The Lovely Reckless (23 page)

I can't believe he just used those words.

“What do science whizzes look like? Nerds with glasses and pocket protectors? If you're going to judge people by the way they look, you need a more reliable scale than outdated stereotypes.” I slam the can against the counter for emphasis. If I start acting pleasant out of nowhere, he'll know I'm up to something.

“Tell Lex to come over here.” He's calling my bluff. Nicely played.

“No, thanks. I don't want her to end up in the photo album you and Tyson have going.”

Dad's jaw muscles jump under his skin. Did I go too far?

He carries his annoying mug to the sink. “We only spy on criminals.”

“I'm a criminal, remember?”

Dad leans against the counter, watching me, but he doesn't take the bait. “I'm sure your mother would get you a tutor.”

I couldn't ask for a better setup. “I don't want anything from her or King Richard.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he fights a smile. He's the only person who hates my stepfather as much as I do. “Leave me Lex's home number and text me when you get to her house. I want to talk to her mom. If her mom won't be there, you aren't going. Are we clear?”

“Fine.” I storm out of the apartment and down the steps. I don't let myself smile until I'm at the bottom and Lex pulls up in front of the building.

*   *   *

“I got you out of the apartment, and it wasn't easy,” Lex says. We're at her house later that night. “My mom doesn't like talking to strangers unless they're donating money to one of her charities. And you're lucky she doesn't pay any attention to me, or she would know that I'm not taking chemistry. So what's the big favor?” She holds up her hand. “Wait. Let me guess. Your dad is home, and you need me to cover while you race cars or meet up with your new boyfriend?”

I'm not lying to her anymore. She's my best friend and I owe her the truth, whether she ends up helping me or not. “It's so much worse.”

She finally looks at me, her blue eyes rimmed with smudged black eyeliner. “How much worse?”

“My dad and Tyson have been investigating a crew, and Marco is involved.”

We're sitting across from each other on her king-size bed, the way we've done since we were sharing secrets about the boys we had crushes on in elementary school.

Lex crosses her legs. “Marco knows who is doing it, doesn't he?”

My eyes sting and my throat burns. “It's him, Lex. He's stealing cars. Marco's dad is in jail, and he owed some lowlife money. Marco has to work off his father's debt, or his sister will end up in foster care.”

Lex blinks, like she's still processing what I said. “Did you tell your dad about Marco's father and the guy threatening Marco and his sister?”

“I can't betray Marco's trust, and Dad won't believe me anyway. In his eyes, Marco is a thief. Dad will never be able to see him as a victim.”

“Don't hate me for asking, but are you sure Marco is telling the truth? What if he made up the whole story?”

“He's not lying, Lex. You have to trust me.”

Worry lines form between her eyebrows. “I think you have feelings for this guy, and it's affecting your judgment.”

“I need to see him, and I can't take the chance of doing it at the rec center.”

Lex jumps off the bed and circles the room. “You want me to let him come
here
? Are you crazy?”

Probably.

I'm crazy about Marco and desperate to help him. It's impossible to explain, but I know he's telling the truth. I feel it in every kiss. Every touch. It's in Marco's eyes when he looks at me and in his voice when he says my name.

Marco said there was no going back when it came to his feelings for me. There's no going back for me, either.

“I'm not asking you to trust him or like him. I'm not even asking you to help him. I'm asking you to help
me
.”

Lex stares at me like I'm standing on that ledge and she's afraid I'll jump. “Are you're falling for him?”

“He makes me feel safe. For the first time in months, I care about the future.”

Marco makes the future feel possible, a place worth imagining. As long as he's in it.

Lex walks over to her desk and picks up a crystal-studded frame with a picture of the two of us at the eighth-grade dance.

I love that picture, almost as much as I love Lex. I can't leave her or Abel behind, even if Lex's blue eyes will always remind me of Noah's, and so many of my memories of Abel and Lex include him. Even if I have to carry some part of the old Frankie with me so I can carry them, too.

