Any Red-Blooded Girl (12 page)

“Are you here alone?” Mick asked Will, not
responding in the least to my urgent tugging. “Because you can hang
with us if you want—if Flora doesn’t mind, that is.”

Will just blinked away in disbelief. I guess
he must’ve figured I had already poisoned Mick against him. “Um,
no…that’s okay,” he finally said. “I’m not gonna stay too long, so
I’m gonna mingle.”

Yeah, right. I didn’t believe that lame
excuse for a second. The truth is, it’s a lot harder to spy on
people in plain sight, since they’re usually on their best
behavior. If you stalk your prey from afar, however, you’re much
more likely to get the juicy, salacious dirt you’re after.

“Bye-bye, then,” I said, shooing Will off
with a flick of my wrist.

Amazingly, my dirtball brother actually took
off. But Mick gave me a confused, disappointed look, which, of
course, made me feel like a meanie.

“Wow, this is…nice,” I said, stuck for just
the right adjective as I surveyed the Clubhouse, which reminded me
of a gigantic Swiss ski chalet, complete with log cabin walls, a
massive stone fireplace, and wrought iron chandeliers that lent the
huge open space an enchanted, romantic feel.

“It’s beautiful. Very impressive,” Mick
agreed, as he nestled his muscular arm around my waist and settled
his big, rough hand on my hip.

Just then, I had a disturbing flashback to a
Punxsutawney High dance, where I played the third dorky wheel to my
madly-in-love best friend and her man of the moment. Thank God,
though, an unexpected sight interrupted my memory of the
shudder-worthy experience.

“Hey, isn’t that your cousin over there?” I
asked, poking Mick gently in the…liver?

He squinted. “What? Where?”

“Over by the snack table,” I said, dipping my
head toward my shoulder. “His name’s Cal, right?”

Mick still looked confused. “What does he
have on?”

“Like for clothes, you mean?” I asked like a
retard.

“Yeah. What’s he wearing?”

“Well,
if
it’s him, he’s wearing a
sleeveless black T-shirt, jeans, and construction boots.”

Mick’s expression morphed from skeptical to
dead sure. “That’s Cal, all right,” he said. “And Donny’s over
there too.”

“Donny?”

“I told you about him, didn’t I?” he asked.
“He’s another one of my cousins.”

Maybe it was just me, but Mick’s family
seemed really hard to keep track of. I mean, I was used to the
nuclear family: a mom, a dad, one point five kids. You know,
normal.

“I think I remember you saying
something,
” I lied. “But the details are a little
fuzzy.”

He chuckled. “That’s all right. It’s not that
important. I just thought I may have mentioned that Donny and Cal
work together. They have an internet business.”

I nodded.

“They buy things—antiques mostly—at garage
sales, flea markets, pawn shops…wherever. Then they re-sell the
stuff on eBay. It’s very profitable, if you can get your hands on
the right items.”

Quick cash for minimal effort? I was
intrigued. “How do they know what to buy?” I asked. Heck, maybe
I’d
start an eBay business if it was really that easy to
make a killing.

“I’m not sure,” Mick said, shaking his head.
“Nobody knows, really. They just developed a knack for it and,
well, they must know what they’re doing, because they’ve always got
loads of cash in their pockets,” he reported, obviously impressed
by—and maybe even the teeniest bit jealous of— his cousins’
business smarts.

“I like what
you
do,” I said. “You
have so many talents. You’re a great mechanic. And an amazing
artist. And let’s not forget your sensational singing voice,” I
kidded him.

He sighed. “I know. I know,” he said,
dismissing the compliments. “But Cal and Donny are already so
successful.”

Geez, his cousins were starting to get on my
nerves, and I didn’t even know them yet. “Good for them,” I said.
“But you’re only sixteen. I’m sure you’ll be even more successful
than them someday.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely,” I said again, dying to change
the subject. “Now let’s dance.”

I clutched Mick’s hand and dragged him to the
middle of the dance floor. Because at least if we were surrounded
by people, any embarrassing moves we might make could go unnoticed.
Not that Mick had to worry. Good-looking people always come across
better on a dance floor. It’s a rule. And my magnificent boyfriend
did not disappoint. His smooth moves and superior rhythm put me to
shame. But of course he still acted like my hand-on-my-hip,
pointing-at-the-stars disco moves were top notch. The best part of
our first dance, though, was that neither of us could look away. We
were locked onto each other like we were alone in the eye of a
hurricane and everything else had dissolved in a chaotic, whirling
blur.

