Fall Into Forever (5 page)

But there’s something else. Sure, he’s dangerous and nothing but trouble. Anyone can see that.

The problem is that I am finding myself way too attracted to Jon Priestly, and I can’t afford to make any more stupid mistakes in my life.

That’s when I realize I am anything but safe.

chapter three

Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.

~ Oscar Wilde

Jon

When something inconvenient happens, you don’t expect it to change your life. An empty gas tank. An expired carton of milk (which is a real bitch when you forget to check the date and you take a swig directly from the container). You do what you need to do and move on. But sometimes a minor inconvenience kicks events into motion so that everything in your life changes, leaving nothing the same.

If I hadn’t agreed to fill in for a co-worker at the station tonight, I wouldn’t have been going to work. And if I hadn’t been going to work, I’d never have been on this side of the house where my motorcycle is parked. And if I hadn’t been on this side of the house, I wouldn’t have seen the girl on the goddamn roof.

At first I assumed someone else was with her. I mean, these parties can get pretty crazy and it’s not the first time I’ve seen people up there. But when she almost fell and no one came to help, I knew she was alone.

She either didn’t hear me yelling at her or was too drunk to care, because when I burst through the half-open gate into the back yard, she was reaching for the branch of an overhanging tree.

And now I’m looking straight at the girl I’ve been trying to find all night. Only this time, we’re alone, and she’s got mascara running down her cheeks. Her reddish-brown hair, which looked soft and wavy earlier, is tangled with bits of leaves and twigs.

What the fuck happened to her between the porch and now? Too many beers? Is she high? I hadn’t pegged her as a party girl when I first saw her, but this chick’s a mess. I’m not exactly sure why this bothers me, but it does. I thought— Fuck. I don’t know what I was thinking.

She turns slightly, and the light from a window falls across her face. I’m mesmerized by the color of her eyes, which instantly reminds me of the pictures of Ireland’s rolling hills in a book I got for Mom when she was sick. The thing was too heavy, so I held it for her and read aloud about various cities, castles, and places of interest. Like the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge joining a tiny scrap of a vivid green island to the mainland. She always wanted to go there.

I try to swallow, but my throat has just gone tight.

Even though this girl isn’t smiling, her eyes tilt up as if she’s about to. That’s got to be frustrating when you really want to convey to people that you’re pissed off. No one would ever believe you.

“What were you doing up there?” I don’t smell much alcohol on her breath, but then she’s probably a lightweight, unable to have more than a drink or two.

“I was just leaving.” She puts a hand on the tree trunk to steady herself and brushes off the bottoms of her feet.

“And you couldn’t use the front door?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “Careful. Those are crushed oyster shells in the flowerbed. They’re sharp.”

She jumps back like she just saw a snake.

“You’re not driving, I hope, because I can find you a ride home.” Didn’t she come with friends? Maybe I should bring her to the station. Depending on where she lives, Kelly can give her a ride when she leaves.

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She looks at her phone. “My roommate will be out here in a minute.”

Why the hell would she be up on the roof if she’s not wasted? And why the makeup running down her face? It’s true that she’s not slurring her words or acting confused, so I’m not sure what’s going on.

“Where’s your coat?” I ask, remembering the bloodstains.

“Good call.” She fires off another text. “I’ll have her grab it on the way out.”

“Tell her to leave it here. I’ll have it cleaned.” I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Even though I’ve never taken clothes to the cleaners in my life, Mom used to take her designer shit there, gifts from the guys she dated, so I know they can clean just about anything.

“That’s okay,” she says, trying to give my jacket back to me. “I was going to—”

“Take it. I feel terrible about the blood and everything. It’s the least I can do.” As I situate my jacket back on her shoulders, I catch a whiff of fragrance. Not perfumey, but simple and uncomplicated. Vanilla, I think. From her hair. It’s…nice.

I grab my phone from my back pocket and hand it to her. “Put in your number and I’ll call you when it’s clean.”

She stares at the screen, then darts a glance nervously toward the house.

The realization hits me upside the head. She was on the roof to get away from someone at the party. Someone she’s afraid of. The makeup running down her face isn’t because she’s drunk. It’s because she’s been crying.

I flex my hands, trying to ignore the pain in my knuckles from the fight earlier. I’m going to pound the holy living shit out of the guy who did this to her. If there’s one thing that makes me lose my shit faster than anything else, it’s when a guy mistreats his girlfriend. There’s no fucking excuse for that. Having seen it way too many times with my mom and her messed-up love life, I have zero tolerance for it.

Like I said before, I’m no angel. Maybe that’s why I can easily spot an asshole.

“Where the fuck is he?”

Her eyes widen. “What? Who?”

“Your dickwad boyfriend. I’m going beat the shit out of him.”

She looks confused. “I…I don’t understand.”

“That’s why you were out on the roof, isn’t it? To get away from him?” I have an overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms and protect her from the jackass who did this to her. No one should be allowed to make this girl feel as if her only option is to climb out on a roof to get away. She could’ve fucking fallen.

Her expression softens as she looks at me. “No dickwad boyfriend,” she says quietly, taking my phone. Her fingers inadvertently brush against the palm of my hand, sending electricity shooting up my arm. “But thank you for…for wanting to beat the shit out of someone for me. That’s really…sweet of you.”

No boyfriend at all or just not a
dickwad
boyfriend?

“Then why were you up there?” Despite what I originally thought, it not like she got wasted and ended up on the roof in a drunken stupor.

She drops her gaze, turning her attention to my phone. “I’d rather forget about it, if you don’t mind.”

In other words,
none of your business
.

