Designer Genes - The Boyfriend Cut (8 page)

When I returned to Ohio after an incident caused an immediate change in custody, I no longer believed in fairytales. Dad and I painted my room a dusty purple, replaced the frilly bedspread with a dark plum and white polka-dot comforter, and tossed the satin accent pillows. Large hot pink, lime green, and black furry pillows took their place. The only thing I couldn't change was my "sky." Even after all these years, the stars still shone when the lights went out. I believed in wishing on the first star of the night and if I didn't get a chance to do so on a real one, I'd pick a fake one to hang my hopes on. The one directly over my head held last night's wish, the same one for the past several weeks. One that apparently wasn't coming true.

A wayward beam from the rising sun sliced across the opposite wall spotlighting the poster of a prima ballerina in a deep bow, my old ballet shoes draped off the corner of the frame. Mom started me in ballet lessons at age six and when I started loving animals more than pirouettes, she pushed my dance teacher to advance me to the pointe troupe in hopes I'd shed my tomboyish tendencies. The shoes killed my feet and the longer Saturday lessons stole the time I usually spent helping Dad at the clinic. When I cut ties from my mother and returned to Maple Heights, I left my shoes behind.

Of course she mailed them to me, along with the poster, instructing my father through one of many arguments to encourage me to continue. Dad asked me what
I
wanted. I hung the poster because it matched my room and draped the shoes in memoriam, but never laced them on my feet again. I enjoyed ballet and faithfully watched The Nutcracker every Christmas. Perfecting Tchaikovsky's piece from the famous ballet transitioned my love of music into a fitting epilogue to my short dance career.

Pushing away the memories and realizing sleep was no longer an option, I crawled out of bed. Sleep deprived and not paying attention to where I walked, I stumbled over a stray tennis shoe, accidently bumping the stack of study materials for my upcoming finals off the corner of my desk. A familiar red envelope slapped the floor.

Three weeks had passed since my interview and no word from Jordan Mason. Not even a standard rejection notice. His mother must have convinced him to seek other "respectable" choices—older, more mature candidates. After all, what bragging rights would you have to an assignee still in high school?

Maybe he changed his mind when he saw the stupid picture of me in his sister's bikini, thinking "too young," although Jesse didn't seem to mind. But then again, I might have been nothing more than an afternoon snack to "Mr. Rock Star." He hadn't called either, which in all likelihood meant he'd found someone whose kisses curled
his
toes.

My mental muse spoke up.
Stop obsessing about the Mason twins. You have finals to cram for and the last thing you need is boy drama.
I caught the reflection of a girl from the mirror in the corner. She appeared preoccupied, possibly with Jordan's eyes, or Jesse's lips. The poster child of a sappy teenage girl caught in a romantic delusion. Above the mirror I'd tacked a poster of my favorite rock band, "Hopeless," their title fitting the current chapter of my life.

I made my way to the kitchen in search of comfort food
.
The first rays of dawn peeked through the lace curtains and tiny dust particles swirled in the pale lemon shaft. Choosing to drown my self-pity in gallons of caffeine, I headed for the beverage maker. A message rolled over the digital display above.

Mars—on emergency call—will be gone most of the morning—let Muffy out—love Dad.

Rick belonged to a dying breed of veterinarians who still believed in making house calls. He also had a soft spot for strays, oftentimes keeping them until he found them homes. Muffy, a large, black and white spotted Great Dane abandoned on the doorstep of his clinic, was the latest rescue. Her home immediately became ours, and
letting Muffy out
qualified, by most standards, as an Olympic Event.

I didn't bother to change out of my boxer shorts and knit camisole. This early, no one was outside. Besides, the trees out front would hide me for the short duration of the morning chore. I removed the leash from its hook and inhaled deep before opening the laundry room door. Muffy lifted on two legs, draping her front paws over my shoulders. Her rambunctious tail knocked over the clothes hamper as she squirmed excitedly while I attached the leash to her collar.

I held tight to the railing on the back porch, the pressure of the leash cutting into my fingers. Muffy bolted for the nearest bush and I barely realigned my hands in the strap before she started for the stone steps at the end of the front walk.

Out the corner of my eye, I spied a white car approaching. I feared for both our lives if Muffy darted across the street for the cat napping on the trunk on Mr. Baxter's car. My pleas became lost in the morning air when the cat yowled and Muffy leaped over the steps. The leash snapped, setting Muffy free and launching me forward. One knee smacked the cold pavement of the sidewalk and my head, the hard ground—luckily covered with two week's worth of overgrown grass. Brakes screeched. I yelled Muffy's name seconds before my world went black.

The aroma of coffee curled in my senses and a cool dampness spread across my forehead. Impulsively I rose, immediately regretting the choice when a sudden wave of nausea attacked.

"Ugh, I'm going to puke!"

"Wait, don't move." Whoever belonged to the male voice pressed an alcohol doused cotton ball to my nose. "Lie back and breathe slowly until the queasiness passes." He took my hand and applied pressure to the fleshy web between my thumb and finger—two odd tricks, but together seemed to work.

I opened my eyes slower this time, discovering the kind voice belonged to some gorgeous boy. A different kind of unsettling warmed in my stomach with the gentle way he held my hand. Something about him felt…familiar.

"Better?"

I nodded, both confused and fascinated, but before I could ask his name, a sudden warm wetness splashed across my cheek. "Muffy! You're alive…and a very bad dog."

The cute stranger spoke at his watch, pretending to dictate to a recording device. "Note: The patient has identified the small horse seated on the floor next to me." I giggled and a smile ghosted on his lips. "You hit your head harder than I thought if you're laughing at my lame joke. Can you tell me your name?"

A sharp pain stabbed my brain when I sat up a second time. "Ouch."