Lex touches the spot where our faces smile from behind the glass. “Sometimes I wish we could go back. You and me and Abel—best friends—eating candy from the broken vending machine at the club and cannonballing into the pool until the old ladies complained. Things are so complicated now.”

I don't think she's talking about the two of us anymore. “Do you know what's going on with Abel? I haven't had a chance to call him.”

“No, but right now, we're talking about you.” She sets the frame back on her desk. “I don't want you to get hurt. You've lost so much.”

“That's why I can't lose Marco, too.” Saying the words—the thought of never feeling his arms around me again—threatens to break me. “Will you help me?”

“Haven't I always been there when you needed me?”

I don't hesitate. “Yes.”

“There's your answer. You can talk to him in the pool house. My parents won't go down there unless the house is on fire. Maybe not even then.” Lex forces a tiny smile that looks sadder than tears.

I jump off the bed and throw my arms around her. “Thank you.”

She squeezes me tighter. “Just don't get hurt.”

I almost say I won't, but the situation between Marco and me has hurt written all over it.

I'm okay with hurt.

It's losing I can't handle.

 

CHAPTER 28

DIFFERENT PERFECT

The pool house in Lex's backyard is bigger than Marco's entire apartment. Her mom spared no expense outfitting it with an L-shaped sofa and a flat-screen TV, a pool table and air hockey, and a stocked kitchen and full-size bathroom.

In middle school, Lex and I spent hours planning the parties we'd throw here and which boys we'd kiss when we played Spin the Bottle. We only ended up playing once, with Abel and his cousin who was visiting for the summer. After a six-pack of beer and a dozen do-overs, Lex's spin landed on Abel, and she freaked out and puked in the bathroom before she kissed him.

Right now, I'm the one who feels like puking. I don't know if Marco will go for my plan.

Perched on the window seat, I hug my knees in the dark, watching for signs of movement near the driveway. The rain plays tricks on my eyes. It feels like forever before I spot Marco's familiar gait. Strong and lean, hands shoved in his pockets as if nothing can touch him.

I crack the door open, and he speeds up when he sees me. God, he's beautiful—even with a T-shirt plastered to his chest and rain running down his face.

He stops at the door, and the hunger in his eyes makes my knees weak. I grab his wet shirt and pull him inside. “You're soaked. How far away did you park?”

“Far enough to keep Lex from getting in trouble.” Marco touches my hips and tugs me toward him, careful to leave just enough distance between us to keep me dry. His fingers graze the skin above the waistband of my jeans, sending shivers up my spine. He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, as if he's in physical pain.

I push the wet hair away from his eyes and press my hand against his cheek. “Are you all right? Did something happen?” I search his face for bruises or signs of a fight.

“I didn't think you'd call.”

“I told you how I felt about you.” My hand slides behind his neck.

“I know. But I figured after you had some time to let it all sink in, you'd change your mind.” He raises his head, and our eyes lock. “You deserve a lot better than a car thief, Frankie.”

I hook both arms around his neck and press closer. The water from his wet shirt and jeans seeps into mine. “That isn't who you are.”

Marco's eyes flicker to my mouth, and he leans closer. I lick my lips and he watches, his breath coming faster. His lips crush mine, and our mouths fall into perfect rhythm. He wraps an arm around my waist and picks me up. I lean against the wall behind me and drag his hips closer.

Marco moans against my lips. “What are you doing to me, Angel?”

The sound of his voice ignites a need in me that I never knew existed. With our bodies pressed together like this, it's impossible not to feel Marco's need, too. His lips brush mine and he pulls back, leaving his arms draped over my shoulders.

I search his face for a clue that will tell me why he stopped.

“What's wrong?”

“Would it sound crazy if I said this was
too right
?” His voice is raw and deep.

“Yes.”