But...I want to make it my business. All those years looking after my mom have taken their toll. She had supremely bad judgment when it came to men and made a shit-ton of excuses for them—whether it was a current boyfriend or an ex-boyfriend. Including my father. She never went after him for child support or had anything bad to say about him. When one of his songs would come on the radio, she’d get all teary-eyed, but she’d never change the station. I was the one who had to do it.

So I’m telling you, this situation has
asshole boyfriend
written all over it. “An ex?” I ask, probing for an answer.

She glances away and blinks a few times, and for a moment I’m thinking she’s going to say yes. I’m prepared to go back into the party, find out who he is, and introduce his face to my fist.

“No,” she says, surprising me. “My ex isn’t in there, either.”

I could’ve sworn… I study her for a moment. She sounds truthful enough. “Okay, but why—”

“Do you think we can just drop it?”

Her words jolt through me. End of subject. No more questions because she’s not going to give me any answers. “Yeah, fine. No problem.”

“Good.” She hands my phone back.

I shift my weight to the other foot and check to see what she entered. I can’t help but smile. “Ivy. How perfect for a girl I found on the roof of an old house. No last name?”

She stares at me for a moment before answering. “Does it matter?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, how many Ivys do you know, anyway?”

“None. You’re my first. But am I supposed to remember you as Ivy, the girl on the roof? Or just Ivy on the Roof? Or are you like Bono or Slash and only go by your first name?”

There’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “It’s Ivy McAllister.”

“Is that
M-A-C?
” I ask, spelling out the letters on my phone. “Or
M-C?
”

“Wow, all these questions. Are you always this inquisitive?”

“Only with things that matter to me.”

Her eyes meet mine for a half-second before she quickly glances away. “It’s just
M-C
,” she says quietly.

Just? I can tell already that there’s nothing remotely insignificant about Ivy McAllister.

I enter her last name into my contacts and confirm the spelling. “Since we’re introducing ourselves, I’m Jon Priestly.”

She makes no move to grab
her
phone and enter
my
info. “Yeah, I know.”

My chest swells with pride. While it doesn’t surprise me that she knows who I am, I love it just the same…until I realize she doesn’t ask for my number in return. Why? Is she too shy?

As I mull over other possible reasons, I notice that her scarf doesn’t cover her chest. It draws my eyes like a magnet and I exhale slowly. Her teal shirt dips low in the front, revealing a hint of a teal lace bra. Must be her favorite color. It just may be my new favorite—

Damn.

I try not to let my gaze wander lower, I really do, but perky nipples are pointing straight at me through her thin shirt. And like I said earlier, I’m not a saint. Not even close.

* * *

Ivy

Just because Jon helped me off the roof and loaned me his jacket doesn’t mean he has free rein to be a douche. He lifts his gaze and his eyes meet mine.
Busted.
He doesn’t even look the least bit guilty that he got caught, either. I glare, hoping to shame some manners into him, but he doesn’t act embarrassed. In fact, is that a smile?

But if I’m being perfectly honest, Jon Priestly isn’t exactly knight-in-shining-armor material, so the fact that he was blatantly staring at my chest shouldn’t surprise me. I watched him beat the crap out of a dude, learned that he sells weed, and if I’m not mistaken, I accidentally barged in on him having sex with some chick upstairs when I was looking for the bathroom. He’s no hero. Not even close. He’s more like a villain with a few redeeming qualities.

It reminds me of a family trip to Disney World where we took a picture under the sign pointing to the parking lots named Heroes and Villains. My sister Rose stood under Heroes and I was under Villains. When given a choice, I’ve always been attracted to guys who aren’t good for me.

“So you think you’ll be okay?” Jon’s acting like he’s not in a rush to leave, even though he said he’s got to get to work soon.

His jacket starts to slip off my shoulder. I hoist it back up with an awkward shrug. “Yep. I’m fine. Thanks.”

Someone rattles the gate, and my heart jumps. Instinctively, I take a half step toward Jon. I didn’t make all these sacrifices just to have Chase’s brother catch me here now. The gate swings open on creaky hinges.

It’s Cassidy and a girl I don’t recognize. Not Aaron. Relief gushes out of me in one big whoosh.

“There you are,” Cassidy says, marching toward us like a woman on a mission. “I’ve been looking
everywhere
.” She says
everywhere
with a few extra syllables for emphasis or dramatic effect (take your pick). She’s holding a red cup and wearing a plastic lei. I’ll have to give her a hard time about it later. Given that she’s from Hawaii, wearing a tacky fake lei is practically against her religion.

“I texted you that I was outside in the back.”

Cassidy’s eyes rake over me. “You look like shit.”

I suddenly remember the mascara streaks and the fact that I’m barefoot. Yeah, I’m sure I look completely pathetic.

“This hasn’t been the best of nights,” I say, trying not to think too much about my bathroom freak-out.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. But thanks to him, I’m doing better.”

And just like that, she looks at Jon. Not that
I’ve
forgotten him or anything. His warm presence is heating up the whole left side of my body, blocking out the cold ocean breeze.

Her gaze slides over the two of us and then she breaks into a know-it-all grin. The kind that says she knows what’s
really
going on. “Not the best of nights, huh?”

I know exactly what she’s thinking and that would be a big fat no. I do not look like this because he and I just finished, quote unquote, a screw-fest in the back yard, or because I gave him a blow job.

“How’s it going?” Jon doesn’t seem to notice that my roommate is studying him like he’s a prize horse and she’s a judge at the state fair. Or maybe he does and he likes it.

“You’re Jon Priestly, aren’t you?” She must not have heard those girls behind us during the fight on the porch. Either that, or she’s had too much to drink and just forgot.