Very Wicked Things (19 page)

When in doubt, deny.

“Let’s go eat somewhere,” I announced. “How about Italian?”

He sighed, but then grinned, his shoulders dipping as he turned to me. “Vespucci’s sound good?”

Vespucci’s had been my first date with Cuba. But he didn’t matter. “Sounds great.”

Fifteen minutes later, we walked in to a packed restaurant.

He clasped my hand on the way to our table, and I let it ride, anxious to see where it led and how it made me feel. I mean, we’d held hands lots of times, but this smacked of something deeper.

And so. The waitress took us to our seats. Right next to Cuba and Emma’s table.

I stopped mid-stride, causing Spider to bump into me. He quickly apologized, then slid his eyes over to where mine stared.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Can we sit somewhere else?” he asked the hovering waitress.

She shrugged, looking around at the full tables. “It’s a Friday night. This is it.”

He turned to me. Letting me pick. “You wanna get out of here or stay?”

Cuba glanced up, a flicker of pleasure on his face as our eyes met. But when he saw my hand in Spider’s, he stiffened and glared.

“We’re staying,” I told Spider.

“I forgot you guys came here,” he murmured. “You sure?”

“Italian food trumps ex-boyfriends every time,” I muttered, sliding into the red vinyl booth.

The waitress stuck the menus under our noses and flounced off in her tailored black and white uniform. I studied the list of food, not seeing any of it really.

I tried to not look at them. I wasn’t successful.

And Cuba wasn’t either, because he stared at me way too long for it to be casual.

When Spider’s phone suddenly rang, he mouthed it was his father, and got up to take the call in the lobby. Leaving me alone.

I sneaked a glance at Cuba, not surprised to see he was making quick work of a filet. He was a big guy. Emma, who seemed unnaturally pale, ate plain pasta. Odd.

And because I couldn’t help myself, I tuned out the conversations to the left of me, focusing instead on Cuba and Emma’s seemingly intense discussion.

“…when did the doctor…” Cuba murmured, his voice going in and out.

“…ultrasound…only six weeks give or take…” she mumbled.

What?
Ultrasound? But that would mean…
no way
.

“…tell parents tonight…” he said.

“…don’t leave me…” she sniffed, weepy-like.

Not what I expected. And confusing. But I wasn’t slow, and as I recalled the way they’d been whispering at school and combined it with the conversation here, I came to an inevitable, horrible conclusion.

I sank down in the booth, legs weak, arms like jelly, and my chest aching.

And no. Just no. This couldn’t be happening.

Why did I care?

Because it was final, the huge THE END for me and him.

And as that thought settled in, I felt paper-thin, like a small breeze could blow me away and rip me apart, spreading bits of me all over the place.

I leaned my head back against the booth and closed my eyes. How perfectly fitting to find out Emma was pregnant at
this
restaurant. And even though I didn’t want to remember the night he’d brought me here, it all came back…

He’d sat down with me at lunch the next day after I’d left his jacket on his Porsche, an expectant look on his face.

“What?” I’d snipped, trying to eat. Again. “You didn’t think I’d give in that easily did you? Guys give me their jackets all the time.”

He smirked. “Just enjoying the chase is all, Dovey. I like it.”

My patience evaporated, and I leaned over the table, invading his space this time. “Catch a clue. I am not interested. Capisce.”

He gave me a heavy-lidded look, “Ah, Italian. Which reminds me, there’s this restaurant called Vespucci’s. Would you like to go sometime?”

I stood. Too much. I wanted to say yes, and it frightened me. “Thank you but no.”

He followed me as I walked to class, and once again the entire female population watched us leave. And, I let him walk with me, his gait seeming to match mine. Spider was still in detention, so I didn’t have anyone else to keep me company.

The next three days were the same, him sitting at my lunch table, me talking in monosyllables, and then him walking me to class. I blew him off at the door each time, not giving him a chance to hand over his jacket or suggest I wait for him after football practice.

