Very Bad Things (3 page)

“Since when do you drink?” she said heatedly, in a quiet
way, sniffing my cup and making a gagging face. I laughed because vodka really
didn’t have a scent.

“Today is officially my first day of becoming an alcoholic.
And this drink is making my soda very good—actually, no, I take that back. It
tastes like shit, but I’m going to drink it anyway. Want some?”

Before she could answer, my attention was caught by a black
Escalade pulling up at the warehouse directly across from the shop. When two
guys got out of the vehicle, a memory tugged at me, and I focused harder on
them, but they were too far away and it had gotten dark outside.

Mila let out a long sigh, pulling my attention back to her.
“Anyway, you wanna hit downtown tomorrow? Maybe do some shopping at the
Galleria?” she said, choosing to ignore the alcohol.

“Is there a good tattoo place around there? If not, I wanna
try this new shop that just opened around the block.”

Her hands went nuts, fluttering up and down, like the girly
girl she was. “I’ll never see you again because your mother will
kill
you! God, Nora, do you
want
to be incarcerated again?”

Seeing her dramatic tirade triggered something in me, and I
burst out laughing as she chuckled along with me. I laughed and laughed so hard
my chest burned and tears streamed down my face. Embarrassed by the emotion, I
tried to suck it in and stop, but I couldn’t. I gripped my waist with my hands,
but it didn’t help. She eyed me, and you know that awkward moment when everyone
else has stopped laughing at something, but you still are, so they start
staring at you? It was like that, only worse, because she could see my hilarity
had turned into something strange and dark. I pressed my hands over my mouth
and stopped the awful laughter, but then the panic set in. A cold sweat rippled
over me and my heart hammered, making me feel like I was going to pass out. I
bent over, my body aching as if I’d just run a hundred yard sprint. I squeezed
my eyes shut, took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, exhaled, and then
repeated it until my heart finally slowed.

I sat up with care, and Mila was standing and staring at me,
her face washed out.

“What was
that
?” she asked, blinking.

“I think . . . I think it was my version of a panic attack,”
I gasped out, wiping my face with some napkins from the table.

“Damn. Has it happened before?” she asked in a scared voice.
“Should I go get Portia?”

I shook my head. “At the open house I had some dizziness,
but nothing this dramatic,” I said, shuddering at the horrible laughter that
had come out of me. Had I lost my mind completely? Had just the mention of Mother
and being locked in my room sent me off the deep end?

“You okay now?”

I bit my lip and nodded, but I was lying.

“Hey, maybe I’m just that funny. You think I could do
stand-up?” she said.

I shook my head at her. “I’m fucked up, Mila.”

“No, you’re not,” she said firmly, settling back down in her
seat. “Maybe a little weird sometimes, but that’s just because you read
dictionaries in your sleep.”

My eyes were drawn back to the warehouse across the street
when the door opened and the taller of the guys came out. He strolled over to
the SUV and popped open the back. He wasn’t facing me, but I could see he was
wearing jeans and a black wife beater. I squinted, trying to make out the
shadows on his muscled arms, recognizing them as some sort of tattoo. I wished
he’d step into the street light so I could see him better, but he didn’t. He
picked up a couple of guitars from the car, slammed the door shut, and walked
back to the warehouse. My eyes followed him until he’d disappeared inside.

Something about him pricked at me and made my stomach
flutter, almost like I knew who he was but couldn’t place him. I needed to get
a good look at his face.

I called out for Aunt Portia to come over. “Who’s the guy
next door?” I asked her, gesturing out the window.

“Where?”

“Some guy just went inside the warehouse across the street.
He was driving the black SUV there,” I said.

She nodded. “Leo Tate. He’s been renovating the old gym all
summer and turning it into a health club. Supposedly, it’s going to be brand
new with a pool, tennis courts, yoga classes, the works.”

“Huh,” I said with a dismissive laugh, remembering that
exercise and I did not get along, not since Mother had hired a personal trainer
for me when I was fifteen, forcing me to take a 5:00 a.m. boot camp class three
mornings a week. Her goal was to squeeze me into a size double zero. Ha. True,
I was slimmer now, but only because I’d grown five inches, not because I could
run a mile in six minutes.

