She smacks my arm, and I laugh, enjoying the smile on her face. “You’re awful.”
“I tried warning you.”
She lightly hits my arm again. That picture of the two of us was everywhere, but then the world moved on. Gotta admit, I liked the picture. Like how it captured Elle’s smile. Like how it captured that smile happening toward me. Don’t know why. Maybe because it’s a reminder that for a few minutes, I was her hero.
“Are you planning on ignoring me now because they told you to?” she asks.
My grin runs away. “In public? Yeah.”
She scowls.
“Reminder—I’m on probation.”
“Are you going to ignore me in private, too? If so, I’d appreciate the heads-up, so I don’t make a fool out of myself thinking we were actually becoming friends.”
I should be ignoring her in private, as well. That’d be the smart thing to do, but evidently I’m brain-damaged. I enjoy the peace being with her brings, and I’m not ready to give that up. “I’m still standing here talking with you.”
Elle kicks at a rock on the ground, then peeks up at me. “Is talking with me going to get you into trouble?”
Probably. “I’m willing to live dangerously.”
Elle softly laughs, and the sweet sound dances along my skin and warms my blood.
“So I’m dangerous?”
“Yes.” That body of hers is lethal. So is that beautiful, smart mouth and easy way about her that keeps me drawn in. My eyes roam her from head to toe, and the blush that forms on her cheeks only causes her to be more appealing.
Elle sucks in a deep breath and tears her gaze away from me to the drunk. “I hate running on a treadmill, and I’m so tired of stupid boys ruining my plans.”
“Am I included in that?”
She gives me a look that’s full tease and reprimand. “Yes, guys who constantly do nice things ruin my day. No, I’m talking about stupid guys like that one. I needed this run, otherwise I’m going to combust with stress. My parents are insisting on me playing perfect tonight.”
Nice guy. Did she just call me a nice guy? “You’re the first girl who’s called me nice.”
“Well, I haven’t seen much of the bad you keep referring to. Or am I misunderstanding? Do you mean you’re the bad boy at school who thinks he’s bad, but not? He just dresses bad and does that swagger thing that makes all girls dream of him at night.” She waggles those perfect blond eyebrows, and I’m losing myself in the game.
“You know you dream of me.”
Lust darkens in Elle’s eyes, and that causes a rush in my veins.
Bad. I could be bad with Elle in very good ways. I could give in to temptation. I could crowd her space—press my body against hers. I could put my leg between her legs and walk her until her back is against that tree. I could run my finger along her neck, watch as she closes her eyes, as her chest moves faster with excitement. Lean down, breathe in her sweet scent, and allow my palm to mold into the side of her waist. I could skim my lips along her cheek, hesitate at her mouth and after a brief few seconds of her pulse racing and my pulse racing, we would kiss.
Elle wets her lips as if she’s reading my mind. As if she wants me to make this fantasy a reality. She’s turned toward me. My body has, without my consent, turned toward her. Our shoulders still touching. Our chest centimeters apart. Magnetism pulling us in. A natural attraction that begs to be unleashed.
Blood pounds at my temples and...another bang of a car door and Elle jumps, placing distance between us.
The drunk lifts a cardboard box out of the back of his truck, and he stumbles to the water.
“What’s he doing?” Elle asks. I don’t know, but the mood between us shifts as a sense of unease creeps into my gut.
Elle places her hand on my biceps, and my heart rate picks up speed. From her touch or from the same sense of panic that’s invading my bloodstream that appears to be hitting Elle’s.
“Something alive is in that box.” Her words like a wrecking ball in my chest. Elle edges forward, and I snake my fingers around her wrist, keeping her there. “We have to help.”
“He’s packing, and he’s loaded in alcohol.” My thumb sweeps over her skin. Elle’s beautiful, and she’s impulsive. A deadly combination. “We approach him, he’ll shoot.”
A splash, the box is in the lake and nausea strangles me. The box is floating, but it’ll sink fast.
