Personal Demons (4 page)

Frannie shifts in her seat, turning away from me so I can’t read her face. But I’m sure I catch a hint of anise—licorice—sweet in the air. “Whatever . . . Luc, this is Taylor and Riley.”

I nod in their direction. “So why are you sending your friend to Hell? Not that it’s a bad thing. Just wondering . . .”

“ ’Cause that’s where she belongs.” She glowers across the table at the blonde—Taylor.

“You think?” Riley says with a grin.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” I smile encouragingly at Taylor. She might be useful.

Taylor’s eyes spark as she says, “So, Luc . . . did you hear about that party at Gallaghers’ on Friday?”

And now I understand Frannie’s disappointment. Her anise almost knocks me over. Envy. Interesting. I should be able to use that to my advantage.

“Think I heard something about it.”

“You going?” Taylor asks.

I give Frannie my best Sensitive Guy Penetrating Gaze. “Depends. Are you?”

She stares for a heartbeat then says, “I guess.”

My mouth spreads into a grin. “Then I wouldn’t miss it.”

I don’t miss Taylor’s glare or the way Frannie blushes as she turns back toward the table and pulls her hair out of the knot, letting it fall around her shoulders and hide her face. I slip into the chair next to her and pull it up to the table so our shoulders are nearly touching. I’m sure she can feel my heat, but I don’t mind getting Frannie all hot and bothered. All in a day’s work.

“Will you ladies be needing a ride to this party?”

Frannie looks up, wide-eyed, and shouts, “No!”

Riley and Taylor both laugh, then Riley smiles shyly across the table at me. “What she means is we always go to parties together.”

Taylor’s eyes are eating me alive. “But we don’t always leave together,” the blonde says, arching an eyebrow at me and elbowing Riley, who cracks a grin and elbows her back.

“Good to know.” I try to catch Frannie’s eye, but her face is hidden behind her hair again.

The hinges screech as I pull open the door to Riley’s rusted hand-me-down Chevy Cutlass and climb in. She just stares at me. “Who are you, and what have you done with Fee?”

“What?”

“You’re wearing makeup. What’s with that?”

I pick at the stuffing poking out of a tear in the black vinyl seat as she starts down the street. “Dunno. Just felt like it, I guess.”

“So, then, nothing to do with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Pierced?”

I ignore the tight knot in my stomach and roll down the window. “You heard Taylor. He’s hers. He probably won’t show anyway.”

“And miss out on all this
hotness
?” she says, touching her finger to my shoulder. “As if! He’ll be there.” She glances at me
again, her expression suddenly serious. “You should go for it, Fee. I can tell you’re into him. He could be the one.”

The wave of embarrassment takes me by surprise, and words start spilling out of my mouth in a defensive backlash. “Someday you’ll stop living in your little fantasy world and get that there’s no such thing as ‘the one.’ ”

Instantly, I regret it. I hide my guilt by turning to rest my arm on the window. I prop my chin on my forearm and feel the wind in my face. She drives down the street, adhering to the speed limit and coming to a full stop before turning the corner toward Taylor’s.

“I’m sorry, Ry. Don’t let my bitchiness get to you. I just don’t think I’m meant for all that true love crap . . . I mean . . . sorry . . .” I trail off, lamely.

She sounds like she might cry, so I don’t turn to look at her. “You’re going to be surprised someday, Fee.”

“Whatever,” I say as she pulls into Taylor’s driveway.

Taylor comes running out and slides into the backseat just as Jackson Harris pulls in behind us. She shoves the back of my head. “Look, Fee. It’s your not-so-secret admirer.”

I cringe and slide down in the seat. “Great.”

Taylor’s tone is patronizing. “You should stick with Jackson—a much safer choice.”

Taylor’s brother, Trevor, bounds down the front stairs and smiles at Riley on his way to Jackson’s car. I grin at Riley and flick her thigh as Taylor glares out the window at her brother and mutters, “Jerk.”

