Dangerous (19 page)

“You want to see what’s on at the movies?” It had been a while since I had been at the theater.

“Movies it is,” he said, sliding out of the booth with our check in his hand.

After Stone paid the check, we left the restaurant and walked to his motorcycle. He handed me my helmet.

“Dammit,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“What?” I asked, unsure of what had made him angry.

He pointed to a piece of paper, rolled up and wedged in his handlebars. “You see that?” he asked.

“What is it? Did you get a ticket?” I asked.

“It’s one of those damn notes from your ex-boyfriend.”

I hadn’t thought much about the notes since the last time Stone confronted Chance, but I couldn’t see Chance doing something like that. “What does it say?”

Stone snatched the note up and unrolled it. “Dara’s not the one for you.”

My breath caught. Why would Chance do that? I knew he had mentioned getting back together, but he knew how I felt.

Stone glanced around the parking lot. “There he is now.”

I quickly followed his line of vision. He had zeroed in on a small group of teens standing near Chance’s red convertible. It was Chance, Scarlet, Chloe, and Brandy, all friends from school.

“Just let it go,” I begged.

Stone looked at me incredulously, his eyes igniting like blue flames. “He’s been coming to my house, the bookstore, and now here to leave me notes warning me to stay away from you, and you want me to let it go?”

“It’s not worth it, Stone.”

He started crossing the parking lot in a fury. I chased after him. “Stone, wait. Please.”

He paused long enough to glance back at me. “He started it Dara, and I’m going to finish it.”

“Stone!”
My pleas fell on deaf ears. He was determined to confront Chance, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

“Hey!” Stone yelled as he approached Chance. “You want to say it to my face?”

“Are you talking to me?” Chance asked.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you. I see you’ve left me another note. Why don’t you be a man and say it to my face?”

“What are you talking about?” Chance asked nonchalantly.

Stone held the note in the air.
“Your notes that you leave on my motorcycle warning me to stay away from Dara.”

“Dude, I haven’t left you any notes.”

Stone continued toward Chance until he was standing nose to nose with him. Scarlet, Chloe, and Brandy all scooted back, clearly in shock.

“Who else would leave me notes warning me to stay away from Dara?” Stone asked caustically.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Catching up with Stone, I grabbed his arm in an attempt to pull him back. He didn’t budge. “Come on, Stone. We’ll figure this out.”

“What’s there to figure out?” Stone asked. “Chance does want to get back together with you, doesn’t he?”

“I would take her back in a heartbeat,” Chance said, not backing down from Stone’s angry glare. “But I didn’t leave you those notes.”

Stone’s hands were curled into fists at his sides. I pushed my way between them and placed my palm on Stone’s chest. “Let’s go, Stone.”

“Admit it” Stone grumbled to Chance. “Be a man and admit it, so that I can put an end to it right now.”

“If I had done it, I would admit it,” Chance said, his voice staying even. “Your problem is not with me.”

“Stone,” I whispered. “I’ve known Chance a long time. If he said he didn’t do it, then he didn’t do it.”

For the first time since we arrived, Stone tore his gaze away from Chance and looked at me. “Who else would’ve done it? Who else would be stalking us?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But it wasn’t Chance.”

Stone turned his glare back on Chance. “You’re lucky she’s here. If I find out that you left those notes, I
will
be back for you.”

“I didn’t leave any notes, but I will say it to your face. You don’t deserve Dara. It’s only a matter of time until she’s back with me.”

Stone exploded. Before I even had time to react, he had pulled me out of the way with his left hand and pummeled Chance’s jaw with his right fist.

Chance staggered backwards, and I rushed to put myself between the two of them. “Stone,” I said in the most authoritative voice I could muster. “Let’s go.”

Stone continued glaring at Chance. I pushed him back a couple of steps. “Come on, Stone.” I tugged on his arm, and reluctantly, he followed me. I was relieved that Chance hadn’t made a move to retaliate; otherwise, it would have been difficult to break the two of them up.

I didn’t know what had possessed Chance to antagonize Stone when he was already angry.

When we got back to Stone’s motorcycle, I glanced at Chance, who was smiling as Scarlet, Chloe, and Brandy huddled back around him. His injuries were apparently not enough to keep him from appreciating the attention from his female companions, so I quickly dismissed any worries about his well-being.

“What was that?” I demanded.

“If he’s not leaving the notes, then who is?”
Stone asked quietly, the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth.

“I don’t know.”

“Are there any other guys after you?” he asked, his eyes watching my face intently.

“No, not that I know of.”
I paused. “Stone, you can’t go around hitting people.”

“Did you hear what he said to me?” Stone asked incredulously. “He was asking for it. What did you want me to do? Let him stand there and insult me?”

“They were just words, words that didn’t mean anything.”

“They may not have meant anything to you, but you weren’t the one that he was insulting,” Stone said, anger still evident in his voice.

I had to admit that he was right. I hadn’t been the one insulted, but still…. My first thought was that guys are so very different than girls. But then when I thought about it again, even though I wasn’t the fighting type, I had seen girls get into fights over the same type of scenarios. Fighting just seemed pointless to me. I could understand defending yourself, but not throwing the first punch.

“You’re right. I wasn’t the one being insulted. But his comment wasn’t worth getting arrested over, and someone could have called the police.”

“Do you really think I’m afraid of getting arrested?”

“No. I don’t think you’re afraid of it, but I do think you’re smart enough to know I’m right.”

