“I’ve seen it a few times. It’s good, but it’s not my thing, you know? My cousin loves it. I had my tonsils taken out when I was ten, and we watched every movie back to back.”
I walk into the house. “Was it torture for you?
She brightens like she’s listening to the best chorus of a song in her head. The type of chorus that touches your soul in a way you know you’ll never be the same again. “No. It was with Henry. Anything with Henry is worth doing.”
I get it. Anything with Axle is worth doing, too.
Elle closes the door, and I freeze. And I thought the outside of this sprawling house was a formidable fort of red brick. The inside of this place makes me feel like dirt on the bottom of someone’s shoe.
“I texted Sean.” Elle pockets her cell. “He said to give him a few minutes.”
“Okay.” Behind Elle is a massive staircase leading to the second floor with an open air hallway. Dark hardwood below me, walls with white crown molding, huge heavy solid oak closed door to my right, and to my left is a dining room with a long table and chandelier.
I finish the scan and find Elle watching me. Curiosity plain on her face. She’s studying me the same way I’m trying to figure out her.
“Did you know who I was?” she asks. “On the midway?”
“No.”
She watches me with a soft expression, and I will her to believe me. I liked being her hero, and I don’t want that to go away. After the longest silence of my life, she finally says, “So you’re the one?”
I nod because I guess I am.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All the bad’s true.”
A ghost of a smile plays on her face. “Actually, I heard a lot of fantastic things.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Not at all.” She leans her back against the corner completely unguarded. After spending a year with people who literally stabbed others in the chest with a knife, her openness is unnerving and leaves me in awe.
“My dad received tons of updates over the past year, so he’d know who to choose to help promote the program. You were in the running from the very start.”
“Because I pled guilty?”
“Because they said you were smart, caring and a leader.”
I don’t know what to do with any of that. “You seem to know a lot.”
Her expression turns serious. “Of course I do. Dad discusses everything about you over dinner.”
I blink, and Elle flashes a supernova smile. “Now, that I’m kidding about. At least on the Dad talking to me part. He hardly ever discusses business with me.”
“Then how do you know any of this?”
She cutely shrugs her shoulders like she should be embarrassed, but she’s not. “I was curious about the program, and I may have eavesdropped a few times.”
“May?”
“I’m going to plead the Fifth.”
I chuckle with that and she laughs with me.
“Don’t tell my dad, okay? He’s still mad over the midway debacle. Anyhow, they obviously never used names, and I only heard about twenty seconds’ worth of stuff because there’s only so many times I can walk past Sean and Dad in the kitchen without them noticing.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
Clicking of heels and with her eyes attached to her cell, Cynthia rounds the corner from the hallway next to the stairs. “Thank you for coming, Hendrix. Sean would like to speak with you, but he’s in the middle of a meeting at the moment. Would you like anything in the meantime? Something to read? Drink? Lemonade, maybe?”
“We can have someone do your taxes while you wait,” Elle pipes in with that spark in her eyes that’s the equivalent of a gravitational pull. “Half of the people currently in this house are CPAs, including Cynthia.”
Cynthia frowns at Elle. “She’s joking, of course.”
“Am I?” Elle asks. “Really?”
Cynthia returns her attention to her phone with an irritated sigh, and Elle mouths, “I’m not joking.”
My lips tug up, Elle smiles and when Cynthia huffs at the exchange, I fake a cough to cover. That only causes Elle’s smile to widen.
“We do have lemonade,” Elle says, “and before you try to be all, ‘I don’t want to put anyone out,’ just let me get it. It’ll make life easier on everyone if they feel like you have something to do, and before you ask, they consider lemonade something to do.”
Cynthia has a just-accept-it expression, and I like the idea of anything that keeps me talking with Elle. “Okay.”
Cynthia returns in the direction she came. “I’ll come to get you when Sean’s ready.”
Then Elle and I are alone...again. Pieces of her blond hair fall out of her bun as she angles her head in the direction away from the foyer. “Shall we partake in some lemonade? It’s good. Made out of water, sugar and the secret ingredient of lemons.”
“You like telling me secrets.” This conversation is too easy, too comfortable and it feels very dangerous. The ingrained instinct is to step closer, and watch her reaction. If her eyes darken with hunger, then I’ll keep going forward, and I’ll keep talking so she’ll laugh and I’ll laugh and eventually let us both become intoxicated with each other’s company until...
I roll my neck to snap myself out of this. There is no until. Not with her. Not with anyone. Not anymore.
Why couldn’t it have been this easy at home? With Axle? With Dominic? I’ve been practically on my knees begging for at least one thing to be effortless since being home, and I’m screwed because it can’t be with her. “You think it’s okay to be alone with me?”
“Cynthia didn’t seem overly concerned, so I’ll take my chances.”
“I have a criminal record.”
“I’m sort of aware.”
“I was arrested. I served time in juvenile detention.”
“The criminal record implied that.”
“Do you talk to all ex-cons this way?”