Carefully, he lowered me into the cushions behind my head and when his neck came within inches of my face, I trapped the scent of his cologne in my lungs.

"Are you always this stubborn?" he asked. "Stay still. You've got a nasty bump on your head and half the skin on your knee is missing."

"What happened?"

"You took a nose dive in front of my car and scared the hell out of me." He draped the afghan from the back of the sofa over me. "While you might be comfortable in those little shorts and top, I'm not."

I forgot about my makeshift pajamas and gave him a wary glance. Something about the glint in his eyes made me want to sit up just to feel his hands on my bare shoulders again, breathe in his cologne…taste his neck.

Marli Davis! Get a grip—he's a stranger!
One hot-looking stranger I swear I'd seen somewhere.

He regarded me, amused, and my cheeks flushed. "Trust me, you're safe."

Great. He's not even remotely interested.

He held up his index finger. "Can you at least follow my finger?" I crossed my eyes. "Girl, you're impossible." This time he batted his long lashes with dramatic overkill. "Please tell me your name."

I crossed my arms, attempting a serious expression. "Marli Davis. And you are?"

Eyes the color of a deep, mossy pond sparkled. "I hoped it was you. I'm Jordan Mason."

Holy hell! How hard did I hit my head that I didn't recognize the guy whose picture used to be covered in drool until...I gave up hope…stopped dreaming.

His bronze hair had been cropped short, but the sexy signature smile remained the same. Mortified, I wished for death. No makeup, morning breath,
not
my best boxers, and apparently, a lumpy head. I slid under the afghan.

"No way! I could die!"

Jordan pulled the blanket off my face. "I think you've already cheated death once today."

He rose and held out his hand. "Why don't you go change into something to stop my mind from wandering and I'll pour us some coffee. When you come back, we can get better acquainted."

When I stood, my leg buckled and Jordan lifted me in his arms. "Falling for me already?" The warmth of his arm under my thighs and the other holding me against him sent my head spinning and apparently stole my voice. "I could use a hint where to take you."

My cheeks flamed hot. "Sorry. Upstairs, second door on the right."

Jordan carried me as if I weighed nothing. We paused outside the door with "Marli's Room" painted inside a circle of hand-painted daisies. He fought back a snicker. "Cute."

A smile reaching his eyes played around the edges of his mouth. His intense stare felt so intimate, I dropped my eyes to avoid melting. The whirlwind of emotions I felt the day I watched his interview pod erupted.

"I can make it from here," I said.

After promising to yell if I needed help, he placed me on my feet, his hands framing my waist, hopefully to steady me, but the grip was too soft to be lifesaving. After an awkward moment, he retreated to the kitchen and I willed my heart to resume beating.

Not wanting to be away from him any longer than necessary, I carefully wiggled into the closest items of clothing I could find. Quickly, I brushed my hair into a ponytail, scrubbed my face and teeth, and carefully applied some mascara, hoping to make my swollen eye less noticeable. I blew into my palm and popped a bubble gum-flavored mint in my mouth for extra measure.

My knight-in-shining-armor met me halfway, helping me down the last few steps. Playful eyes appraised my oversized Ohio State sweatshirt and denim shorts.

"Better. Although I think you could pull off wearing a garbage bag and look great."

"Yeah, right."

He held my chair—a gallant gesture not used by any of the boys I knew. We studied each other through the curling wisps of steam off our coffee until Muffy interrupted the spell when she sauntered in and plopped contently at Jordan's feet.

"You passed her trust test."

"What about yours?"

With my guard still high, I answered truthfully. "I haven't decided."

He sipped his coffee, never lowering his eyes from mine. "Fair and honest."

Muffy rested her head on Jordan's leg and when I reached to move her, his fingers wrapped my wrist. A surprise sizzle warmed my belly. He let go and started scratching behind Muffy's ears.

His voice squeaked a nervous pitch and a hint of a blush spread beneath his lashes. "I always wanted a dog, but penthouses barely accommodate children, let alone animals."

"Your mom acted surprised when I mentioned you liked animals."

He laughed and a piece of my guard chipped away. "Yes, I heard all about it. Sometimes she's overbearing, but she's just being protective."

"I doubt she could top Rick."

"Who's Rick?"

"My dad."

Jordan's brows pulled together then relaxed with recognition. "That's right. My mother told me you referred to him by his first name."

"I could tell she didn't approve. She probably thinks I'm weird."

"I think she called you 'unique,' which believe it or not, is a compliment. It's cool your dad's okay with it, though. You two must be close."

"I think so. We've been through a lot together." I swallowed the last gulp of my coffee, waiting for the inevitable subject of my mother or Daniel to be raised.

"My mom told me about your brother. I'm so sorry."

I muttered "thanks" and focused on the bottom of my empty mug, not wanting to break down in front of Jordan, although being around him already felt comfortable—safe
.
Like coming home.

A slow grin wandered over Jordan's lips. "You're easy to talk to. My life's so full of pretentious people it's nice to be around someone real for a change."

Aside from his fancy car, nothing about Jordan reflected an ostentatious lifestyle. Faded jeans covered his long legs, a well-worn navy-blue tee, snug enough to reveal he worked out, peeked from beneath his unzipped Cornell sweatshirt, and the toes of his sneakers were scuffed. He could easily blend in a crowd of teen boys, and yet, I knew I'd still pick him out.

"You do live a charmed life." I gestured aimlessly at the room. "This house is no oceanfront penthouse."

"You can live in this house. In mine, you
exist.
"

Muffy reached her paw out for Jordan to shake and I laughed. "It's bizarre how she's taken to you. She doesn't act this way around most people."

"I can't believe I almost hit her. Can you imagine what a dog her size would do to a Porsche?"

The memory of the car coming down the street became clear. A white
Porsche
. "'Sweet Sally?'"