Prompted by thoughts of Mother, the filth that gnawed at me
flared deep in my gut. I
needed
balm for my soul. I needed to lash out
again at something or someone. Was it wrong? Yes, definitely. Would it make me
feel better? I didn’t know, but I was willing to do anything to feel better, to
stay sane.

So as Mila and Aunt Portia talked about the new neighbors, I
sat and thought about the bad things I could do. When I had my plan in place, I
went to the back of the shop. There inside the utility closet, I found exactly
what I needed. I grabbed a can of yellow spray paint, the same one Aunt Portia
had used to repaint the kitchen’s back door. I shook it, checking to see if
there was enough. There was. I stuffed it inside my backpack.

MUCH LATER, AFTER Aunt Portia had
gone home, I found myself standing in front of the new gym doors, which had the
name Club Vita written in bold red letters. I cupped my hands to better see
inside the glass doors, but all the lights were off. At midnight, odds were the
owner had left for the night. Yet the Escalade was still here. Did that mean
they lived here, too?

Mila followed and stood apprehensively behind me. “This is
the worst idea you’ve ever had, Nora,” she soothed, like to a mad dog. “What if
someone sees us?”

“They won’t. Come on, let’s do this,” I replied, taking a
swig from the flask, my tongue numb to the taste. I passed it to Mila.

“You know I love you ’cause we’ve been friends since third
grade, but we could go to jail. This is trespassing,” she said quietly, her
gaze jumping around the deserted parking lot.

“You think?” I said, tucking my hair up inside my Longhorns
ball cap and smiling a big Texas grin. Yep, the vodka had kicked in. “
If
we get put in jail, I’ll let you have the top bunk, I promise. I’ll even
request silk sheets and a mint for your pillow.”

She didn’t even crack a smile at me. I sighed. “You’ll see,
Mila, this will be fun. Come on, let’s live a little.” I walked over to the
Escalade, eyeing the huge vehicle. Mr. Fitness must be well-off, judging by
leather interior, high-end rims, and tinted windshield. And for some crazy reason
this car had caught my attention, and I was going with it. I picked up a small
pebble and tossed it on the hood, and when no alarm sounded, I turned back to
Mila, victory on my face.

“What are you going to do?” she gasped. “I thought we were
just checking the place out.”

I pulled the yellow can of spray paint from my backpack.
“I’m going to turn this kick-ass vehicle into a preschool bus.”

“But why?” she said, a look of horror on her face.

Before I could answer, it started pouring, a hard summer
rain that drenched us in no time. I tossed my head back and inhaled the
suddenly damp air. And as I stared into the night sky, I saw no star in sight;
I had no wishes to be wished.

No hope.

This night would not end well.

“Come on, let’s dance in the rain,” I said impulsively,
pushing the bleakness away. I pretended to be okay and crooked our arms
together and twirled her around, dancing and skipping like the professional
square dancers did each year at the Fourth of July picnic in Highland Park. I
wanted to be like those dancers. They seemed happy.

“You’re acting insane, Nora,” she said in an agitated
whisper, pulling away from me. I stopped and stared at her a bit dumbfounded.
Mila always did what I wanted. I was the dominant friend, and she was the
follower.

She bit her bottom lip. “This isn’t the time to be trying
out the dosey doe. You’re going to wake the whole freaking neighborhood.”

My spirits took a nose dive when I saw how frightened she
was. She didn’t have the gumption for it, and I had no right to drag her down
with me as I spiraled out of control. This wasn’t about Mila; this was about
me. Whatever stupid thing I did tonight, she needed to be far away. I sighed
heavily. “You’re right, Mila. Go back home, and I’ll call you when I’m
leaving,” I said, taking the flask from her hand. She’d never taken a drink
anyway.

“But I hate to leave you here alone . . . in the rain. And I
don’t know what you’re going to do to that car,” she said, practically wringing
her hands.