“Wanna get a drink?” I asked—breathless and
sweaty—after only fifteen minutes on the dance floor.

“Huh?” Mick said, apparently unable to hear
me over the music, which for some unknown reason had started
blaring at an ear-splitting volume three songs back.

“Drink?” I repeated, tipping my hand to my
mouth.

We emerged from the sea of dancers, only to
find Cal and Donny still loitering next to the punch bowl. And the
odd thing was, I had an inexplicable urge to avoid them. An urge
that spiked to a new high when my traitor brother stepped into view
and handed Cal a plastic-wrapped, baked goodie.

“Isn’t that your brother over there with my
cousins?” Mick asked, surprised. I, on the other hand, was just
plain livid.

“Not for long,” I fumed, tugging my hand from
his grasp to crack my knuckles.

I guess my evil tone must have scared him a
little, because he went straight into calm-Flora-down mode. “Whoa,
hold on there, bulldog,” he said with a little chuckle. “What’s the
problem?”

“The problem
is,
my brother sucks and
he needs to butt out of my life,” I huffed.

“Okay…”

“Listen, I’ll explain later. Just back me up
on this, okay?” I pleaded.

We were within ten feet of my slimeball
sibling, and I was transitioning into attack mode. Unfortunately,
though, Mick objected by seizing my shoulders and spinning me away
from my target. And he didn’t let go. He held me there at arm’s
length, like he was prepared to shake some sense into me if it
should come down to that.

“What I think you should do,” he instructed
in a soothing tone suitable for a small child, “is take a deep
breath.”

Duh.
If I wanted to calm down, a deep
breath might help. But I wanted to kill someone. Specifically, the
pipsqueak spy who shared my DNA.

“Thanks for the suggestion,” I said. “But
Will deserves this. Trust me.”

Mick wouldn’t budge. “Whatever he’s done to
upset you, I guarantee it’s not worth the trouble,” he argued. “If
you let him get to you, then he’s already won.”

Damn it. Why did my sweet, sexy boyfriend
have to make so much sense?

I sighed. “I suppose you might be right,” I
admitted. “But I’m still going to get back at Will for this, just
not right now.”

Mick slid his hands around my back and pulled
me in for an intimate hug. “Now doesn’t that feel better,” he
cooed, stroking my hair. “Let’s forget about all of this and have
some fun. It’s still your birthday, remember? And I have one last
surprise for you.”

“I surrender. I surrender,” I cried. “You
win.”

I planted my hands on his muscular chest and
craned my neck back for a hot, delicious kiss. And when we finally
un
twirled our tongues, he reminded me, “You wanted a drink,
didn’t you?”

It was suffocatingly hot in the Clubhouse,
and I was parched beyond belief. “Uh-huh,” I agreed, still unsure
if I’d be able to keep my cool with Golden Boy, who was blocking
the punch bowl.

With our arms looped around each other’s
waists, my hunky boyfriend and I sauntered over to the snack table.
And Mick had just finished pouring me a drink, when Cal the Creeper
spoke up. “Eh, Mick. We didn’t know you could dance,” he said with
a sneer.

On cue, Cal, Donny, and Will cracked up.

“Of course he can,” I jumped in. “He’s
gifted.” Mick shot me a warning glance, like I shouldn’t be
starting trouble with
his
family either. “I’m Flora, by the
way,” I said to Cal, extending my hand. “Mick’s girlfriend.”

With the limp clamminess of a sea slug, Cal
gave my hand two quick pumps. Then the elusive Donny stuck out his
meaty paw for me to sample. I must say, it was still hard to
believe that either of these guys could be related to my perfect
Mick Donovan. I mean, Cal looked the same as before: greasy hair,
zit-riddled pizza face, missing spine. And Donny…well, he reminded
me of a cross between the Pillsbury Doughboy and Forrest Gump:
well-meaning dimwit swallowed by a suit of blubber.

“Eh,” Cal grunted.

“Hey,” Donny clarified.

That was it. The two mastermind entrepreneurs
couldn’t even muster a proper greeting. How lame.

