Fall Into Forever (4 page)

And yet, I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me…like she was seeing straight into my soul.

Normally I don’t let myself get distracted or derailed by a pretty face. When you’ve been around as many as I have, external beauty isn’t all that memorable or interesting.

Take Tina here, for instance. She’s got a great smile and a nice body. We’ve been hooking up off and on since we met last year. But if she told me she was dropping out of school and moving to Europe, I can’t say it would bother me all that much.

“Then why aren’t you undressed yet?” Tina says. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

The smell of Jack Daniels on her breath is strong. I hadn’t noticed it before. Either she just took a swig of a pint she’s got in her purse or she’s drunker than I thought.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Ignoring me, she grabs the buckle on my belt and gives it a tug.

I push her away. “Can you just answer the question?”

She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Enough, but not too much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to discern whether she’s BSing me or not. I may be my father’s son, but I’m not a total asshole. “How much?”

“Do you want me to recite the alphabet backward to prove it to you? Jesus. Did you change your mind and you’re looking for an excuse to get out of it? Because we can—”

Okay, she seems sober enough. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want to be with you. Got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” At least that much is true.

Don’t get me wrong. Tina’s hot, but sex isn’t an emotional thing for me. It’s fun, sure, but once it’s over, it’s over. Besides, I prefer hooking up with a girl at her place. That way, I can go home when I’m done and not worry about pretending I like to cuddle.

I pick the green condom from the deck. She lies back on the bed and tears open the packet. When we’re done, I’ll take a quick shower, then head back downstairs to see what the guys are up to. I’ll have just enough time to eat something, then jump on my motorcycle and head to the campus radio station. I usually don’t work Friday nights and definitely not White House party nights, but the station manager had a family emergency and I agreed to cover for her at the last minute.

As we have sex, my body goes into autopilot. It feels great, and like I said, Tina is hot, but my mind is focused elsewhere.

She moans against my neck and rolls her hips beneath me. Her hair itches my nose, so I turn my head aside without breaking my rhythm.

“Yes!” Her nails dig into my skin. “Oh my God, yes.”

I speed up my tempo. I’m almost there, too.

Just then, the door opens behind me. Damn. I thought I locked it when we came in.

“Occupied,” Tina calls out, laughing, as if we’re in a motel room and the maid is knocking.

The door slams shut before I can see who it is. It’s not the first time someone’s barged in on me having sex. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.

* * *

Ivy

I’m not sure what planet I thought I lived on when I decided to climb out the second story bathroom window—certainly not one with a strong gravitational pull—because the ground is waaaay further down than I imagined it’d be. It’s obvious now that the guys I saw last month got on and off the roof by going back through a window.

I’ve been up here for a half hour, maybe longer, trying to find a way down. I crawl crablike across the wet surface. My theory is that if one limb slips, three others are still making contact. You know that flat part I remember seeing? It turns out to be not very flat after all. Whoever said desperate times call for desperate measures knew what they were talking about, because I’m bordering on sheer desperation right now.

At least it’s not still raining.

Someone shouts from the front yard. I’m pretty sure it’s too dark for anyone to see me back here, but I’m not about to turn around and find out. I just want to get down. If I live, which I’m seriously starting to wonder about, I’ll go sit in my car and wait for Cassidy.

I reach for the branches of an overhanging tree. If I can grab it, maybe I can spider-monkey down the trunk.

“Hey.”

I freeze. Someone
has
spotted me. Crap, crap, crap. How in the hell am I going to explain this? Glancing around, I see no way out of the situation. But now there’s laughter coming from the same direction. Good. It’s just random people partying. No one’s seen me after all.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Okay, I can’t let myself get distracted like that again. I need to get off this roof ASAP before anyone does see me. Stretching out my arm, I reach a little further until my fingers brush against one of the thinner branches. I’ve…almost…got…it...

“What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me?” It’s the same voice. And, oh my God, it’s eerily familiar.

I jerk my head around and almost lose my balance. Throwing my weight backward so my center of gravity is away from the edge, I end up flat on my ass. My hands, feet, and knees are covered in dirt and moss from the roof. Might as well make it my butt, too.

A guy with a messenger bag crisscrossed over his chest is standing on the ground below me. It’s too dark to see his face, but at least I know it’s not Aaron. This guy is much taller.

“What the hell are you doing?” he repeats. “Are you crazy?”

I bristle. What’s it look like I’m doing? Reading? Tanning?

I rub my hands together, brushing off the dirt. “Getting some fresh air,” I reply flippantly.

He must think I’m a legit crazy person. Which, if I’m being honest with myself, I pretty much am. No sane person would be doing what I’m doing right now.

“You’re going to kill yourself.” He glances behind me, probably looking for an open window, but he’s not going to find one. The one I climbed through is on the other side of the house, beyond where I almost broke my neck trying to get past the two dormers. “How did you get up there, anyway?”

“Just go away and leave me alone.” The last thing I need is to answer a bunch of questions. The roof appears lower at the next corner, so I shift my shoes to my other hand and start to make my way over there.

“Wait! Wait!” In one swift motion, he ditches the messenger bag, only it turns out it’s not a messenger bag. It’s a guitar case. “You need to slowly turn around and go back up there. Think you can do that for me? I’ll go inside and open up one of those windows.”

He sounds like a psychiatrist trying to talk a jumper away from the ledge. “What are you? Some kind of wannabe fireman?”

