellis nods into the offer.
“No thanks.” Logan doesn’t waver from our stare. A tiny smile plays on his lips but he won’t give it. Logan and his splendor manage to deafen all of the noise from the room. His eyes seem to have garnered the ability to steal the light from the chandelier, cast it out at the world as though it were their own.
Without a word, I follow Logan through a pair of French doors that lead out to the side yard.
The air outside is perfumed with night blooming jasmine, a scent that reminds me of my backyard in L.A. It coats me with a heavy feeling of nostalgia and I want to escape it, leave the bookmark from the past in another state entirely. Instead, I try to focus on the fog as it deposits its damp residue over my face with its cold ragged breath.
Logan walks us down a dirt trail leading to a barn-like structure in the rear of the property.
“It’s warm inside. I promise.” He presses his fingers against the small of my back, holding open the door to the miniature house.
It is warm inside, cozy, unlike the mausoleum we left.
He turns on a light in a kitchen the size of the one I had in L.A. In fact it looks surprisingly like a normal sized home with the exception its just one large room with a pool table smack in the middle.
I run my fingers over the smooth red velvet lining the table while Logan fishes the balls out of the pockets and rolls them on top. I watch as he gathers them, places them into the wooden triangle with great patience. He doesn’t say a word, just goes about his business like he was at work.
A weirdness has cropped up between us, and I’m staring to think sequestering myself with him so soon wasn’t the best idea.
“So,” he begins, “how
long have you known?” He pushes a stick in my direction as if it were an olive branch.
“Known what?”
He’s not talking about love, right? We literally just met and he can’t read minds so the whole idea is absurd.
His head ticks to the side, examining me openly under the soft glow of light.
“That I like to play pool?” I tease. I don’t tell him I’m a novice at the sport, that I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve played and still have fingers left over. Instead, I lean in and shoot the white ball across the table and say, “Stripes.”
Logan steps in, pinning me against the table with his body over mine. He leans in and shoots from behind my back. Heat emanates off his skin, hot as a summer sidewalk. His knee presses into my thigh like an invitation, and I break out in an unexpected sweat.
“Solids,” his warm breath hums across my cheek.
I twist around, landing us nose to nose.
Logan gives a sorrowful smile as his eyes glaze over with lust. He brushes his fingers across the back of my neck and holds me there softly.
Kiss me, he instructs. His eyes widen at the prospect.
A dull moan gets trapped in my throat as I lean in and press my lips against his, soft as a summer breeze.
A small part of me tries to scramble my thoughts, erase the overzealous elation from my being, but I can’t. I grab the back of his neck and push him in deeper, indulging in a kiss that goes on for miles. His tongue darts around my mouth, glides across my teeth, happy to be there.
Logan pushes me back onto the pool table and the balls shoot out from underneath me. He runs his lips over my face, my neck, igniting me with a wave of quick kisses. He pulses up to my ear before crashing over my lips, perfect and hungry.
Right here. Right now, he purrs.
“What?” I slap my hands against his chest, pushing him off with a violent force.
“Sorry.” His hands fly through the air quick as a stickup.