Out of nowhere, a question struck me. “Which
one of you is older?” I asked, probably coming off as rude.

Of course, neither of Mick’s dopey cousins
responded. Maybe they thought I was wondering whether my own
brother was older than the love of my life, or vice versa. I guess
I couldn’t blame them for their ignorance, though, since you’d
probably have to stick lit matches in their ears to spark a
thought.

“Cal’s older than Donny by around nine
months,” Mick finally explained. “Cal’s mom used to say Donny’s mom
decided to have another kid once she saw how beautiful Cal came
out.”

Ugh. Now I had this sick vision cemented in
my brain of the Goofball Goons’ oversized heads on tiny baby
bodies, which was disturbing, to say the least.

“That’s funny, because Donny actually looks
older to me,” I said. I guess the size difference made me assume
Donny was the senior Goofball Goon, since he was about six inches
taller and a hundred pounds heavier than Cal.

“Nope,” Donny said.

“Other way around,” Cal added.

On that genius note, I’d had just about
enough of the Goofball Goons for one day. And for all I cared, my
brother could just rot where he stood. Because honestly, I was
beginning to think an hour alone with Cal and Donny was enough
punishment for any crime Will had committed against me anyway.

I squeezed Mick’s hand as an escape signal,
which thankfully he recognized. “This is our song,” he suddenly
said with a grin. “We’ll see you guys later.”

We sprinted back to the middle of the dance
floor, where we slipped easily into a slow dance. “You’re
brilliant,” I said, hoping Mick could hear me over the music. “What
song is this anyway? I want to remember it forever.”

He screwed up his face in contemplation, but
he still couldn’t come up with the title. And neither could I. “Can
we pick another one?” he asked, disappointed. “One we both
like?”

“I know!” I squeaked. “We can have the
karaoke song. It’s already special.”

I could tell by Mick’s physical reaction that
he agreed, because even though we were already dancing pretty
close, he pressed his hot body even tighter into me. So tight, in
fact, I could literally feel the blood pumping through his
veins.

“
You’re
special,” he breathed in my
ear.

I wanted to say something back, to explain
that nobody on earth could compare to him. But the intoxicating
blend of his warm flesh, velvet voice, and raw animal magnetism was
so overpowering I slipped into a state of speechless nirvana, I
swear.

Fourteen

EVEN though we’d planned to stay at the dance
until the oh-so-late hour of ten o’clock, Mick and I skipped out
about half an hour early to enjoy some alone time as my perfect
sweet sixteen came to a close.

“It’s so beautiful out here,” I gushed,
inhaling as much of the crisp night air as my lungs would hold. It
was no lie either. The evening was magical in a way that only
happens under the moon and the stars, in the arms of the one you
love.

Instead of admiring the beautiful starry
night, though, Mick had gone quiet. Quieter than he’d ever been
around me before. And for the most part, I was okay with the
silence. But after five solid minutes of nothingness, I started to
wonder if something was wrong with Mick—or with us.

“Is everything okay?” I asked. “You seem…”
There was really no good way to describe what I was sensing.
“Tired?”

“Oh, no. I’m all right,” he said with a low
sigh. “It’s just that…I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

We had wandered back to our private cove,
where we flopped down on the squishy sand. And when my eyes met
Mick’s, I saw this desperate, pained look that, I swear, I never
want to see again as long as I live.

He shook his head and frowned. “I’m gonna
miss you,” he forced out sort of shaky. I’d never heard a man’s
voice crack like that before, which made the words sound wrong in
my ears.

“What do you mean?” I asked, even though I
was pretty sure I knew what he was referring to. After all, I’d
already had the same breakdown over our inevitable separation. I
guess Mick was just a step behind me in the disturbing
realization.

“Well, our time is so limited,” he said.
“You’re leaving when? In a few days?”

I nodded.

“And I didn’t want to say anything before,
but my family’s scheduled to leave tomorrow,” he said with a
wince.

“Tomorrow?” I repeated, incredulous. Suddenly
our separation was not only inevitable, it was immediate.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you right
away,” he admitted. “But I was afraid you wouldn’t give me a chance
if…if you knew I was going to be gone so soon.”

“No. You’re wrong,” I said, insulted. “It
wouldn’t have made any difference.”