The Bad Boy's Dance (7 page)

              At this point, Bill Gates could walk in and I wouldn’t bat a lash.

              “Well?” Asher questioned. “You don’t think I’m going to fix us both a snack alone, do you?”

              I rolled my eyes. “Of course not. That would mean I assumed you had a sense of hospitality.”

              He grinned. Opening his large fridge, I perused its contents. There was barely anything in here! Just some cheese and carrots. Oh, and lots of beer. Unable to reign in my curiosity, I opened the freezer.

              He had lots of frozen chicken and steak, but nothing else.

              The cabinets were filled with every type of junk food you could imagine. Chips, cookies, cupcakes, dips, you name it, he had it.

              I glanced at him. There was no way he ate like that and still maintained that body. “Those are my party foods,” he clarified.

              He must have some big parties.

              “What were you planning on cooking?” Cause I had no idea.

              In reply, he hefted a big bag of frozen burgers onto the counter.

              I was still wondering why his kitchen was so bare. Did his parents prefer to eat out? Is that why the kitchen was so scarce? But then, why would they let him stock the pantry with ‘party food’?

              “Cooking requires moving,” Asher informed me patiently.

              Right. I found a pan and some butter and set them on the counter. Asher watched me with confusion. “What are you doing?”

              “Making burgers,” I answered, grabbing the spice rack and the burger buns. What else did we need? Vegetables!

              “That’s not how you make burgers,” Asher insisted.

              “Yes it is!”

              “No it’s not.”

              Annoyed at his stubbornness, I placed a hand on my hip. “How do you make burgers, Asher?”

              A sly grin spread over his handsome face, and unbidden, his words to me from lunch the other day resurfaced.

             
“Ooh, say my name again. It’s hot.”

             
Cue burning ears.

              “Your ears are red,” Asher noted with a grin, popping a piece of lettuce I’d gotten for the burger into his mouth.

              “Don’t change the subject! I have an idea- why don’t you just sit somewhere and I’ll get this done?” I wasn’t Chef Boyardee by any standards, but burgers were child’s play. It was a testament to this oddly cold house that he probably just stuck his burger in the microwave and ate the patty.

              “Hell no, you might poison me!”

              “With what? Proper cooking?”

              “What you think is proper cooking, you mean.”

              My vow to be nice was getting harder and harder to maintain. I threw my hands up in defeat. “Whatever! You can help!”

              He opened his mouth, probably to declare that he was going to be leading the operation, but I stopped the words by stuffing more lettuce in his mouth. He stopped, chewed, and looked at me like I was a new episode of his favorite show.

              Shaking my head, I buttered up the frying pan and set it over the stove. “How much are you going to eat?” I inquired.

              He picked up the bag and scooped five patties.

              Did he think I’d give up the stove to him if he gave me more work? Hah!

              “I’ll have the same,” I smirked. His eyes widened a fraction before a mischievous glint glowed in his cobalt eyes.

              “You are a piece of work, Robello,” Asher shook his head. “I’m gonna enjoy watching you try to dance after you ingest an entire cow.”

              Flipping two patties onto the sizzling pan, I spoke, accepting the challenge. “You mean you’re going to enjoy watching me whoop your ass while you nurse your stomach ache.”

              Asher cut me a glance and before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my hips and set me away from the stove.

              “We’ll see,” he agreed.

Chapter Six

Poisonous Raisins Affliction

I was going to puke.

              In general, food was my best friend. It gave Dana and Caleb a run for their money, in fact.

              But scarfing down five burgers was madness.
I may never eat again
. What was I thinking?!

              Asher watched me struggle to keep my food in my stomach, pleased. He’d won, naturally. He was patting his flat tummy in satisfaction while I was fighting not to regurgitate all over him. It would serve him right, though.

              “I’ve got a few trash bags, just say the word,” Asher said oh-so- generously.

              Nope, if I did puke, I was aiming for that attractive face of his. Let’s see that satisfied expression then.

              “No need to feel too bad, though, you actually went through with it. I’ve never seen a girl eat like that-ever. And I’ve been around,” Asher went on, oblivious to my suffering.

              I needed to move. It was the only way to stop the incessant cramps.

              “You’re probably going to have to burn those calories to keep your figure though,” he said.

              Okay, that was the last straw. I draw the line. My vow of niceness was null and void!

              I stomped from the kitchen, heading for the front door, but I ended up in a huge living room. There was a TV screen bigger than my bedroom wall mounted high, and Italian leather couches surrounding it. Delicate vases and china were stacked decoratively along the room.

              This was a klutz’s worst nightmare.

              Cursing Asher in my head, I edged along the room and escaped into another hallway, only to find myself completely lost again. Somewhere behind me, I could hear Asher calling me, but it was growing fainter.

              What did I hope to gain from wandering off? The only reasonable explanation I could find for my behavior was that the five burgers I’d ingested were screwing with my brain.

              The sound of a door unlocking stopped my progress. Yes! That must be where the front door was! Instantly, I made a beeline for the door, only to have it nearly smack me in the nose.

