Mr. Mysterious: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 4) (6 page)

At least… that’s what I think. I’m not sure, but I think I’m right.

Why else would a loner like Pax seek out my brother as a BFF? There’s a three-year age difference, which is no big deal now, but back then, seniors didn’t hang out with freshmen. I can’t figure it out. These elusive details are still missing.

But not for long.

I’m going to get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing I do. I’m going to get to the bottom of it and I’m going to do that by being the most important person in Paxton’s life. His best friend. His lover. His confidante.

And no amount of pushing me away, or feigned disinterest, or logical reasoning will deter me.

I will figure out his secret. I will figure out what happened that night. I will find all the evidence, I will put all the puzzle pieces together, and I will give him a gift to seal the deal.

I will make it right for all of the Misters.

But most of all, I will be the person who gives Paxton Vance all the information he needs to call home and tell his mother that it is done. It is fixed. His name, and by extension, hers, is cleared.

I will save him. Because he really
needs
saving. He needs to stop this fixing he’s been doing. He needs to stop dealing with the low-life Hollywood scum. Stop erasing their mistakes in some desperate, unconscious attempt to try to erase his own.

Mr. Mysterious’ business is about to come to a screeching halt and he will thank me later.

Even if he hates me for it now.

Chapter Six - Paxton

For a mystery girl, Cinderella sure does get around the town of Malibu. After the not-so-chance meeting in the surf, she was everywhere. At the carwash last Tuesday when I pulled in to get my car detailed. She was laughing and talking with Raul, the owner, like they were old friends.
I’m
his old friend, not her.

The next day she was in Big Kahuna’s Surf shop picking out a new bikini when I took my board in to get a fin repaired. I know Big pretty well, but he’s not in the shop much doing repairs, so he came in special for me. And did he greet me like the friend I am? No. That old bum only had eyes for my sugar-smelling stalker.

The day after that it was the dentist—and my hygienist talked with her from the next room the entire time. I heard all about her dates with party guy. Then the doctor came in and proceed to flirt with her for seven minutes as I waited (not so patiently) for my check-up. Then, yesterday, she was back in the ocean with me. Paddling around in her new bathing suit, ass cheeks practically hanging out.

She was with the party guys, not me, this time.

And as much as I’d like to say it didn’t bother me, it bothered me.

“Yeah,” I say into my phone. “I’d like a foot-long chicken avocado ranch and a foot-long roast beef classic.”

“Your address?”

Cinderella didn’t answer the phone. “16 Colony Road.”

“Be about thirty minutes.”

“Thanks,” I say, then end the call.

Yup. I’m gonna have it out with her as soon as she gets here with my sandwiches.

I open up my laptop to see if I can find any dirt on her while I wait, when my calendar pops up.

I’m just about to click it closed and open up my browser when I notice something.

Detailing appointment on Tuesday.

Surf shop appointment on Wednesday.

Dentist appointment on Thursday.

Did she hack my calendar?

I snort out a laugh. Then another. “Nah,” I say. “No way.”

But the more I think about it the more it makes sense. Cinderella Vaughn hacked my ass. She’s been following me around town.

I close my laptop and pace. I pour another drink and check my watch. She’ll be here with my food in five minutes.

I go to the front house and peer through the upstairs window and wait. But instead of the powder-blue VW bug, a small white pick-up with the Buster’s logo on the side pulls up.

And it’s not Cinderella who gets out with my sandwiches.

I jump down the guest house stairs three at a time and land with a thump just as the doorbell rings. I unlock it and pull it open with a rush.

The kid on the other side jumps back a step, then laughs. “Shit, dude. Scared the fuck out of me.”

He looks like he’s about seventeen, needs a good dermatologist, and could use about twenty more pounds on his six-foot frame.

He starts rummaging in his pocket for the takeout ticket and says, “That’ll be fifteen—”

“Where’s Cinderella?”

“Huh?” he asks, holding out my receipt.

“Your boss?”

“My boss?” He laughs again, more nervous this time. “You mean that weird hot chick? She’s at a party tonight.” He nods his head off to my right. “Down the street that way.”

“Party guy’s house,” I say, but not to him. Just to myself.

“What?” Skinny Kid looks confused.

“Nothing,” I say, pulling a twenty out of my pocket. “Keep the change.” I thrust the bill into his empty hand, take my bag of food, and slam the door.

That little sneaky, flirty bitch.

I jog past the pool, drop the sandwiches on a side table, take the steps in the main house three at a time, and go all the way up to the rooftop deck.

The music has been playing in the background for about an hour. Nothing too loud or thumpy, so I’ve mostly ignored it. But now that I’m up here, it’s pissing me off. There are at least two dozen people crowded onto the party guys’ roof deck. They have a double lot—assholes—so their deck is twice the size of mine.

And there she is. Not wearing the leather jacket. No. Wearing nothing but that same bikini she had on yesterday.

Has she been hanging out with these guys all fucking week? After she hacked into my calendar and then stalked me all over Malibu?

Oh, hell no.

These houses down here on the beach are exactly six feet apart. So I jump over to my neighbor’s rooftop, walk the ten paces it takes to get to the edge and jump again. There are people on the roof of the third house between me and party guys, and they see me coming, hands up in the air, arms flailing with protests, but I ignore them, keep walking, and jump onto old dude’s house before they even realize what’s happening.