“I’m just trying to help you,” he says slowly, enunciating each word carefully, as though he wants to make sure I understand him.

“Then lean on that tree so I can reach the branch.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “And then what? Watch you fall and break your neck? ’Fraid not.” Holding up his hands like an invisible force field that will make me stay put, he calls over his shoulder toward the street. “Hey, I need some help back here.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, dropping to my belly, trying to ignore the fact that the front of me is getting wet. The last thing I need is for anyone else to see me up here. Especially Chase’s brother.

Somewhere around the front of the house, a car door slams and an engine starts up. I lift my head in time to see the red glow of taillights heading down the driveway.

Cursing under his breath, he turns his attention back to me. “I don’t trust you not to try to get down on your own if I go for help.”

Does this guy have a Clark Kent complex or what? “I can take care of myself.”

He takes a few steps toward the house, disappearing from my line of sight, and I hear rattling under the eaves beneath me. I don’t dare lean over the gutter to see what he’s doing.

“Can you kneel down and swing your legs over?”

Hope leaps in my chest. “Did you find a ladder?”

“No, a trellis, but I think it’ll hold you.”

I crawl to the edge and peer over. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s right under the eaves here,” he says, pointing.

Great. It
is
Jon Priestly. The guy from the front porch. The second-to-last guy I want to see.

“If you dangle your legs over, I can reach up and help you get a toehold.”

I consider it. I really do. But twelve to fifteen feet seems much farther up when you’re looking down. “I can’t.”

“Why not? I’m right here. I’ll make sure that—”

“I’m afraid of heights,” I blurt. I’m sure he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing on a roof if I don’t like heights. Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder that myself.

“Are you kidding me?” I can hear the frustration in his tone. “Wait here.”

It sounds just like the order he gave the pink T-shirt chicks when he told them to wait for him in the house. Just my luck that he’d be the one to see me up here. I guess the only thing worse would be if he were Aaron.

“You’re not going inside, are you? I mean, I kind of don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

“I’m just going to look for a ladder. Don’t move till I get back.”

“Promise?” Wow. I sound like such a baby.

“I promise.”

The sound of laughter interrupts us, and I freeze. Three girls stumble through the gate, then stop to lean over a low hedge. Their arms are around each other’s waists, making it hard to tell who is holding up whom, but it doesn’t look like they see us. Good. I hope Jon has the sense to keep his mouth shut.

“Hold Tina’s hair back,” one of them commands.

“I can’t. If I see it or hear it, I’ll get sick, too.” This one hiccups.

A low rumbling moan comes from the one I’m assuming is Tina. Without any more warning than that, she pukes her guts out into the bushes.

I did not just see that.

“Eeeew!” The hiccupping one gags and then she loses it, too.

Oh my God, this is so disgusting.

One of them curses. Another one laughs. “Water. I need water.”

“I saw some bottled water on the porch,” the non-barfing friend says. “Come on.”

The three of them stumble arm in arm back the way they came.

“You’re not going to sympathy vomit too, are you?” Jon’s taken a few steps back from where he was standing a moment ago. Did he think I was going to blow my cookies on top of him?

I drop my hand, which was clamped over my mouth to keep me from laughing during the puke-fest. I can see why he’d say that, but no, I’m not going to get sick. “Wow. That was really gross.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. At least you were farther away. I pretty much had a front row seat.”

“I’m sure my bird’s eye view wasn’t much better.”

“Listen.” His tone is impatient. “I can’t be late for work, but I’m not leaving until you’re off the roof.”

What kind of job starts this late at night? Given what I know about him already, do I even want to know?

He moves in the direction of the gate. “I’m going to go get—”

“Do
not
go inside!”

He pauses before responding, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me, but thankfully, he doesn’t ask why. “Okay, but will you stay put if I go look for that ladder?”

As if I have anywhere else I can go. “Yes.” I glance toward the front of the house for the umpteenth time. “Hurry.”

Less than five minutes later, he’s propping a ladder against the eave. That first step, when I swing my legs over the edge and blindly try to find the top rung with my bare foot, is the hardest. My heart is racing, my hands are sweaty, and I seriously think I’m going to fall to my death.

“I’ve got you.” He grips my ankle and guides my foot to the metal rung.

As I inch myself down, strong hands grip my calves, then my thighs, then my waist. If I slip, I’m pretty sure he’ll catch me. It’s amazing what having a safety net will do for your confidence.

“That’s it. Keep coming.”

When I step from the bottom rung and onto the grass, I breathe a huge sigh of relief that I’m not dead or seriously maimed. But now I need to face my embarrassment.

“You made it,” he says from behind me. “Good job.”

I take a deep breath, steel myself, and turn around. And for the second time tonight, I’m looking straight into the eyes of Jon Priestly. The tattooed guy from the fight. The guy with the female entourage. The guy I’m pretty sure was banging some chick in an upstairs bedroom when I was looking for the bathroom. I’m not sure I could be any more embarrassed right now.

Underneath his unzipped black and gray snowboard jacket is a faded concert T-shirt. He must’ve just taken a shower because his dark hair is damp and he smells like herbal body wash.

A million butterflies flit around in my stomach and my mouth goes bone dry. Forget what I said earlier about facial hair and clean-cut guys. The guy standing inches away from me is hot.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” My voice is thin and reedy.

In the dim light, his pale blue eyes are sparkling with amusement, like it’s an everyday occurrence for him to rescue girls stranded on rooftops. Either that or he can read minds and knows exactly what I’m thinking.