Project Paper Doll (20 page)

“Oh.” Ariane drew in a quick breath. “She used what you told her against you. Manipulated Trey into manipulating you. That’s what made you so angry.” Her eyes were bright, and I realized she was on the verge of tears. For me.

“And that’s how I know you’re not like her.”

She sat up straighter. “She should never have done that.” She sounded fierce on my behalf, like she would take on Rachel for me, and a rush of warmth and unexpected gratitude flooded through me. “I would—”

I didn’t let her finish. I leaned over the armrest between us and kissed her, a brush of my mouth over hers. Testing the waters.

Her lips were soft, and I felt her catch her breath in surprise.

My heart pounding (ridiculous from such a nothing kiss, but it was happening), I backed off immediately. “Okay?”

After a second she nodded, so wide-eyed I could see the edges of her tinted contact lenses, and some part of my brain registered that there was a decent chance this was her first kiss. Her father was pretty strict. And I’d never seen her even talking to another guy.

I felt kind of honored. I’d have to take it slow and make sure she had time and room to speak up, which was pretty much my policy anyway. Though most of the time, in recent months, at random party hookups, I’d been the one trying to keep up or slow things down. Girls sometimes got aggressive, especially with a Jell-O shot or three in them.

I kissed Ariane again, and this time she tipped her face toward mine, responding. And such a simple thing was a huge turn-on; it sent a bolt of heat through me. I was going to have problems if this went on for too long, as innocent as it was.

Her hands were cool and tentative at first, at the back of my neck and then moving with more confidence over my shoulders and through my hair.

Reaching up to touch her face, I could feel her delicate bones beneath soft skin—she never seemed fragile or small except for when I touched her. Her personality made her seem bigger, more powerful.

I slid my hand beneath her hair, which was heavy and soft and held the heat of her body, making me want to touch more. I tipped her chin at a slightly stronger angle and tasted her mouth, and she let out a gasp, her hands clutching tighter at my collar.

God. This little game we were playing didn’t feel much like a game anymore.

A
PART OF MY BRAIN
was busy pondering the peculiar twist reality had taken that ended with Zane Bradshaw kissing me. And me kissing back.

But the rest of me was just
feeling
. Focusing on sensations that made everything else fall away. His tongue was in my mouth, and it didn’t feel weird. At all. And when I summoned the courage to respond in kind, his hands tightened on me. He liked it. A thrill went through me at the idea that I’d caused him to react. It was such a heady sense of power and vulnerability. For as much as I wanted to make him feel good, I knew he was trying for the same thing.

His chin was rough with stubble, and he smelled so right. A switch clicked on in my brain. Suddenly I wanted to be closer. I fumbled blindly to unbuckle my seat belt. It ended up thwapping both of us in the side of the face, making Zane laugh.

“Careful,” he said into my mouth. He broke off our kiss long enough to shove the belt between us. It retracted with a loud clunk, and then I was moving, pulling my legs onto the seat so I could kneel instead of sit, bringing myself that much closer to him.

He showed his appreciation with his hands at my waist, pulling me against him, as much as possible with the armrest in between us. I could feel the heat of his chest against me, the way his breathing had picked up so much faster, like mine. And I wanted more.

As if reading my mind, he slipped his hands under my shirt in the back, and I stopped breathing at the sensation of his fingers against my bare skin. He traced dizzying patterns, skimming over my bra and higher.

I cursed the armrest divider between us, though I wasn’t entirely sure what I would do if I could get over onto the other side.

Then his questing fingers reached the edge of the bandage on my right shoulder blade, and he froze.

A shock wave rolled through me. I’d forgotten about the bandage.
How
could I have forgotten that?

I pulled away from him, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands down to my waist.

“No, it’s okay. It’s…nothing.” Except a very vivid reminder of who I was and why I shouldn’t—couldn’t—be doing this with him. With anyone.

He hesitated, then asked, “Is it from before? From your treatment?”

It took me a second to realize what he was talking about. The experimental treatment that had supposedly saved my life just before I came to live with my father. “Sort of. Can we…not talk about it?”

He nodded and let go of my waist. “Sure.”