              A woman staggered through the door, crashing into me. I barely kept myself upright, catching her in my arms. “Ma’am? Ma’am?” I asked, shaking her a little. Did she pass out? Was she hurt? Oh, why didn’t I pay more attention in Health class!

              Thankfully, Asher appeared. His eyes widened when he saw me supporting the woman before his mouth pressed into a flat line. Wordlessly, he scooped her into his arms and carried her up the spiral staircase, the light tapping of his shoes echoing in the cavernous house.

              Picking a seat that would leave me near the door, I folded my legs under me while I waited for Asher. It took him a few minutes to descend, and his face was a mask when he did.

              He sat across from me and waited. For some reason, his stance was stiff and he looked anywhere but at me. What did he think I was going to do? Geez. I was curious who the woman who had fallen into my arms was- at this point I was thinking his mother or his sister, I hadn’t gotten a good enough glance at her- but I wasn’t going to hound him if it was a sensitive topic. I knew how annoying prying could be.

              “Did you want to watch the Step Up with Channing Tatum? I think that was the best one,” I mentioned, breaking the tense silence.

              He finally looked at me, and disbelief was evident in his eyes before he replaced the mask once more. He quirked a brow. “Got the hots for Channing Tatum, hmm? You know I’m way better-looking that he is, right?”

              “Please,” I scoffed. “Tatum isn’t my type. Too…pretty.”

              Asher, though, was more darkly handsome. The tousled midnight hair, black leather jacket, and the devil-may-care attitude tied his bad boy persona up quite nicely.

              He chuckled before standing and sauntering over to the hallway. Against my will, I found myself admiring the way his jeans fit. Nice.

              “You coming or are you going to ogle me all day?”

              I nearly jumped out of my skin, and my cheeks heated. “I wasn’t ogling you!” I said defensively, but he had already resumed walking, a cocky smile on his lips.

              “Douchebag,” I muttered sullenly, quickening my strides to keep up with his longer legs.

              “I heard that!”

              We spent another two hours watching Step Up with Channing Tatum. About five seconds into the movie, Asher got bored and thought a good distraction would be flicking kernels of popcorn at me. I think he was keeping a scoring system. Five points if it got tangled in my hair, ten if he hit my nose, and fifteen if it somehow found its way down my sweater.

              By the middle of the movie, I was one freaking kernel away from strangling him with my bare hands and beating him bloody with that fancy remote.

              “Would you cut it out?!” I shouted belligerently. His response?

              He tossed another kernel at me.

              Oh, it was on, Grayson. Smiling at him sweetly, I scooped a handful of the Raisinettes I’d grabbed from his mini-bar (his house was cooler than the White House, I swear) and hurled them at him.

              His expression was priceless. A cube of chocolate had stuck to his forehead, and it left a chocolate-y trail in its wake as it slid to his chin. Can you blame me for laughing like there was no tomorrow? It was the kind of laugh you couldn’t stop either. Like if you didn’t, that bubble in your chest would explode and you’d melt into a puddle of hysteria.

              “What is
wrong
with you?” Asher demanded suddenly, sitting upright and wiping the chocolate rapidly. “I’m allergic to raisins!”

              My laughter died instantly. Oh no. He was allergic! Frantically, I dug in my tote bag for my phone, but the stupid thing was nowhere to be found. Technology was grafted with a little chip marked ‘Be Evil To Ivy’.

              “Lie down! Can you breathe? Do you feel like…like your skins itchy? Oh my gosh! You’re getting blotchy!” I fussed, hovering over him, still trying to find my phone and make sure he didn’t have a seizure at the same time.

              Frowning, Asher glanced at his skin. “I am not blotchy!”

              Ignoring him, I held up my phone in triumph. Yes! Quickly pressing my finger over the little keys, I dialed 911 and waited a millisecond.

              “This is 911, what’s your emergency?” a droll woman’s voice greeted me.

              “I have a guy here who’s allergic to raisins and he-” My frantic recounting came to a halt when Asher clutched his stomach and doubled over on the narrow seat, roaring with laughter.

              “Hello? Miss?”

              “Um,” I started nervously. “I think he’s fine. False alarm. Sorry for bothering you,” I finished lamely.

              She told me to call again if anything happened and hung up. I watched Asher roll around like a ten-year old. “I…can’t….believe…you called…911!” he guffawed, nose crinkling with a new wave of laughter.

              I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m allergic to strawberries, and I happen to break out into hives when I touch one. So sue me for caring!”

             
Should have figured…why would he have something in the mini-bar if he’s allergic to it? Nice move, Ivy.

             
Finally regaining his composure, Asher patted my head, like I was an entertaining lapdog. Then again, I was crouched in front of his seat, as worried as I was that he’d start seizing.

              Clearing my throat, I hauled my tote bag over my shoulder and glanced at my watch. Shoot! It was nighttime already. I hated driving at night. Some suicidal bikers without reflective gear obviously didn’t realize that someone could very easily whop them into the next century if they crossed a street at night.

              “I’d better get going,” I said, a tad petulantly. Maybe someday I’d get better at this ‘practical joke’ thing. Who knows, I might even pull one off someday!

