Fate Book (8 page)

Needless to say, my body was in no mood for sleep after that. It was in the mood for something else.

“Don’t think about it,” I’d told myself, ashamed for having such incredibly lustful fantasies at a time like this. But when I closed my eyes and tried to return to sleep, I saw those images of his tanned, muscular body straining against my hand. That’s when I got out my journal and tried to purge the sinful thoughts. But writing them down only made the dream more real, only made me sweat. Before I knew it, it was morning and time for a shower. A cold, cold shower.

I didn’t want him. Did I? He was an icy, scary enigma. Maybe that was it. A sick little part of me enjoyed the danger he represented to my sad, tame, wallflower of a life.

Idiot.

The doorbell rang, and I jumped out of my flip-flops, nearly landing on my butt.

Crap. He’s here.

I ran my trembling hands over my smoothed-back hair, trapped neatly into a bun, and then tugged on the front of my tight baby-blue tee. I took in a breath and yanked open the door.

And release breath.

Santiago stood on the porch, one hand shoved into the pocket of his faded button flies, his white T-shirt stretching across his unfathomably muscled chest and upper biceps, his black hair a hot mess.
Just like my night.

Dark shades covered his dark eyes, but I could’ve sworn he was checking out my breasts and midriff. My T-shirt suddenly felt too small. I gave it another tug, trying to close the gap between the bottom hem and the top of my low-rise, vintage Levis.

He jerked his head. “Ready?”

No. Not at all
. The guy dripped with danger. And anger. And sensuality.

I swiped my backpack and stepped out, closing the door behind me. When my eyes hit the curb, I stopped. “That’s your ride?”

Not that I expected him to take me to school on a motorcycle, but his other vehicle wasn’t what one might think. Not a muscle car—Mustang or Camaro. Not a race car—Porsche, Ferrari, Lamborghini. Not a yuppie car—BMW, Mercedes, Lexus. But a big red Bronco. An old one. No top. Just a steering wheel, black seats, a roll bar, and fat tires. The kind of truck you hoped you never had to get into while wearing a tight skirt.

“I guess that explains the hair,” I said.

He grumbled something about classics under his breath and stepped aside as I passed.

When he grabbed my hand and helped me fumble my way into the vehicle, my body lit up like a bonfire. It remembered touching his skin, and it didn’t care if the memories were fictional, a dream. My body simply wanted to have another taste. Muscles tightened. Nerves tingled. Saliva flowed. He was like a giant danger-brownie and my body wanted a big fat bite.

Crap, Dakota. Get a hold of yourself.

I watched him walk around the front of the truck, his backside moving like two impenetrable cannonball halves under the soft denim fabric of his jeans.
Don’t. Don’t think about the dream.
I pushed away the images still fresh in my mind.

“Stop looking at my ass,” he barked without bothering to look in my direction.

“I was looking at the…”
Shit.
“Windshield wipers. You should try changing them once in a while.”

“Changed them yesterday. Stop staring at my fucking ass. You’re too young for me.”

What? How crude.
Why had he blurted that out? It was so strange and out of context. “Thank God for that.”

With his enormous stature, he easily slipped into the driver’s seat. “I’m not your toy. We won’t be having sex.”

“Who said I wanted to?” I retorted with disgust.

Your dreams said you wanted to.

Shut up!

He shoved the key into the ignition and twisted. “I’m not making out with you either. I don’t believe in any form of intimate contact with a minor.”

Where had all this come from?
“First off, I’m eighteen. Second, I never asked you to touch me—I happen to like guys who are human. And third, I didn’t even ask you into my life.”

“Right.” He shifted into first and released the clutch. “Then why the hell am I here, Dakota?”

Ummm…
“Damned good question.”

“Don’t start,” he grumbled over the loud engine.

“Grumpy much? If all that phone hacking puts you in such a bad mood, maybe you shouldn’t do it,” I spouted back.

He completely ignored my hacking comment and mumbled something about not getting any sleep for several days because
someone
had insisted on staying at her house. I guessed that someone was me. And I guessed that meant he
had
been camped outside my house the entire weekend, as I suspected.