“Maybe I like hanging out in the rain,” I said with a shrug.

She shook her head. “You’re drunk, Nora. I can’t leave you.”

“You will because it’s past your curfew, and your parents
will be mad. I’ll sleep it off in my car, Mila. Just go.”

She stared at me for a long time. “Okay, but call me when you
get in your car. Please,” she begged, looking at the flask in my hands like it
was a loaded gun.

Sweet, sweet Mila. You know those fluffy little rabbits you
can buy at the pet store? The ones that come in different colors, like white,
brown, auburn, and black? Apparently, there was this odd scientific study
conducted in Switzerland once about which rabbit color people chose the most.
They proved that 88.7 percent of people picked the white bunny to take home. As
for me, I’d choose the black one every time because Mila reminded me of those
little black bunnies with her gleaming dark hair, gentle nature, and instinct
to run at the first sign of danger.

After she’d disappeared from view, I sat down in the rain on
the curb and stared at the can of paint, contemplating this course I’d set
myself on. I’d never done anything destructive my entire life. I’ve always
tried to do every single thing right, and, yet, I sensed that this one act of
vandalism would change everything.

And when the rain stopped just as suddenly as it had
started, I took it as a sign. I pulled a jacket out of my backpack and used it
to dry off a side of the Escalade. I picked up the can and started to work,
clueless about the destiny that was hurtling toward me.

“I’d
like to sleep for a hundred years, wake up and try again.”

–
Nora Blakely

“DROP THE PAINT and turn around
slowly with your hands in the air.” The loud command was said with a deep
voice. “I’ve got a gun, asshole, so move nice and slow.”

I bent over and placed the can on the pavement. I started to
turn when— “I said put your hands in the air!” he yelled.

I yanked my hands up and eased around to face the owner of
the voice.

He was about ten feet away from me, standing six feet and
then some. He was missing a shirt but wearing a pair of black athletic shorts
and flip-flops. Judging by his disheveled dirty blond hair and bloodthirsty
eyes, I’d have to guess this
might
be the owner of the Escalade.

And I’d just woken him up.

He came closer to me, and my eyes were immediately drawn to
his green-and-blue dragon tattoo. Like a giant snake, the scaled body of the
dragon wrapped around his forearm and bicep with the neck coming down from his
shoulder and the head resting on his broad chest. Red flames poured from its
mouth, between laser sharp teeth.

This guy looked medieval.

So, I squinted and pictured him as a rugged Viking, wearing
a horned helmet and gripping a spear instead of a gun. Maybe holding a shield
instead of his flashlight and definitely wearing some of those laced-up leather
boots. The word
berserker
(from round two of the famous spelling bee)
came to mind, and I rolled the syllables around my tongue . . .
ber-serk-er.
Yep, that was him alright: one pissed off Norse warrior.

I grinned at my amazing analogy because, well, I’d had too
much to drink.

“You think this is funny, son?” he snapped.

I shook my head, suddenly aware that this was really
happening, that I’d been caught, and an angry car owner was pointing a gun at
me. And he thought I was a boy.

“That’s what I thought. Now, what the fuck are you doing out
here messing with my car?” he said, biting out the words through clenched
teeth.

I swallowed and said nothing.

“You’ve got twenty seconds before I call the cops,” he said,
stepping closer.

And then it happened. Everything clicked in my head, and I
knew him. He was the
one
, the gorgeous guy from the open house whose
gaze had been the glue that held me together in the parking lot. I forgot about
the gun and got tangled up in my thoughts, remembering the countless times I’d
played out the memory of our eyes clinging to each other, how I’d wanted to
jump out of my car, get into his and just drive away. I flicked my eyes back at
the Escalade, dimly remembering he’d driven a black car. I really hadn’t paid
much attention to it that day because all I’d seen had been him.

“Ten seconds,” he yelled, blasting his light full in my face
until bright spots were floating in front of my eyes.

“Get that off me,” I snapped, swaying a little.

He lowered the light a miniscule bit. “Drunk and disorderly
plus
vandalism are two misdemeanors. Looks like you’re going to jail.”

