Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy #3) (8 page)

She leaned over her ornate iron railing, her mouth a perfect
O
. She ran her eyes over my chest and abs and then to my package. Then, she clutched both sides of her robe and shoved it closed.

I grinned.

Too late, babe, I’d seen all of that
.

“This guy was some kind of dog superhero. Huh. Is there a Justice League for that?”

—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

HE
BURST ONTO the scene. With a crazy dog, no less.

Said dog spread its legs like an Olympic ski jumper and flung itself into my pool, barely even making a splash it was so tiny. Blond Guy knifed into the water like a pro, the roaring lion tattoo on his back getting most of my attention. Dark and dangerous, the ferocious animal took up most of his back right shoulder.

My mouth gaped. Where had he come from?

Was he even real?

Had I had a few too many shots?
Yes.

He rose up from his crouch, long and muscled, beads of water racing down his neck to his broad chest, calling attention to the tightly roped muscles of his abs to the delicious V of his hips. My eyes roamed over every inch of him, my mind wondering if what was under his boxers was as majestic as the rest of him.

He pushed wet hair out of his eyes, his hand continuing its journey to the nape of his neck. Then, his eyes met mine, making my stomach flutter.

I may have squeaked; I’m not a squeaker.

I clutched my robe closed, my hands tight against my chest.

“Sorry about disturbing you. Monster has dreams of being a Doberman. She won’t hurt you, just likes to make her presence known.”

Hurt
me
? She nearly killed herself.

“Oh? You realize it’s late, right? Most dogs and humans are asleep.” I pointed to the towels I’d stacked up on a shelf. “Help yourself to a towel over there. Looks like you need one.”

He stalked over, moving with an easy grace of a born athlete.

Okay, play it cool. Act nonchalant. Don’t say stupid stuff … like
wiener
or babble on about sex metaphors.

He dried the dog first, scrubbing her hair in the opposite direction and then brushing it back down. His fierce lion head tattoo winked in and out of view, its jaws open wide, the mane stretching out over his shoulder. For some reason, perhaps because this guy seemed able to pull emotion from me, his tattoo reminded me of a favorite memory. I’d always had a thing for lions, partly because our name was Lyons and it was part of our family crest, but also because of the lion at the Central Park Zoo in New York. I’d loved to hang out at his enclosure, waiting for him to spear me with those yellow eyes or chase one of his lionesses. He was majestic. He was strong. Alpha. I shivered.

I suspected Blond Guy was as well.

Finally, after what seemed liked forever of him rubbing the towel across his skin, he tugged back on low-slung jeans and re-buckled a skull belt buckle—my eyes flared at that little tidbit. He wasn’t your everyday average guy.

“You dried your dog first,” I said, scintillating conversationalist that I am.

“Yep.”

Okay
. He seemed tightlipped as well.

But then he walked closer until he stood underneath me, his eyes gleaming up at me, their pale blue color reflected in the patio lights. His gaze lingered over his necklace, and I fingered the shark tooth. I hoped he didn’t want it back.

“You know, I could have shot you when you ran onto my property like that.” I don’t even own a gun. I didn’t know what to say. My last memory of him was with Blair.

“Glad you didn’t. Maybe not you, but thousands would mourn my death.” He grinned. “Or would you?”

“You’re an incorrigible flirt, aren’t you?”

He did a snort/smirk thing. “You’re a gorgeous girl—so yeah,
I was flirting
, but when you call me out like that, it kinda ruins the moment.”

My lips twitched. “What’s your name?” I was dying to know.

“Romeo?” His lips curled up in a grin.

“That’s unfortunate.”

He let out a husky laugh. “No, it’s a joke, see, because the moon is out, and I’m standing here below your balcony and you’re dressed—” he waved his hand at my robe “—like that. This isn’t going well, is it?”

I shook my head.

“You do know the famous balcony scene in
Romeo and Juliet
, right? Shakespeare wrote it? He’s kinda famous.”

“I’ve heard of it.” I kept my eye roll inside.

He took a bow. “Senior year I played Romeo in our school production to a packed house. Critics said it was the best production they’d seen in Highland Park, Texas in twenty years—although that critic may have been fourteen and wrote for the school newspaper.” He shrugged and grinned. “She also had a terrible crush on me.”

“Yeah?” I imagined him on stage, dressed in some type of gold-threaded medieval outfit. “Did you wear tights?”

“My big sword made up for the girly clothes.”

“Really?” I kept my eyes firmly in place, refusing to look where I knew he wanted me to. At his Big Man Stick. Because I’d noticed it already.

Straighten up, Violet!
This guy was a Hollywood player and way out of your depth. “I’ve always wanted to see
Romeo and Juliet
on stage. I’m sure you and your sword were great.”

“Well, this sure isn’t Broadway, but here goes.” He bent down on one knee and lifted his right hand up theatrically. He cleared his throat. “‘But soft, what light from yonder window breaks. It is the east and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon which is already sick and pale with grief—’” He stopped, covering his eyes. “Ah hell, I can’t remember the rest of it.” He sighed. “And now the romantic moment is ruined.”

I stifled my laugh.

“Technically, I make a better singer.” He stood back up. “And I apologize for my poor flirting skills.”

“You haven’t lost your charm,” I murmured.

“Thank you,” he said, his gaze lingering on my face, then landing on my lips. I nibbled on them, and he froze, something primal flickering across his face.