“You could’ve come inside and taken a nap on the couch,” I said as we pulled up to a stop sign.

Why did I say that
? And why did I find myself wishing he had?

He gazed at me from behind those black lenses. “Trust me,” he replied in a deep, slow voice, “I wanted to.” He looked ahead. “But you needed your rest. Although, you don’t seem to get much.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I was sure he hadn’t intended his response to sound loaded with sexual innuendo, which is exactly how my body interpreted it. My heart began to accelerate and my belly filled with prickles.

Wait. He’s doing that sexual power play thing to me again
. Regardless, I couldn’t deny it had an effect. My body was simply all too willing to play along, to play with him.

I smiled, masking my inappropriate thoughts. “Well, thank you. Because I slept like a baby.” Obviously, I hadn’t, but he didn’t know that. Or maybe he did if he’d been watching me. My bedroom light had been on all night.

Regardless, he didn’t reply.

Minutes later, Santiago’s truck roared into the school parking lot, our awkward silence a contrast to the obnoxious, vintage muscle truck.

“Why are you parking?” I asked.

He put the truck into neutral, pulled the brake, and turned off the engine. “I’m taking you to class. What the hell does it look like?”

He hopped out and walked around to my side.

“C’mon.” He held out his arms as if he were going to catch me like a toddler jumping from the swings at the park.

I frowned. “Back off.”

He grumbled and did as I asked.

Only a narrow space separated our bodies as I slid from the truck, and I could’ve sworn he radiated some sort of sexual energy, because my body reacted instantly: goose bumps, neck hair standing at full attention, girl parts begging me to zero in on their target, commanding my eyes to seek out his…well, boy parts.

He removed his glasses and stared with that penetrating gaze as I inched away from him, my back against the vehicle. I could only hope he wasn’t noticing my physical reaction.

“You’re not even a student here,” I said. “You can’t come with me.”

He laughed. “Like some fucking rules would ever stop me.” He caught my arm, leaned in, and whispered in my ear. He seemed to do that a lot. Was it because he knew it instantly got my attention? “I can go anywhere I like, Dakota. There are no walls, no laws, no school rules that can stop me.”

I shivered as I felt his hot breath tickle my skin. “What can? What will stop you?” I murmured, never expecting him to answer.

“An itch,” he replied.

An itch?
“An itch?”

He breathed into my ear, and I inhaled deeply. He smelled like male. Cinnamon, testosterone. Male. “We all have needs. Sometimes those needs can’t be ignored.” His lips brushed across my cheek and stopped at the corner of my mouth. “Sometimes…we have to scratch.”

Unable to keep myself from remembering the dream and every hot, hard inch of him, my body tensed. But there was no doubt in my mind he was toying with me, trying to rattle my cage. But why? What had I done?

I tilted my head to the side. “You should have that itch looked at. Maybe you caught something.”

He laughed into the air.

I took advantage and scurried away like a little rodent fleeing from the light. “I can get to class on my own.”

He jerked his head. “Don’t be late, babe. I’ll see you at lunch.”

I flashed several glances over my shoulder until I rounded the corner and he was out of sight.

What had brought about this sudden change in him? Because this felt like more than a simple mind game used to keep me in check. The tension he radiated felt intense, real. It was as if he knew my mind had been in the gutter all night, and he was all too happy to join me. But my dreams were just that. Dreams. I couldn’t control them, and I certainly wasn’t about to give into them. No way.

Then it suddenly dawned on me. I was free. He couldn’t keep an eye on me here. To hell with what I’d promised. I had to tell someone what was happening, even if they thought I was crazy. But would they?
No. Not possible
. I would go to the principal’s office, and have her call the police. No one was above the law, and this entire thing had gotten out of hand. I was dangerously close to accepting the situation, believing it, and wanting things I had no business wanting.

Stockholm syndrome.

But what about his warning that someone would get hurt? Or his threat about telling my mom? Okay. I didn’t believe he would hurt me. And I didn’t believe there was some ominous force coming after me. That was ridiculous, likely a ploy to keep me quiet. But the part about my mom? If Santiago told her about my dad cheating, it would tear her to pieces.