“Considering I only know one, yes.”
That brings me up short. “Are you scared of anything?”
“Lots of things.” But damn if she doesn’t even blink as she stares me down as if she answered no. Despite her answer, this girl is fearless.
The intensity in her face fades and is replaced by some sort of awe that causes me to want to look down at myself to see what has changed her mood. She walks over, and shocking the hell out of me, Elle reaches out and takes my wrist into her hand. Her fingertips pressing against my skin.
My pulse pounds with her soft touch. Cool fingers against my hot skin. A brush of her long painted nails along the edge of my leather cuff and every cell in my body sizzles to life. Yeah, it’s been over a year since anyone has really touched me, since I’ve had any physical comfort, but even when I had been with another girl, I’ve never had a reaction like this. Never felt like my entire body was engulfed in flames by a single caress.
“This is seriously cool,” Elle says. “Where did you get it?”
The cuff. Elle is examining my cuff. Not offering an invitation to take her home for the night. “My brother Axle gave it to me a few years ago.”
I haven’t worn it since I was fifteen. After that I was too cool to wear a gift from my brother. But I found it last night before going to bed, and feeling out of place in the world, I needed the reminder I fit in anywhere.
Using the slightest pressure, Elle coaxes me to turn my arm so she can further investigate the worn brown leather that’s tied together by multiple black cords in a lace pattern. I’m pliant, moldable as she moves me one way, then the next. I briefly close my eyes as each brush of her skin against mine feeds this liquid warmth into my veins.
“Does the etched-in pattern mean something?”
It does. It means everything. It’s a symbol Axle drew to repre
sent me, him and Holiday. A branded mark I should have paid more attention to when I was younger. “Yes.”
Elle studies my expression, and she earns respect when she drops the line of questioning. “Well, I think this piece is utter brilliance. It’s unique, and I have a thing for the unique.”
She flips my wrist over to look at the lacing again, and she slides a finger over the thick threads. “It’s all brilliance, but this... I can’t even begin to explain how much I love this.”
As her finger continues to slip up, her wrist comes in contact with my hand. The pads of my fingers lightly brushing her skin. My heart jumps out of my body, and Elle had to feel it as she jolts with the impact. Her entire body a joyous shiver, and both of us freeze.
Her chest moves faster than before, her breaths shallow, and when she returns her gaze to me, those eyes have melted into the deepest blue of the sea. Neither of us move. Just my pulse pounding, just her fingers pressed against my skin, just my thumb drifting of its own volition, enjoying the smoothest, softest being on the planet.
“Elle?” rings out a voice, and both of us leap away. I scrub a hand over my face as I turn my back to her. What the hell was that? I’ve been messing around with girls since I was fourteen, and no one ever made me feel as alive as that.
But Elle? She’s a risk, and I can’t afford to take risks anymore. I’ve changed, and it’s time to play it safe. It’s time to realize I can’t chase anything that makes me happy anymore.
Ellison
My body burns as if I’m willingly holding on to a flame, and a beautiful tremor runs through me like an earthquake. But this earthquake is the best adrenaline high ever. Drix touched me, and I’m flying.
The door to my parents’ room on the second floor opens all the way, and Mom appears in the open hallway. I smooth my hair away from my face as I try to organize my cluttered mind.
“Elle,” Mom says again, “Fantastic news. I just spoke to the Ladies Auxiliary group at the army base and...”
From the top of the staircase, Mom finally looks upon us, and pauses, her eyes flickering between me and Drix. My stomach cramps. Not what I need—a mother on high alert.
“Who is this?” Mom has the straightest posture on the planet as she marches down the stairs.
When I go to talk, I begrudgingly have to clear my throat. “This is Hendrix Pierce.”
Mom cocks a deadly eyebrow. “Hendrix Pierce?”
Drix’s full name felt weird against my lips, but it felt safer to introduce him this way, because then maybe Mom won’t be able to see past my skin, notice how fast my blood pumps and how my heart races. “He’s the person from Dad’s program. You saw him yesterday.”
Mom’s mere blink informs me she’s already aware of this, and her question and repeat of his name had more to do with why he was here, with me, alone, more than who he was.
“Sean asked him to come. I guess they need to talk to him.”
A reassured nod, and Mom lets out an exasperated sigh. “Well, then, do you mind walking with me? Your father needs me in his meeting.”
I can’t decide if I’m more relieved or embarrassed Mom isn’t acknowledging Drix’s existence even though he’s standing no more than five feet from us. Mom’s heels click down the hallway, and I follow because that’s what’s expected of me. Outside Dad’s office door, my mom pauses. “You’re flushed.”
I’m in hell. “So?”
“Tell me the truth, did more happen between you and Mr. Pierce than you led on?”
“I swear I have not lied or held the truth back at all since the press conference.”
“Do you have some fascination with him for saving you?”
He helped me. “I ran down the stairs, and I was surprised to see him. If you recall, our last meeting was the press conference. Seeing him on our front porch stunned me.”