Disappointment thundered through me.
Way to kill the mood, Ariane.
But what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t explain, and while he seemed satisfied for the moment with my nonanswer, how long would that last? It reminded me of a ghost story I’d heard kids tell during lunch in grade school. About the woman with the red ribbon at her throat. She married a man who loved her but couldn’t stop asking about the ribbon at her throat, even after she told him not to. Then one night, while she was sleeping, his curiosity got the better of him. He pulled at the ribbon and her head rolled off.

It wouldn’t be quite that dramatic, but if Zane got a glimpse of what was under the bandage, I’d be equally condemned.

“I have to go.” I swung my legs to the floor and fumbled for the door handle.

“Ariane.”

I glanced back at him. His mouth was red from our kissing, and all I wanted was for it to happen again. I caught myself leaning toward him and couldn’t quite stop.

He leaned in to meet me halfway. “You’re okay?” he whispered against my mouth.

I nodded. “I’m fine.” Except for the part where I wanted his mouth on mine again, always, and I wouldn’t be able to have it.

Yeah, I was great. Tears pricked my eyes, and I bent down to scoop up my bag before he could see.

“Then I’ll see you tonight?” he asked, still oh-so close.

I blinked rapidly. “What?”

“The game?” he prompted.

I forced my kiss-fogged brain to process. “Oh, right.” The varsity/JV exhibition game was tonight’s Bonfire Week activity. Another event at which Zane-and-Ariane were supposed to make a public appearance. But there was a problem. My father. He would be home tonight, after working a double shift last night/today. “I don’t know.”

I could tell my father a small white lie and say I had a school event I was required to attend. He wouldn’t question it. He’d have no reason to doubt me. Because I’d never lied to him before. Honesty was part of the deal when someone puts their life on the line for you.

Guilt pulled at me, and I hesitated.

“Please?” Zane flashed me a grin that I felt all the way down to my toes. “You’ll have fun, I promise.”

How was I supposed to resist that?

By remembering that this isn’t your life?
A nagging voice spoke up in the back of my head.

“I’ll try,” I said, feeling like a horrible person. I wasn’t even sure who I was lying to, Zane or myself. “I’ll text you.”

I shoved the door open, but before I could I slide out, Zane touched my arm.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His forehead crinkled with concern, and his gray-blue eyes searched mine.

I nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you later,” I said, not trusting myself to say more over the growing lump in my throat.

I stepped out of the SUV quickly, shut the door, and gave a wave good-bye.

I started walking, but Zane didn’t pull away immediately. I was around the corner and well on my way, probably out of his line of sight, before I heard the engine rev. If I’d let him, he’d have pulled into my driveway and waited until I was in my house with the door locked behind me. He was…sweet. Like any of the things that were after me could be stopped by a simple dead bolt.

I closed my eyes for a brief second against the ache in my chest. Oh God, what was I doing? This was so crazy.

Of all the Rules my father had given me, there were some that had hung over my head every second of every day.
Never trust anyone. Remember they are
always
searching.
It was a rare moment when one or both of those wasn’t occupying some part of my brain. Even
Don’t get involved
and
Keep your head down
made relatively frequent appearances.

But
Don’t fall in love
had always seemed to be sound advice in a theoretical sense, highly unlikely to have any practical application. Like, in case of alien invasion, make sure you have plenty of clean socks. Good advice, but probably not necessary.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best example, given who and what I am, but you get the idea.

My point is, of all the Rules I’d broken or worried about breaking, #5 was one I’d hardly thought about. It had never seemed within the realm of possibility.

But right now, #5 was screaming in my head, all capital letters and flashing neon, as the last Rule I’d not yet broken and one in serious jeopardy of joining the others in shattered bits on the floor.

What frightened me the most, though, was how scared I
wasn’t
at the idea.

I remembered the feel of Zane’s hands on my skin, and shivered, my breath catching in my throat.

I shook my head and kept walking.
Don’t be ridiculous. This is an artificial closeness generated by a forced situation and layers of lies.

Except the closeness didn’t
feel
artificial. On my side or his. He liked me, was intrigued by me. That right there should have been enough to send me running in the opposite direction, but after so many years of being invisible, it was nice to be seen. To be noticed. It sent an unexpected warmth through me, made me feel alive in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

All the more reason to stop now. This has no future. And you know it.

That was true. It was too dangerous—for both Zane and me—to keep going like this, particularly if GTX continued to close in. So, tomorrow night, once Rachel’s party was over, our “relationship” would be done. It would have to be. And if Zane wouldn’t end it, I would.