“S’kay with me. Put me in jail,” I said weakly. But even as
I said the words, I knew I was lying. I wasn’t a minor anymore, and I could
kiss Princeton goodbye if I got arrested.

Nausea reared its ugly head and my stomach began to roll.

“Five seconds,” he retorted.

I held my hand up in the universal sign for
wait a minute
,
and then bent over and hurled, missing my shirt but not my adored cowboy
boots. After that, I dry heaved, and the force made my legs buckle, making me
take a header straight on the concrete, the side of my face slamming into the
wet pavement. My ball cap fell off in the craziness, my long hair spilling out
over the wet ground.

He got quiet, so I looked up at him to see his face studying
mine intently. “Holy shit,” he muttered, easing the gun down, “you’re a fucking
girl.”

“Last time I looked,” I whispered, running my tongue across
my teeth to check for chips. I scooted myself away from the mess I’d made and
reached up to touch my face to see if I was bleeding. There wasn’t any blood,
but I could feel my temple swelling. I put a hand on the car and pulled myself
up. My knees were on fire, and when I looked down, I saw the concrete had
ripped through my jeans and blood was dripping down my legs.

He cursed, pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a
number. “Sebastian, it’s all good. No, no cops. Yeah, come on out here. I might
need some help.”

He hung up and gave me a disgruntled look. “And here I
thought we’d left all the crime back in California,” he said, putting the
safety on the gun and shoving it in his pocket.

A door slammed, and a younger version of the man, probably
around my age, came around the corner, his long legs striding briskly. He
stopped in front of the graffiti and whistled loudly. “Oh baby, those pretty
hearts and flowers are rocking your ride, Leo.” He chuckled and then stopped
when his eyes took me in. “Whoa, she’s bleeding. Did you beat her up?”

The guy called Leo rubbed his scruffy jaw. “I don’t hit
girls. She fell.”

“She’s hurt,” the young guy stated, frowning. He stared at
me with a puzzled expression and then grinned and slapped his leg. “Hot damn.
It’s
her
,” he said in a loud whisper, glancing back at Leo. “You know?
Nora? From registration?”

“Yeah. I see that,” Leo said, his eyes searching my face.

“I see no official introductions are necessary. Everyone
knows me now as the girl with the potty mouth,” I said, leaning completely
against the car, smearing the yellow paint everywhere.

The younger one came to my side. “You okay?”

I focused on him and decided I liked him. He had an open
face that made me think he laughed a lot, so when I felt myself swaying again,
I reached out to him.

“Watch it,” he said gently and grabbed my shoulders to
steady me. I held on to him, and he winked at me. I scrunched up my eyes to get
a better look, sure I was seeing things now, but he didn’t do it again.

Leo walked over and loomed beside me, a disapproving look on
his face as he watched us. I shifted closer to the one he’d called Sebastian,
but stumbled and lost my balance, falling down again on my knees. Shit. This
night had gone downhill fast.

Sebastian kneeled down next to me and looked over at Leo.
“Hey, how ’bout I carry her inside so she can get cleaned up? She’s a mess and
looks pretty harmless.”

Leo let out an exasperated breath. “Fucking ridiculous,” he
muttered. “She ruins my car, and you want to invite her inside? You’d feel
different if it had been your Beamer, Sebastian.”

Sebastian gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “She’s my classmate,
bro, and I think she’s just drunk.”

Leo let out a grunt. “Whatever. Fine, I’ll get her, and you
get the backpack. And don’t forget the spray paint.” He walked over and glared
down at me. “If I call the police later, we’ll need the evidence.”

Then, without any effort at all, he swept me up, his hard
arms slipping under my knees and around my back as he scooped me off the
ground.

And just like that, the night caught up with me, and I
nestled into his bare chest, feeling like I had come home. He smelled so good,
like—

“Butterscotch,” I mumbled, turning my nose into him.

“What?” he grumbled, carrying me inside the glass doors.

I didn’t answer because I was too busy laying my cheek
against his hot skin and staring into the crystalline eyes of his dragon.