He goes silent for what feels like minutes when he's looking me in the eye like this. “Kissing you isn't like kissing other girls.” I cringe, and he curses under his breath. “That came out wrong. I meant it's different with you.”

Not helping. “Different
good
or different
bad
?”

He moves one of his hands away from the wall and traces a line with his fingertip from the bridge of my nose down the center of my lips to the hollow at the bottom of my throat. “Different
perfect
. The kind of perfect that tells me I'll never be able to forget kissing you.”

No one has ever said anything like that to me. I repeat the words in my head so I can remember exactly the way Marco said them.

“Do you want to forget?”

“Your dad is investigating me, Frankie. And he's
not
wrong.” He shivers, and I touch his arm. He's freezing.

“I have an idea. But you need to get out of these wet clothes.” I tug on the hem of his shirt.

He smiles—that sexy-sweet bad-boy smile I think about way too often. “Are you asking me to strip?”

“Go in the bathroom and find something dry.” I give him a little shove. “There's a changing room.”

“I bet.” Marco looks around for the first time. He's probably comparing it to his modest apartment, and I'm embarrassed by the excess. He kicks off his high-tops and crosses the dark room.

When Marco returns, he's shirtless and barefoot, still wearing his wet jeans.

“You didn't change.” Not that I'm complaining. The moonlight skims every gorgeous muscle from his shoulders to his abs.

He tosses the towel into the bathroom. “Whoever wears all those checkered golf shorts in there isn't exactly my size. This is as close to dry as I could get.” Marco sits next to me on the sofa.

I've never seen his tattoos all at once, and I can't look away.

Black bands encircle one arm, and the sleeve of tattoos covers the outside of the other. I touch the pile of skulls that curves around his wrist and trace the tree growing up from the center, along the outside of his arm. The tree branches out, curving into what looks like a cliff at Marco's elbow. But it's another skull, less detailed than the ones near his wrist. I drag my finger over the branch that moves up his arm and morphs into the stem of a black rose. The petals open over Marco's bicep.

What comes next takes my breath away.

The bottom of a lion's mane curves up from the center of the rose and spreads over Marco's shoulder. It's drawn in a tribal style that's different from the rest of the tattoo.

“So what's your idea?” he asks.

“My dad and his partner aren't really interested in you. They want the person at the top of the food chain—whoever is selling the cars. Catching the people who steal the cars is just a way to follow the chain.”

Marco frowns and clasps his hands together. “Okay…?”

“Is the guy your father owes at the top?”

“As far as I know. He's the one who moves the cars and has them delivered to the clients. We just drop them at the docks.” Marco frowns. “Wait. I don't like where this is going.”

“Hear me out.” I touch his knee, and he covers my hand with his.

“If you tell my dad who he is, you can make a deal. The guy who is blackmailing you will go to prison, where he belongs.”

Marco bolts off the sofa and stands across from me, his bare chest heaving like he just ran a mile. “I'm not talking to the cops, Frankie.”

“I'll talk to my dad ahead of time and make sure you won't get in any trouble.” The conversation isn't going the way I hoped. “Trust me, please.”

He rakes his hands through his damp hair. “I'll find another way out of this.”

“If you had another option, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

Marco folds his arms across his chest. “The answer is still no.”

“Why?” A knot forms in my throat.

He moves toward me, arms open. “Come here.”

I want nothing more than to fall into his arms and ignore my fears and forget the pain. But I can't ignore things anymore. I spent the summer trying, and it didn't change anything.

I stand and hold out my hand, signaling him to stop. “No. I want an answer. Why won't you talk to my dad if he guarantees there won't be any fallout for you and Sofia?”

“What about Deacon? Will your father let him walk away, too? He's in deeper than me, Frankie. When he was expelled, stealing cars became his full-time job. If we're under investigation, your dad and his partner have probably figured that out by now.” Marco's eyes plead for understanding. “I can't give your dad the kind of information he'll want without selling out Deacon. And I won't do that.”