A thought that should have brought relief made my eyes fill with tears.

It wasn’t fair. I’d been good. I’d spent the last ten years avoiding getting too close to anyone, usually without too much trouble. And now, the first time that I actually wanted someone in my life enough to take a risk, it was impossible, the worst timing in the history of ever.

I wiped away an errant tear with the back of my hand, hating the way my contacts were blurring. Hating that I had to wear them. Hating that GTX existed. Hating that I was who I was.

Because that’s what it came down to. This pain was simply the cost of doing business, the price of being me. Nonnegotiable.

And it sucked.

My only consolation was that I’d have the next twenty-four hours with Zane; a poor prize, when you stopped to think about it. But it was all I had.

So for now I would break Rule #5 into a million pieces—and once this was over, the giant reset button pressed, I’d walk away with the memories. That was the best I could do, the
only
thing I could do.

Taking a deep breath, which did nothing to ease the ache in my chest, I followed the sidewalk up to my house and slipped the key into the door as quietly as possible.

Odds were, if my father was sleeping, opening the door wouldn’t be enough to awaken him, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Not right now when I’d probably see him and burst into tears and tell him everything. Better to steer clear until I had a better grip on my stupid feelings. (Life would be so much easier without them; they were always causing problems.)

But as soon as I crossed the threshold, I knew avoiding him would be impossible. A roiling mass of complicated emotions—disappointment, fear, fury—poured forth from someplace in the back of the house. The kitchen, most likely.

I stopped, shocked. I rarely picked up
anything
from my father, and to feel his emotions this strongly meant he was having trouble keeping control. Not good.

A rush of nerves pushed away the last of my sadness. Something was definitely wrong. Not so wrong that he was scrambling to get me out of the house, but it couldn’t be anything remotely good to generate this kind of reaction.

Smart money is on someone recognizing you or hearing your name at the activities fair last night.
I grimaced. All it would take was one person mentioning something to my father about his “daughter” being there.

I locked the door, then forced myself to move toward the kitchen, hopefully in a manner that did
not
suggest that a large portion of my thoughts was occupied with creating a series of believable fibs to cover a variety of situations.
School assignment to be at the fair… No, I wasn’t holding hands with anyone
.…
The lights? No, I didn’t notice
…

My stomach ached at the idea of lying to him, but telling the truth just wasn’t an option. He’d make me stop everything.

But as soon as I reached the kitchen, it became immediately clear that the situation was far worse than anything even my most expansive lie would cover.

First, my father was sitting at the table, still dressed in his rumpled work clothes, which meant he hadn’t been to bed yet even though he’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours.

Second, several inches of scotch in a tumbler sat at his right hand, with a mostly empty bottle next to it.

Third, and most damning of all, a laptop sat open on the table, surrounded by messy layers of grainy black-andwhite photos. It took me only a second to recognize them for what they were—photos from a surveillance camera feed. The supersized time and date codes at the bottom were dead giveaways.

And there was only one surveillance camera feed that would provoke such a reaction from my father. The newly installed one at the school.

Oh no.
I froze in the doorway, thinking of all the things he might have seen. Stupidly, it had never occurred to me that he would try to view any of it. GTX had surveillance teams (administrative drones, mostly) specifically for this purpose—finding me—and he wasn’t on any of them.

And, oh God, never mind my father. What about GTX?

My heart lurched. Had they seen what I’d done with the shaving-cream pies at the activities fair? I thought I’d been hidden well enough in the crowd. But maybe not.

“Are you going to just stand there?” my father asked.

I swallowed hard, my tongue sticking to the roof of my painfully dry mouth. “Does GTX know? Did they see…” I fumbled for the words.

“I pulled the footage,” he said. “You’re damn lucky I decided to keep an eye on the feed.”

I sagged against the doorway in relief, and my father glared at me.

“How could you be this reckless?” he demanded.

“It’s not what you think,” I said quickly. Which was a mistake. Never be the first one to go on the defensive. I’d been taught better than that. But I was rattled.

“And you, of course, know what I think.”

I flinched. He was so calm, not even close to yelling, which was chilling and more frightening. Screaming at me would have been better. Then his outsides would match his insides. I pushed harder against my barriers to block out the noise coming from him.