He took me down a long hall with several doors on each side
and past a large workout room with treadmills, ellipticals, and free weights.
“Hold on,” he said and adjusted his grip on my legs and started up a wide staircase
that opened to a spacious loft area. He carried me past a den area and a
kitchen and into a large white-tiled bathroom. I suppose I was too wet for any
other room. And I wasn’t exactly a welcome guest.

He sat me on the toilet seat, made sure I was steady, and
eased away from me. Maybe he wanted me to sit, but I didn’t. I jumped up, went
over to the sink and turned the water on. He stood there, his broad shoulders
tense, watching me as I splashed cool water on my face and rinsed out my mouth.
I grabbed a hand towel and dried off, wishing I wasn’t intoxicated. I turned
around to face him.

“Tell me why you vandalized my car,” he stated, crossing his
muscled arms and spreading his legs, his stance making it obvious he was
pissed. The tension heightened in the small room as we stared at each other,
and I tore my eyes from his to sit back down on the toilet seat, not knowing
how to answer him. I would only sound crazy.

He tapped his fingers against his legs. “What’s your
parent’s phone number? And don’t think of lying because I can always look it up
online. I know who you are.” He sure mastered the use of a menacing tone.

I looked down at my dirty boots. “There’s no point in
calling them. They aren’t home. They never are,” I said, grabbing a wad of
toilet paper and cleaning off my boots. My throat tightened painfully at the
thought of my parents, and I soothed myself by counting the tiles on the floor.

He didn’t speak and several seconds passed, and I tensed up
more, fearing that like Mother, he excelled in using silence. But no one was
better than Mother, who’d once refused to speak to me for an entire month when
I’d come in second at a debate competition. During the first week of that
horribly quiet time, I’d followed her around, begging her to talk to me. She’d
ignore me and say to my dad,
“Silence is golden.”
As the weeks had
progressed, I’d learned her silence
was
her speech, her way of saying I
was worthless.

“I’m sorry about your car. It was mean and wrong,” I said,
not able to stand the quiet. “Please don’t call my parents,” I added, hiding my
shaking hands behind my back.

He tightened his mouth. “Fine, who can I call to come get
you?”

“Don’t hold it against Portia from the bakery across the
street, but she’s my aunt. I’m staying with her.” I dug my phone out of my wet
jeans, scrolled down to her number, and handed it to him.

Our fingers brushed when he took my phone, and I jerked,
shocked at the unexpected sizzle of heat sweeping over my body. He pocketed my
phone and then opened the medicine cabinet, gazing into it for a long time
without moving, like he was considering what to do next. I watched him warily,
wondering what he had planned for me. Finally, he sighed and pulled out
hydrogen peroxide and a handful of gauze.

“Sebastian has a change of clothes you can borrow, and
you’ll need an ice pack for your face. It’s going to leave a bruise,” he told
me as he bent down to touch my temple with his long fingers. He cleaned my face
with cold water and then dabbed it with the hydrogen peroxide, his touch surprisingly
gentle even though I could sense his anger just under the surface.

In the bright lights of the bathroom, I let my gaze run over
him freely, taking him in, not missing how beautiful he was. He had an
unyielding face, with a jaw line that looked like it could chisel granite,
matching his well-built, defined body. Yet even with all the hotness in front
of me, the one thing that made my heart fly was his icy pale-blue eyes. This
close up I could see how the light, almost transparent color contrasted with his
tan face, making his eyes glow like the precious opals I’d studied about in
science. And right now they were focused entirely on me as he scrutinized my
bruise.

“Is this your gym?” I asked, trying not to wince as he
patted my temple.

“Yes,” he said, tossing the used gauze into the trash, his
arm muscles rippling. He stood up and raked a hand through his wavy blond hair,
holding it there as he studied me with those piercing eyes. I returned his
look, my breath kicking up a notch at how sexy his naked chest was, how his
dragon tattoo seemed to slither and slide over his chest as he moved. My eyes
moved down to his taut abs and the way his shorts barely hung to his lean
waist, hinting at what was underneath.