She studies me as if searching for a lie, and it’s killing me not to fidget, because once again, I’m lying. I am flushed, and I am fascinated, but why do those emotions have to belong to my mother? Why can’t they belong only to me?
“You need to talk to Andrew,” she says.
My eyebrows rise so high that they might have lifted off my head. “Why?”
“Andrew feels terrible about what happened yesterday, and he wants to apologize. He’s realizing his attitude with you over the past several years may not have been the nicest and that may have contributed to you running off at the midway.”
“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? His attitude hasn’t been the nicest?”
That glare is enough to shut me up with superglue.
“Next time you see him, give him an opportunity to apologize—in private. Men don’t like to grovel, and they don’t like doing it in public. He’s sorry, and he wants to make it up to you. Now, what were your intentions with Mr. Pierce?”
My intentions? Anything that pertained to me being in the same breathing space sounds awesome. Preferably with his fingers touching me again, but that wouldn’t be a smart admission, so I say, “I offered him lemonade. It was Cynthia’s suggestion.”
“Lemonade will do. Please see fit to keep some space. We don’t want him to get the wrong impression of you, and I would appreciate it if you would please fix yourself up in the morning when your father has meetings here.”
I breathe in so I don’t sigh loudly. Mom enters Dad’s office and closes the door behind her.
Hendrix
Elle returns with a faraway expression, like she’s wrapped in her own thoughts. Probably how I look most of the time. She smiles in my direction. It’s a nice smile, but it’s not the one she’s given me before—the one that hits me straight in the chest.
“Ready for some lemonade?”
We walk down the hallway, and through the huge plush family room complete with big fluffy furniture, and a massive curved screen television that I’d bet is 3-D and can read my mind. We then pass through a sunroom before eventually reaching a kitchen that’s the size an industrial chef would wet his pants over.
Elle pours lemonade into two glasses, and her eyes sweep over me as she returns the glass pitcher to the fridge. I know she likes what she sees, I like what I see, too, and that’s a problem for both of us. I round the island, putting the large granite block between us, and Elle slides a glass in my direction.
I catch it and sweep my thumb over the condensation already developing. Conversation. I need to try conversation with Elle and attempt to neutralize what happened between us. “Your mom seemed nice.”
“No, she wasn’t. She was rude to you, and I’m sorry.”
Damn... “That was direct.”
“But it’s true. Have you seen what’s going on online and in the news?”
My gut twists like I drank poison. “No, what happened?” Part of me doesn’t want to know. Another terrorist attack, another shooting, another...
“Us. Me and you. What happened at the press conference?”
“We made the news?”
Elle focuses on her glass. “I’ve heard we’ve made the news. I’ve also heard we’re trending on social media, but I don’t personally know these things. I haven’t had the heart to see it all for myself yet.”
If I stick my head in that huge oven, will it kill me faster than using one of those fancy knives in the butcher block to slice open an artery? Trending. Screw me. Now everyone in the world will see me and think criminal. This is my penance for loving the attention of being a drummer in a band on the way to great things—I go from being close to a god to scum. Guess the higher you go, the tougher the fall.
“You really haven’t seen it?” she asks.
“I was up late, slept in and woke to that phone call bringing me here. And I don’t do online.”
She blinks. “Really?”
“I’ve been in juvenile detention for seven months, then in the woods
for three. I didn’t have much of a need to update my status.”
“That could have been interesting, though. Selfie with a bear.”
I can’t help it. My mouth edges up just enough that it could be considered a smile.
“Were you online much before?” She leaves off before I was arrested.
“Why? You planning on Facebook stalking me?”
There’s laughter in those dangerous blue eyes. “Maybe. How else will I find out if the reason you didn’t ask for my number is because you have a girlfriend?”
“Turns out bears don’t like being hit on, so no girl for me.”
She giggles with the joke, and I like that she gets my sense of humor.
“I was online,” I say, “before. I used it to figure out what girls were in bad moods so I could avoid them at parties, and what girls would be easy for the hook up.”
Elle had started to drink and chokes. “And you called me direct.”
Telling her that didn’t make me feel good. In fact, it makes me feel like a dick. “You need to know who I am. At least who I was.”
“Why?”
Why? “Because I had to talk myself out of asking for your number. I did the right thing by walking away on the midway. Now I’m in your house, and I need to keep talking myself out of asking for your number.”
“Why?”
Is she not listening? “You think it’s smart for a guy like me to kiss the governor’s daughter? You need to know who I was before, so you’ll stay away from me, and before, I wasn’t a nice guy.”
Elle studies me too seriously and long enough it causes me to shift my footing. “You want to kiss me?”
Who wouldn’t want to kiss her? “That’s not a good thing.” At least not for her. “I’d only be using you for your body, but I’d try to convince you it was true love to land you in bed. Then I’d never call.”
“Wow. You really are terrible. Do you cross old ladies across streets in between returning stray sheep back to their herd?”