He leaned against his bike and stared at the ground, taking a deep breath. “You
are
right. I’m just so tired of people thinking that I’m not good enough.”

“Good enough for what?’ I asked.

“For anything that matters,” he said quietly.
“For boarding school, for running a business.”
He reached up and caressed my cheek with his fingertips.
“For you.”

“Then don’t get angry,” I whispered, catching his hand in mine and brushing a kiss across his knuckles. “Prove them wrong.”

He exhaled deeply, and a slow, sad smile spread across his face. “What if they’re not wrong?”

“Whether they’re wrong or not is up to you. You create your own destiny.”

He was quiet, and I wondered if he was thinking about my words.

“Dara Golding,” he said, and then leaned in close and whispered, “That would be you.” I slapped him on the arm, and he smiled and continued in his normal voice, “I think you’re good for me.”

My heart fluttered, and I smiled at him, thinking that perhaps that was the best compliment a guy had ever paid me. I quickly closed the distance between us, placed my palms along his chiseled jawline, and pressed my lips firmly to his.

Chapter 9

Stone

It was hard to believe that it was already the middle of July. During the last week, Dara and I had gone out every night, and I wondered how long it could last, knowing that I was bound to screw up soon. I pushed the warning thoughts out of my mind that Dara would expect more of me than most of the girls that I had dated during the last three years. I thought of her words often, that I was responsible for determining whether I proved people wrong or not. What I hadn’t told her was that I needed to prove myself wrong, that I was probably the one person who most believed that I didn’t deserve her.

And maybe I didn’t, but I wanted her.

I texted Tom and Dara to let them know that I’d be late getting to the bookstore today.
I should’ve told Dara yesterday that I had to pick my parents up from the airport this morning, but I had held back.

I quickly showered and dressed and drove my mother’s car to the airport. I preferred by father’s car, but I wasn’t supposed to drive it, and it really didn’t have enough room for their luggage.

As I waited in a hard, plastic chair for their plane to land, I wondered what they would think about Dara. I never introduced them to the girls that I dated, but Dara was different. Not only did I want to introduce her to them, but I also wanted them to like her.

I stared out the floor-to-ceiling window as a plane taxied in from the runway. Brilliant rays of sunshine broke out from behind a band of clouds, and I squinted as I forced my gaze inward, watching the dozen or so people who were waiting for loved ones or for their own flights to arrive.

“Stone?”

At the sound of my mother’s voice, I glanced up to see her and my father walking swiftly toward me. They were impeccably dressed, as always, and it looked like their European vacation had agreed with them. I stood and hugged my mother as she wrapped her arms around my neck. “Welcome home, Mom.”

My dad squeezed my shoulder in a firm grip. “It’s good to see you, son.”

“You, too, Dad.”

My mother looked young for her age. Thanks to healthy living and probably a dose of good genetics, she had no wrinkles to give away the fact that she was in her early forties. She had always been cognizant of her appearance, almost to a fault, and she looked very fashionable now with her dark slacks and red silk blouse. Her dark hair was pulled sleekly into a bun, and diamond earrings twinkled in her earlobes.

My father also wore dark slacks with expensive Italian shoes and a crisp, white dress shirt. His dark hair was combed back off his forehead, and I had a feeling that if I fast forwarded twenty-five years, I could be looking in the mirror. He had a muscular physique thanks to the fabulous home gym that was in our basement and the fact that he made time to use it.

“How’s everything been in our absence?” my father asked as we made our way to the baggage claim area.

“Everything’s fine, Dad.
I didn’t burn the house down or wreck your car.”

“You weren’t supposed to be driving my car,” he said, shooting me a stern glare.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, fully aware that he knew without being told that I had driven it.

“Have you spoken to Dylan?” Mom asked, clearly changing the subject.

“Dylan rarely calls me,” I answered.

“Phones work two ways, you know,” she commented.

“Yeah, I know.” Mom was always the one spinning her wheels, trying to keep everybody happy, which was an impossible task.

“Have you given any thought to which college you want to attend?” Dad asked.

I knew that was coming. It was a subject that he harped on constantly. No doubt he was having withdrawals since he hadn’t spoken to me much in recent weeks.

“Don’t you think I should wait and see if I graduate from high school first?” I asked.

“Stone, don’t antagonize your father,” my mother warned. “You
will
graduate from high school, and you know perfectly well that you need to plan ahead for college.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go to college,” I grumbled, frustrated that our conversations were usually one-sided. My parents gave me the freedom to say what I wanted, but whether they listened was an entirely different story.

“You can’t get a decent job without a college degree,” my father told me for the seven hundred and eighty-ninth time this year. I knew that the odds stacked in his favor. Most likely, I
wouldn’t
be able to get a decent job without a college degree, but it wasn’t impossible. The truth was that I hated having my choices taken from me. I felt like I had been stripped of all my decisions, all my rights, and force-fed my father’s version of what I would do with my life.

Since my father bought the bookstore a year ago, I had actually been thinking about going to college to major in business, but I wanted it to be my decision. There was no way I was going to mention it to either of my parents, though, because they would latch on to that like vamps on a vein and never let go.

My father plucked four, black suitcases from the conveyor belt and motioned for me to grab two of them.

We packed them into the trunk of my mother’s car, and my father slid in the driver’s seat, while my mother sat shotgun, and I hopped in the backseat.

My father turned the radio off, silencing the thumping rap that boomed from the speakers. “How have sales been at the bookstore?” he asked.