She’s gonna freak when she finds out Riley and Trevor are dating.

“Ready to party?” she yells as Riley follows Jackson out of the driveway.

I slide up and turn to look at her as she undoes the top two buttons on her blouse and pinches her cheeks.

“I guess.”

Instantly, her excitement turns to antipathy when she sees my face. “No way!”

“What?”

“You want Luc!”

I try for annoyed. “I think your last remaining brain cell just fizzed out.”

“You’re so full of shit! Makeup?” She throws her hands up.

Riley smiles into the rearview mirror. “You afraid of the competition, Tay?”

Taylor presses her back into the seat, arms folded tight across her chest and a pout on her lips. “So, what’s the deal, Fee? Are you going for it?”

“You need to get over yourself, Tay,” I say and turn to stare out the windshield.

We pull up to the party and before we even stop, I’m squinting through the gray dusk, scanning the crowd gathered in Gallaghers’ backyard. The Gallaghers have ten kids, one of whom is my sister Kate’s boyfriend, Chase. Every high school party since the dawn of time has been in Gallaghers’ backyard—probably on account of their dad working nights and their mom being too tired to give a crap what we do.

For a second I’m disappointed, but then sort of relieved, when I realize the face I’m looking for isn’t in the crowd.

Truth is, I couldn’t answer Taylor’s question, ’cause I have no
clue what the hell I’m doing. I spent almost an hour getting ready for this party. I even let Kate, our resident style guru, help pick out my outfit and do my makeup. Like it really matters how I look. And I’m nervous as hell, which I never am. Not that I’m overconfident either. I just don’t usually give a crap what people think about me.

Taylor grabs my hand. “Come and get a beer with me.” She pulls me close as we walk. “He’s not here yet,” she whispers in my ear.

“Don’t care,” I say, even though it’s a lie.

Her eyes spark. “Good, ’cause I do.”

I feel a twinge in my gut, like maybe I swallowed someone’s fishhook.
Why does just the thought of him do this to me?
He’s dangerous for sure. The kind of guy who could worm his way past a girl’s defenses.

We get to the keg, and no-neck football stud Marty Blackstone—who Taylor had her eye on till Luc showed up—makes a big show of flexing his bicep as he pumps the tap.

“Hey, Tay,” he says filling a cup, “you guys look parched. Definitely in need of some cool liquid refreshment.” He grins and hands her a beer. He hands one to me and Riley too.

Over Riley’s shoulder, I see Trevor and his crew piling out of Jackson’s car, and all of a sudden I can see what Riley sees in him. He’s kinda like my brother, so I never really checked him out like that, but he got cute when I wasn’t paying attention. He’s got a nice smile and dimples, like Taylor, but other than that, I’ve always thought of him as short and scrawny. Actually, he’s sorta buff, so he must be working out, and he’s got this rock-star thing happening with his longish blond hair.

He and Riley keep eyeing each other, and Trevor starts to work his way across the lawn. Jackson follows him, his pale gray eyes glued to me. He sweeps his long brown bangs out of his face for a clearer view, and I look away quickly so he doesn’t think I’m checking him out. I’m not. Been there, done that.

At the party last weekend I ended up making out with Jackson in the coat closet. At the time it seemed like a pretty good idea—probably ’cause Reefer was giving me the eye and I was afraid I might cave. But last week at school I found out the problem with hockey jocks. One grope and they think they own you. I still haven’t been able to shake him.

“Hey Trevor,” Riley says all casual. Her eyes dart to Taylor.

Trevor looks at the ground with a self-conscious smile and a scuff of his toe. “Hey.”

“Get lost, Trev,” Taylor says, and I watch Riley’s face fall.

Trevor recovers fast, though. He loops his arm over Taylor’s shoulders. “Yeah, I can see hanging around with me would be kinda embarrassing for you, me being better-looking and all.”