             
Whoa there, let’s not go crazy.

             
Was I supposed to wave at Asher? That seemed pretty lame seeing as he was less than ten feet away.

              Being the cowardly me, I selected the less awkward choice and hurried from the theater. Somehow, I managed to find myself at the front door. How I managed to maneuver in the maze that was Asher Grayson’s house is something up there with why things disappear in the Bermuda Triangle.

              After fumbling with the lock on the door, I was caught in the magnificence of the Grayson mansion’s front lawn. The gravel path leading to my car was lit by small lanterns, illuminating the entire yard and casting the mansion with a soft glow.

              I half- expected Queen Elizabeth to glide in with her royal crown and demand that I leave this magnificent property before I contaminate it with my mediocrity.

              Hurrying to my car, I settled into my car in relief. The house looked ethereal in the night, like a palace where a prince awaited you on his trusty steed to sweep you off your feet.

              But those things only existed in fairytales. Real life had given me a rude awakening.

              I started the engine, buckled my seat belt and pressed the gas pedal. Not two feet, and a dark shape flung itself in front of my car. Shrieking, I stomped on the brakes, nearly flying through the window.

              Wear your seatbelt, children. It saves lives.

              My headlights shed light- I can even make puns without trying, woot!- on the identity of the shadow. Asher had his hands on the hood of my car and he grinned at my astounded expression. “What the flapjacks was that? I could have killed you!” I hollered. He was even more devil-may-care than I’d thought!

              Coming to the passenger seat, I didn’t realize his intent until it was too late. Where was the lock? Too many buttons!

              By the time I’d located the button to lock the door, Asher was buckling himself in my passenger seat. He flicked a lock of midnight hair from his forehead and gave me a roguish smirk.

              “I need a ride.”

              And thus began a very long night.

Chapter Seven

Welcome to Fear Street, How May I Kill You?

Asher Grayson was the spawn of the devil.

              He’d threatened to sue me for almost running him over- despite the fact that he’d jumped in front of my car!- unless I dropped him off somewhere. Apparently, his car was in the shop after some motorist blew out the engine. I didn’t understand car lingo, so I’d nodded along.

              Why had I agreed?

              Oh yeah. Because the idea of being in a courtroom ever again scared the bejeezus out of me.

              “Left here,” Asher spoke. Complying, I fiddled with the radio. Asher snorted at my choice of music, but didn’t say anything else. He was tense, that much was obvious, but I had no clue why. Where exactly was I taking him?

              “Right here, and go straight till you reach the end of the street.”

              The street was dark and gloomy, and the empty windows seemed to glare at me as we drove by. I shivered.  This was
not
a neighborhood I would ever trick- or- treat in. R.L Stine probably based Fear Street on here.

              Parking, I assessed the low, run-down warehouse Asher had forced me to drive to. It was covered in graffiti and littered with cigarette butts, and the peeling walls chipped paint onto the ground.

              “Thanks for the ride,” Asher said shortly, unlocking his door.

              “Wait!” I called. He swiveled back warily.

              “What?”

              “It’s not safe to be in a place like this at night,” I cautioned. “There are hooligans here.”

              “Hooligans?” he snickered.

              “Yes, hooligans. Also known as careless troublemakers. It went with the flow of the sentence, okay? I stand by my word choice.” Rambling defensively, I snuck another peek at Asher, who was checking his watch tensely.

              He opened the car door, allowing a cold breeze to brush along my arm, sprouting goose bumps on my skin. “Wait!” I whisper-shouted as he strolled towards the warehouse, seemingly at ease with the creepy desolation of the neighborhood. “How long will you be?”

              “Go home. Your services are no longer needed. Goodnight,” he replied casually, as if he was telling me tomorrow was sweatshirt weather.

              “Wha-I’m not leaving you alone in this place!” I hissed, glancing around to check that we weren’t being stalked by creatures of the night or anything. Of all the times for me to forget my pepper spray!

              “You don’t need to worry. Seriously, go home Ivy,” Asher said dismissively. Gritting my teeth, I watched silently as he entered the dark warehouse. Something had to be wrong with that boy for him to do this. Every moment I spent with him made it easier to believe all the rumors I’d brushed off as ridiculous.

              For instance, slashing the tires of five guys who’d committed the treasonous act of commenting on Asher’s uncouth treatment of their sisters/girlfriends/ friends. If he saw someone that caught his fancy, neither heaven nor hell could stand in his way.

              Then, he’d promptly break her heart when he lost interest.

              Should I leave? I glanced at the area once more and sighed. No, no matter how much a jerk he was, I couldn’t desert him in Fear Street.

              The clock ticked, and my phone buzzed with a message from Mom.

             
Mom:
Where are you? I know it’s Saturday but no school project takes this long.

              Me:
I’m waiting to pick up a friend. I’ll be home soon.

             
Another fifteen minutes passed, and still no sign of Asher. Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I grabbed the door handle and inhaled deeply.

             
Come on Ivy, you can do this. Maybe he’s in trouble. You can’t just sit outside. Move it!