“I’m calling the police!” someone yells from behind me.

They’re renters. So I know they don’t know who I am or where I came from. But I do know that the Malibu PD will be here within five minutes if they do call, so I jump one more time and knock over a guy who drops two drinks as he falls.

Amateur.

I push my way through the crowd of partiers, protests coming from all directions now, and stand right in front of little Miss Sugar Cookie.

“Pax,” she says, huge, satisfied smile on her face.

She did this to make me jealous. She fucking stalked my ass all week to keep me interested, then accepted an invite to the party house knowing full well I always order food on Friday night if I’m home, and tonight she wouldn’t be the one to deliver it.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” She turns. “You guys,” she says, calling for the surfers I’ve spent the last two months ignoring out in the ocean. “Look, he came!”

“Hey, man,” the tall one who asked me if he could nail Cinderella last week says. It comes out amicably enough, but I see the way his eyes are squinting. He probably hasn’t gotten far with her yet. She’s playing a game, after all. And she’s clearly interested in me, so not gonna fuck another dude while she’s winning. So that look says,
Stay the fuck away
.

I shoot the same look right back as I take Cinderella’s hand and start leading her towards the stairs.

“Hey,” party guy says, standing up real fast. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I look at Cinderella, who smiles, then over my shoulder at party guy. He looks like he finds the idea of a fight interesting. “Taking her home.”

“She’s not going home, asshole. You are. She’s here with me.”

I shrug and look down at Cinderella. She smiles again. “Um, hey, Matthew… I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea this week. I love hanging out with you. It’s been a lot of fun. But I’m dating Pax.”

“Since when?” Matthew asks. Those eyes of his are practically slits right now.

Cinderella opens her mouth to say something, but I clamp a hand over it to shut her up. She doesn’t need to make this any worse than it is. “None of your fucking business,” I answer. “And if I were you, I’d drop it. Just walk away, kid. Just walk away. Because she’s playing games with both of us and even though I don’t like to be played like that, I do like to win. And this right here is me winning.”

He throws a punch. I knew he would.

People are screaming, bodies are shifting. His fist hits me square in the jaw, but it’s weak. I don’t even feel it. The sirens are blurping down below on the private road, the lights are flashing, and then all hell breaks loose.

I still have a hold of Cinderella’s hand, so I tug her towards the edge of the roof. She jumps with me like a motherfucking badass. And we both land on the opposite house at the same time with a thud.

The tourists the next house over are screaming for the cops. Pointing at us. But there is so much hell breaking loose right now, I’m pretty sure all that goes unnoticed. Cinderella has Old Dude’s roof terrace hatch open and we jump down into the narrow stairs that lead into a master bedroom and head straight for another set of stairs that brings us down to beach level. No one is here tonight. The place is dark, so we slip out the front and onto the beach, holding hands in the shadows created by the thin line of orange light spreading out on the Pacific Ocean like a carpet.

We walk slowly, but breathing hard, as we casually make our way back down the beach to my house. It’s high tide right now, so we are squished up against the front of all the other houses, practically walking underneath the stilts that keep the ocean out of their living rooms. No one calls for us to stop.

I open the glass gate that leads to my beachfront patio, let Cinderella enter before me, then close it up as we leave the party behind.

She flops on the couch. Huge smile on her face. And then pulls her knees up to her chest, squeezing her tits together so they practically fall out of her itty-bitty bikini top. A long, happy sigh comes out from between her perfectly plumped lips. “I knew you’d miss me.” She turns her head slightly, looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Eventually.”

“Eventually,” I huff.

“Ah. I see you got your food.” She gets up, grabs the bag of sandwiches off the end table near the stairs, then flops back down. “I’m starving. I’ll take the roast beef.”

I stare at her for a moment. Consider my options.

Kick her out. Not gonna happen.

Fuck her right now, then send her on her way, satisfied that she’s out of my system. Unlikely to pan out the way I imagine.

So we eat dinner. She talks, scarfs that sandwich down like a champ, and I listen to a story about how party-guy Matthew tried to hit on her all week as she laughs.

“I don’t find that funny,” I say, finishing off my sandwich.

“I know,” she says. “You’re the jealous type. I was just making sure you’ve still got a pulse, since you’re so quiet.”

“Hmm,” I say, looking down at my phone to check the security cameras in front of the house on my personal app. “Looks like the cops are gone, so I think that’s your cue.”

“You’re kicking me out? Really?”

“I’m not into you, kid.”

“Kid? Please. Come on. I’m twenty-three.”

“I’m thirty-one. I’m pretty sure we’re not after the same thing. Especially after that freak admission that we’re soulmates. There is no happily ever after in my future, I assure you.”

“Why? Because you don’t deserve one?”

“Shit. You’re gonna psychoanalyze me? How about we start with you? You’re a crazy stalker. And I’m not interested in your fetish obsession with Mr. Mysterious. I’m just not interested.”

She licks mayonnaise off her fingers, crumples up the sandwich paper and stuffs it back into the brown bag. “I think you are. I think you’re intrigued with my story.”