“The police,” she whispers. “We’ll call the police. There are plenty of them at the hotel for the fund-raiser tonight.”
But the ache in her eye tells me she’s smart, and knows they won’t reach us in time to help the life trapped in that box. I nod my approval, release her wrist, and Elle swipes her finger across her cell.
The engine of the truck roars to life, and dirt flies off the back wheels as it lurches away from the lake. My heart thrashes past my rib cage, and I’m running. Over logs, through thickets, my feet stomping against the brush near the lake. Elle hot on my heels.
The box shakes, a sickening whine echoes across the lake, and the box sinks halfway into the water. Shirt over my head, boots being kicked off my feet midstride, and I dive in. The water’s freezing, knocking the wind out of me, but I push through it as I kick.
Arms cutting through the water, propelling me forward, but the box is almost under.
“Grab it, Drix!”
A lunge as the box is swallowed into the dark. It’s gone, and I suck in a breath as I go under. Kicking down, eyes wide open, blackness and then my hand hits something solid. I shove the bottom of the box up until it breaks through to the surface. I go under with the uneven weight, the lake deeper than I thought, and I tread water with my legs.
The box pitches back and forth as whatever in it shifts. Weight. Dead weight. My heart slices in half, and using my shoulder to anchor the box, I swim to shore. My legs drag with the heaviness of my soaked jeans. Elle wades in at a run until she’s chest deep. My lungs burn, and right as my toes can touch bottom, she meets me and grabs the box.
I stumble forward for land, and Elle’s already on the dirt, ripping at the tape sealing it shut. “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead. Please.”
Her voice is thick, filled with grief, and I can’t let her open the box. I can’t let her see what might be inside. She slashes through the last piece, and I snatch the box from her, opening the flaps with my back to her.
“Jesus,” Elle says in a whispered rasp. As a prayer. As a plea. “Just Jesus. Who would do this? Why would anyone do this?”
In the corner of the box is a small wet ball of fur, and it’s not moving. I drop my head and silently swear. I should have gone after the son of a bitch. Should have ran out, regardless of the danger, should have socked him in the damn mouth and made him bleed. Should have made him black out. Should have hit him hard enough he’d have trouble remembering his name.
If I was half the man I was from a year ago, I would have done it, and I hate that I paused. Hate that I thought the scenario through because waiting was wrong.
“What’s in the box?” Elle asks.
My mistakes. That’s what’s in the box.
She moves around me, and as I go to close it, Elle’s arm hits mine as she reaches in.
“Leave it,” I say, but she doesn’t listen. I’m beginning to realize, Elle never listens. Does whatever she wants, whenever she wants, regardless of how the outcome’s going to hurt her.
“No.” The gut-wrenching moan that comes from her as she lifts the animal causes me to swear again, fall back to my ass and for my eyes to burn.
“I’m so sorry we didn’t save you,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
So am I. My mouth turns down, my throat thickens, and I rub my hands over my face.
“I’m sorry,” my voice hoarse. I clear it, but it still doesn’t work. “I’m sorry,
Elle.”
“Drix,” she whispers, but I can’t look at her. Can’t witness her disappointment. Can’t live with that failure. “Drix, the puppy...he’s alive.”
Ellison
Me: I’m on my way.
Drix: Door propped open.
Drix and I exchanged numbers. It’s weird how that one little victory gives me a thrill. I’m officially floating on a cloud. Granted, he asked because there is currently a smuggled puppy in his room, but he still asked.
Drix’s room is two doors down from mine. Close, but not close enough. My parents made it perfectly clear I’m to keep my distance from Drix, and being caught coming and going from his room will be the equivalent of me being placed in boiling water. My parents also clearly informed me I was to no longer take in stray dogs. I’m also supposed to be playing perfect and no longer lying by omission. So far, me listening isn’t working out, but I’ll deal with that tomorrow.