Shit.
I thought about it for a moment, and realized that the real reason I didn’t want Santiago to tell her wasn’t because I feared her learning the truth, it was because I’d never said a word. I felt like I was the one who’d betrayed her, not my father.

So there it was. My answer. My father needed to fix this. He needed to help me. He needed to tell my mother the truth. That would free me from Santiago and my guilt. It would restore a tiny piece of my respect for him.

I’d left several messages for my father over the weekend, but he hadn’t called back. Why? And he’d completely flaked on our FaceTime date.

Time to try him again.

I started digging into my purse for my phone.
Damn it.
I’d left it charging on my desk. I quickly thought about hunting down Mandy, but her phone didn’t have international access. I could, however, use the phone in the office—tell them it was a family emergency.

As I turned the corner, down the crowded corridor toward the administrative building, the sane thoughts in my head evaporated. Every student stopped or moved to let me pass. They shamelessly whispered and gawked in my general direction, parting like the Red Sea as I passed.

I ran my hand over the top of my head. Did I look horrible? The bruise
was
pretty bad.

But then the students began to applaud and cheer, “Fuck yeah!” and “Ding dong the witch is dead!” They roared like a crowd at a football game. I suddenly realized I was in front of my homeroom and ducked inside, out of sight.

The strange behavior, unfortunately, didn’t stop there. Steve, the captain of the football team, immediately held out his palm. “Dakota! Put ’er there, woman.”

In shock, I stretched out my hand, and he slapped it so hard that my skin stung from the impact. As everyone poured in, they saluted, patted, and hugged me until the bell rang. Everyone except Dax, who watched from his seat in the corner, his expression somewhat pensive, as if he were staring at a zoo creature. When the teacher entered, it wasn’t Mr. M but a substitute who immediately made threats of detention if people didn’t calm down.

I sank into my chair toward the back, fighting the urge to vomit. Had the universe tilted itself on its head and shifted its polar axis? Why were people being so nice?

Head spinning with confusion, I didn’t hear one bit of the lecture. As soon as the bell rang, I popped up from my seat and bolted for the door. I rounded the corner to the main office and skidded to a halt, nearly getting trampled by some girls behind me.

Santiago?

He stood in front of the admin building with the principal, Ms. Marie. She giggled, her eyes glued to Santiago’s bulging biceps as he spoke. They didn’t look like they were going to stop talking anytime soon either.

Damn it.
Ms. Marie was the only one who had the code for long distance calls. I knew this because my mom had forgotten a field trip permission slip last year. When I called her at work to see if she could fax it over, they told me she was tied up. I tried to call my dad next, but the call wouldn’t go through until Ms. Marie punched in the code.

I ground my teeth. How was it possible? Santiago had everyone wrapped around his little finger. My mother, my best friend; now the principal. Even the police and people at the hospital seemed to be under his spell.

I went to class to bide my time. If I couldn’t get to a phone during school, then I’d call my dad when I got home. And I knew my father wouldn’t be so easily manipulated by Santiago’s charms. As much as I had trust issues with the man, he was ruthless when it came to stuff like people messing with his family. Once, I remember my mother had an issue with a new doctor at work. He kept hitting on her or something. I knew she’d tried to talk to the doctor to get him to stop, but when she did, he threatened to have her fired if she complained to HR. My mother finally gave in and told my father. Not only did the doctor never bother her again, he lost his license and left the state. I knew my mom felt kind of bad, but I didn’t. Jerk had probably been harassing poor nurses for years. I only wish I knew what my dad said to send the guy fleeing for his life. Must’ve been pretty damned entertaining, because my dad was scary. He always knew the exact pressure points to maximize fear. That’s why I had to believe he’d know what to do. He always knew what to do.

~ ~ ~

By lunch I was suffering from severely low blood sugar, and the dizzy spells were growing stronger. I’d been so nerve-racked in the morning because of Santiago coming to pick me up that I hadn’t eaten. I definitely needed food.