I took a leap of faith. “My name’s Violet, but I prefer to be called V.”

He nodded. “I’m Sebastian, front guy for the Vital Rejects. Ever heard of us?”

Something niggled at my mind, but was I unable to figure it out. “You’re part of a boy band then? Like One Direction?”

He made a choking sound. “God, no. We’re rock alternative with some punk thrown in. We’re edgy, not bubble gum.”

“Yeah, you look more like a Kurt Cobain kind of guy.”

His lips kicked up. “Yeah? You like Nirvana, right?”

He should know. He’d probably heard me play them. “He’s a rock god. Once, for a contemporary music class, I redid his ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ on the violin. It was epic. My professor totally freaked out.” I laughed at the memory.

Then things just kinda happened.

I leaned over the balcony, put my chin in my hand, and we began talking about music, the Dallas Cowboys football team,
The Vampire Diaries
—go figure—and just about everything we could think of.

“Here’s a question for you. Do you happen to have a thing for guys with blue hair? Or do you prefer blonds?” he asked.

“You trying to fix me up with your roomie?”

“No,” he growled.

I chuckled. “I guess it’s more about who they are on the inside that counts.” I went with my own question. “Do you like cheese puffs? Because I don’t think I can be friends with someone who doesn’t want to bathe in them.”

“And my brain thanks you for that strange visual,” he said. “My turn. Sunsets or sunrises?”

“Sunrises. New beginnings all the way.”

“Me too.” His eyes bored into mine.

I cleared my throat. “Wine or tequila?”

He arched a brow. “Beer?”

“Favorite color?” I asked.

“Red and lacy.”

My robe was red … and lacy.

“Favorite movie?”

“
Star Wars
, hands down. ‘May the force be with you, V.’”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means may you never be in danger. Used a lot when fighting bad dudes with a light saber.” He jumped into a fighting stance and did a few moves, and I giggled. “Come on, tell me you’ve seen it.”

“Never.”

He gaped. “I smell a George Lucas marathon. You bring the cheese puffs and tequila; I’ll make sure Spider is out of the house.”

Wait.
Was that a date?

“Are you asking me out?”

“No.”

Huh.

“I think you like me,” I said, feeling brave.

“Sure,” he said. “You’re a dark-haired angel who makes her violin rock.”

I nodded. “Favorite song?”

“Anything you play.” He grinned. “Especially naked.”

Ignore that
.

“Top or bottom?” he said.

My mouth parted. “Hang on. You mean … sex?”

He bit his lower lip, his gaze intense. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know.”

“Why?” His eyes smoldered.

“It’s been so long … since, you know …” I trailed off.

That took him by surprise. “Lights on or lights off?”

My body burned at his questions. “At this point, I’d take either.”

He groaned softly, scrubbing a hand across the faint stubble on his jaw. “Sorry. Shit. I didn’t mean to go that far. Maybe we should move on.”

But my heart was racing. I didn’t want to stop. “Ever been in love?” I asked.

He shrugged—a good non-answer, but I saw the flash of pain on his face.

“What was she like?”

“She got pregnant. It wasn’t mine.” He sighed. “You ever been in love?”

I nodded.

“What was
he
like?” His eyes searched mine.

Memories from the past slammed into me—the first time Geoff and I had made love in his apartment; the day he’d given me my promise ring. I swallowed. “Wonderful. Perfect. His name was Geoff, and I tried to be wonderful for him, but in the end, I’d changed too much for us to make it.”

“What changed you?”

I tapped my hands against my leg, and his eyes followed.

“It’s okay,” he sighed. “You don’t have to explain. Maybe I’ve been there, too. It does get better, though—the pain. And l have a feeling life hasn’t revealed its true beauty to you. You’re not done yet, V.”

His words
.

I gripped the balcony to ground myself, to hold on to the grief that lurked inside always scratching to come out. For so long I’d been huddled in a corner, licking my wounds. I wasn’t ready to come out yet. I still wanted to hide. To give up.

“You sleepy?” he asked.

I sighed. “Not even close.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “This is kinda out of the blue, but I don’t wanna go home yet. Maybe you’d like to get some coffee? There’s a place at the end of the canyon that stays open all night—Java and Me. We can hang out, watch the sun rise over the Hollywood sign. I’ve been here for weeks and still haven’t done it.”

“It’s late,” I said, the words dragging out of me. I wanted to, but it was too much, too soon.

He exhaled heavily. “Yeah, stupid idea. I didn’t think it through. Forget it.”

Through the open patio door, my phone rang as it sat on my nightstand. I glanced back over my shoulder, the sound jarring the silence. Wilson maybe, but he wouldn’t call this late unless he had an emergency.

“Hang on a sec,” I said to him and dashed inside to get my phone. By the time I picked it up, they’d hung up, but I recognized the New York number, the digits burned into my brain, into my past.

Geoff.

Feeling shocked that I’d mentioned him and then he called, my feet carried me back out to the balcony where I gingerly sat the phone down.

Had it been fate intervening?

Should I call him back?

What would I say?

How’s life without me? I hear you’ve moved on.

“Who was that?”

I startled. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

“My ex.” I stopped there, unsure how to explain that one.

“The perfect and wonderful boyfriend?” His voice had cooled. “I see. You still have a thing for him.”

“No, I don’t. I said
ex
. I’m not sure why he called.”

“I am,” he said, and muttered something about rich girls and lies and how he should have known better.