Today, though, I’ve weighed my odds. The chances of me being caught with a puppy in my room are far greater than me being caught sneaking into Drix’s room. I’ve also taken emotional stock. Seeing this puppy, spending more time with Drix, it’s definitely worth the risk.
As Drix said, he’s left his door ajar, and I lightly knock before entering. Using my back, I press the door shut, and nervous adrenaline skips into my veins. I just entered a guy’s hotel room, and we’re alone. This is a first for me, and there’s this tickle under my skin. “Drix?”
“In here.”
I walk the short hall, past the bathroom, and stretched out on the king-size bed with the smallest, cutest little ball of black-and-white fur, is Drix. The TV is on, pillows are piled up at the top of the bed, and Drix is leaned up against them. In the crook of his arm, on his own pillow, is the puppy who is fast asleep.
Yes, the puppy is adorable, but that’s not what one million percent captures my attention. That would be Drix. He must be fresh from a shower. His blondish-brown hair is wet and is tousled in breathtaking spikes, like he ran his hand through it and it came out perfection.
And his naked chest. Holy mother of God in heaven, Drix doesn’t have a shirt on. His jeans are on, because if they weren’t I probably would have turned beet-red and ran into the wall as I tried to not look yet look because how could I not? Drix is ripped. Completely and utterly ripped. Muscles defined, lean stomach, tanned skin and very, very beautiful.
“How is he?” I ask as if my mouth hasn’t completely dried out.
“After a brief stint of exploring everything in the room? Exhausted.”
The puppy lifts his head at Drix’s voice, and I melt. His teeny tiny ears perk up, and he has a curious and confused expression. I kneel on the edge of the bed and hold my hands out to him. “Hey, buddy? How are you feeling?”
He does a head swivel toward Drix, as if seeking approval to chat with me, then stands on all fours. The puppy stretches each little leg individually and yawns so loudly I yawn with him. He stumbles off the pillow, and I flop onto the bed so he doesn’t have to walk as far to reach me. Our noses touch, and then he takes an interest in my glasses. I’m completely in love.
“I told my mom that I called in the drunk driver,” I say. “And, as promised, I left you and the puppy out.”
As soon as we saw that the puppy was breathing, I made the call to 911, much to Drix’s dismay. I don’t understand why we wouldn’t report someone so dangerous. Drix just mumbled something about not trusting the police.
To appease him, I kept his name out of it, and I also didn’t tell the 911 dispatcher about the puppy. I gave them the license plate, car description, description of the man and how erratically he was behaving. Drunk driving should be enough to put this man in jail.
“How’d she take it?”
“Fine. She asked me a few questions, but told me I ‘did well.’ She also told me that I shouldn’t leave any of the hotels we stay at anymore and instead should use the indoor gym to work out, so that sucks.”
I comb my fingers through the puppy’s baby-soft long hair. “He’s part border collie.”
“And part what else?”
“I don’t know yet.” I’m not sure I’ll have enough time to spend with him to figure it out. “I’ve made some calls to animal rescue groups. Hopefully we’ll hear something before we leave. We’ll have to get him something to eat. I bet he’s starved.”
“I gave him some water and part of my chicken from my sandwich. He gobbled it up.”
“Chicken?” A cocked eyebrow on my part. “Can puppies eat meat?”
“Puppy chow wasn’t on the room service menu. Maybe that’s a dining room-only thing.”
“Ha,” I say drily. “You’re so funny.” The puppy turns his head one way, then another, so I can scratch behind his ears. “Can you imagine the headlines if this got out?”
“Governor’s daughter caught in hotel room shacking up with juvenile delinquent. Love child expected next summer.”
“Good Lord. Am I an elephant? Last time I checked, human babies pop out in nine months. We’d easily have the twins by next spring.”
Drix chokes. “Twins? Are you trying to kill me?”
I bat my eyelashes and fake a pout. “You wouldn’t leave me and the babies alone now, would you? What would the press think then?”
“They’d think your father revoked my probation and threw me in prison.”