I laugh out loud, ’cause it’s almost true, then stop abruptly when I feel a hand on my ass. I turn to see all six feet of Jackson standing behind me, grinning.

“Hey, Frannie. How ’bout we pick up where we left off?” he says with an eyebrow wiggle.

The most valuable thing I’ve learned from judo is control—both physical and emotional—but there’s only so much a girl can be expected to take. I press my butt into his hand and smile sweetly just before I grab that hand off my ass, drop into a crouch, and swing him over my shoulder onto the ground in front of me. He hits the dirt hard and lies on his back for a
minute, sucking wind. He looks up at me with wide eyes, his mouth fixed in a silent O. I bend down with my face over his. “Hey, Jackson. How ’bout we don’t?”

Taylor gives me a high five. “Woot! Ninja Chick in action. That was sweet!”

Jackson pulls himself off of the ground, still breathing hard, and Trevor shoves him. “Oh, dude . . . that was pathetic.”

Jackson doesn’t respond. He just stands there staring at me. I get into fighting stance, thinking this could get ugly, but then he cracks a smile. “Okay, so that’s just hot.”

Great.

Jackson is hovering. And I’m pretty sure from the way he’s looking at me that he’s already got me undressed in his pathetic imagination. I’ve spent the last half hour circling between the group and the bonfire that’s just crackling to life, trying to stay out of his reach. I reposition to the outside of the cluster and see Jackson circling the other way to intercept me.

Where is Reefer when I need him?

I kick myself mentally, lean against the porch rail hanging my head in defeat, and wait for the inevitable hand on my ass.

So the voice, smooth as music, scares the snot out of me. “Looks like you could use someone to run interference.”

I look up into these incredible sky-blue eyes and, if Heaven had a face, I swear this would be it. His tight white T-shirt shows off his tan and some pretty serious muscle definition. He’s leaning on the rail next to me like he’s been here all
along—like he belongs in this godforsaken place rather than on a beach in San Diego with a surfboard under his arm.

“What?” It’s all I can manage.

He smiles and rakes a hand through chin-length platinum waves that seem to change from gold to red and back with the flicker of the flames. “Was I misreading the situation?” he says with a tip of his head toward Jackson.

I roll my eyes. “No, but I can take care of myself, thanks.” I push off the rail and head back over to the group.

Angel Boy doesn’t follow me. He just leans back and watches as Jackson resumes his stalk. After another lap of the circle I head back to the rail and slouch into it next to Angel Boy. I glare at the ground. “Don’t think this means I needed you to rescue me.”

He chuckles and I turn my glare on him. “You know what? Just forget it.” I push away from the porch rail, but something intense courses through me like a thousand tiny bolts of lightning when his hand touches my shoulder, stopping me dead in my tracks.

“Sorry, I really wasn’t laughing at you,” he says with a chuckle in his voice. “I was laughing at him.” He looks me over and a shiver races down my spine. “He never stood a chance.”

“Whatever,” I say, leaning back into the rail. Truth is, I came back as much to ogle Angel Boy as I did to get away from Jackson.

“I’m Gabe,” he says, turning to face me.

I’m staring at him. Oh, God.
Stop!
I shift my gaze to his chest, which turns out to be no less stareworthy. “Frannie.”

He glances at the beer cup in my hand and shrugs away from the rail.

And that’s when I hear Taylor’s “Oh. My. God.” I look over and the whole group is staring at us. Marty has managed to sidle up and slip his arm around Taylor’s waist, but she shifts away.

And we’re not the only ones to notice Gabe, because I see Angelique and her posse making their way over from the bonfire. She makes a beeline for Gabe as he lifts the lid on the ice chest next to the keg and she leans over it, pretending to inspect the contents of the cooler. What she’s
really
doing is pushing her double Ds right up in Gabe’s face. I look for Adam Martin—senior-class stud and Angelique’s boyfriend—but he’s nowhere in sight.