True. That’s if Henry didn’t kill Drix first. My parents aren’t the safe-sex-talk type of people. They were the refuse-to-sign-the-permission-slip-for-sex-education, have-sex-before-marriage-and-we’ll-be-very-disappointed parents. I’m still not sure how to put a condom on a banana. “I was talking about the puppy.”
“Governor’s Daughter Saves Puppy. I can see how you’d hate that headline.”
“They’d say, Governor’s Star Protégé Saves His Daughter and Puppy.”
“You helped.”
“Saving me and the puppy is a sexier headline.”
He has that skeptical expression most people have when I speak, and I hate it. The puppy slips away from me and bounds up the bed to Drix. I scoot up along with him, and if I wanted, I could rest my head on the pillow, but I don’t because while I’m brave, I’m not that brave.
Hanging out with Drix is easy, and I like how one thing in my life is effortless. “Did you honestly not see any of the headlines about the two of us?”
The annoyed set of his jaw tells me he did.
“Governor’s Daughter Saved by Unlikely Hero.”
Drix laughs bitterly. “Misfit on the Midway Changes Hearts.”
“Fair Fraught with Danger, Governor’s Daughter in Peril.”
“That one was a piece of work. I personally liked the ones that made me sound like a superhero. Crusader Comes to the Rescue.”
“Governor’s Daughter in Torrid Affair.”
Drix’s head snaps in my direction. “I didn’t see that one. I saw a few that questioned whether or not we would hook up, but I didn’t see that.”
I flip to my back, my head on the pillow, and I stare at the white ceiling. This has nothing to do with courage and everything to do with frustration. “That was my mother’s initial fear.”
“Her cold shoulder makes more sense now.”
“Yeah.” I lay my hands over my chest and stomach and feel the rise and fall of my breath. “I was on that midway because I wanted to be normal for a few minutes. I didn’t intend to be gossip for the media, and I never intended for what happened to be a constant examination at dinner of what I did wrong. Walking the midway wasn’t supposed to become a stain on my record to discount anything going on in my brain. I just wanted to be normal.”
Hendrix
The crowd at the baseball game on the TV cheers, and the announcer says something about a home run. Elle looks so damn lost that the part of me that feels lost too wants to
scoop her up and hold her tight.
I lean over the fancy-ass bed that’s bigger than Holiday’s room, rummage through the drawer of the end table and turn off the TV. Neither one of us needs additional noise. If she’s anything like me, she’s got enough voices mouthing off in her head. I roll onto my side and watch as she stares at the ceiling.
Sadness rolls off her in waves. A few weeks ago, I would have said she was a rich girl who has it all, but then I saw how people treated her during the press conference, saw the rage on her parents’ faces when we reached the back room, I heard them yell, and I’ve seen on the internet how Elle’s entire life has been played out one Tweet at a time.
“How long has your dad been in politics?” I ask.
“Forever. He’s always been involved with helping his political party, but he gave up practicing medicine and ran for governor when I was eleven.”
“Do you like it?”
She shrugs. “It’s not mine to like or not like. Dad loves being the person in the thick of change. He asked my permission to run, I agreed because Dad has some brilliant ideas of how to make the world a better place. I’ll admit, the media is an added weight I didn’t expect, but it’s worth it. My dad really is making positive change.”
I can’t argue with her there. I’d be sitting in an adult prison if I hadn’t been chosen for this program. Instead, I’m home with my family trying to make up for lost time. And Marcus...no doubt he’d be out of juvenile detention again, but even he admits he’d be a gangbanger, hooked on drugs or dead if it wasn’t for the program.
“Do you like working for your father?” I ask. “I heard you’re involved and make speeches for him.”
She squishes her mouth to the side and the movement of those pink lips is perfect. “Who’s Facebook stalking who?”
She’s right. After I left her house, I sat at the library and learned as much as I could on Elle. “Do you like working for him?”
“Next question.” Her expression hardens, and I search her face. She doesn’t like it, yet she does it. I understand that. Understand it perfectly.