Slowly but steadily though, I got used to him sitting across from me, his hungry gaze watching every move I made, like I fascinated him. When he wasn’t paying attention, I’d run my eyes over him, taking in the bunched muscles and messy hair.

But, like a dangerous jungle cat, he played me.

On Friday, and after the fifth day of him pursuing me, he didn’t show as usual. I got antsy, my eyes searching the cafeteria, looking for him. He wasn’t at the jock table or in line for lunch. But, I knew he was at school because he’d cornered me first thing when I walked in the door this morning, asking if he could borrow my notes from class. Cuba had perfect notes. And he knew that I knew he had perfect notes. It was just his way of getting up close to me.

And then in class, he’d sat behind me, using the tip of his pencil to trace little designs on my back. And even though it had sent tingly chills all over me, I’d told him to stop. He did. And perhaps I’d seen a flicker of defeat on his face when I told him, so yeah, now, I wondered what had happened to him.

Turned out a bleached blonde with pink highlights named Bridget happened to him. I passed by them on my way to Geometry, lounging outside in the quad, eating lunch together. I stopped and stared and my heart did a little jerk. What the hell? Already?

He was a quitter. I hated quitters.

He looked up, saw me in the glass door, and waved. Like we were freaking besties. I gritted my teeth, tossed my ponytail, and stormed off. He’d given up. Ha. So much for that connection he kept going on about.

I got to my locker and opened it, not seeing a thing. I stared into it for a good five minutes, trying to rein in my disappointment.

Footsteps sounded behind me and came to a stop. I inhaled and knew it was him. His body hovered just behind mine and warm breath skipped across my nape as he leaned down, pushed my hair out of the way and brushed his lips across my neck. Just barely, but enough to send electric shocks through my entire body.

In a deep voice, he said, “Show me you want me, Dovey. Meet me on the football field. Five o’clock or it’s over.” And then he walked away to class, leaving me as weak and useless as a wet noodle.

Oh, I saw through him alright. Dangling some girl in front of me as if he were tired of chasing me, when in fact, he was manipulating me. Upping the stakes.

He was good. Very good.

And I wanted him with every fiber of my being.

But no way was I meeting him after practice. Never in a gazillion years. NEVER.

And so. At approximately five o’clock when my practice was over, I lingered, dragging out my closing stretches. Mr. Keller and the other dancers eventually left, and I went to the big window that looked out over the football field, but it was bare.

Was he showering off after his workout? And that brought an image to mind.

Next thing I knew, I found myself bolting out the door and straight onto the field, running down the sidelines the entire one hundred yards, all the way to the doors of the athletic center.

I came to a stop when I reached the concession stand, noting how empty the place looked. No one was here. I was too late.

I realized he’d really given up on me.

Feeling dejected, I turned the corner and bam there he was, leaning against the building, still attired in those white football pants I’d dreamed about. I took in the whole picture, not missing how his navy jersey with pads accentuated his already broad chest. With his helmet in one hand, he looked down at his phone, a pensive expression on his face.

He looked delicious.

He looked like trouble.

“Cuba,” I called out, feeling a lot like the heroine in some stupid romantic comedy where the girl finally shows up to claim her guy.

He tucked his cell in his skin-tight, rated R pants. Those should be illegal.

I came to a stop in front of him, panting from my run, but trying to hide it. Not successfully. “Who were you calling?” Me?

“My mom,” he said, his grin warming as he took in my crazy appearance. I smoothed down my ballet skirt. And realized I still had my slippers on. I’m a moron.

He got this pleased expression on his face. “Did you run all the way here?”

I cocked my head. “No.”As if.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, picking his duffle off the ground, then taking mine from my hand. He took off toward the parking lot, and not knowing what else to do, I followed.

“I need my bag.”

He looked back over his shoulder. “You and I have a date. I’ve got a lot of ground to make up.”

“And what does that mean?” I said, catching up to him.

“I mean, you’ve been playing hard to get.”

I matched my stride with his. “I thought you liked the chase.”

“Oh, I do, I do. But you wear a boy out, Dovey. If you hadn’t come today—.”

I didn’t let him finish. “I don’t like quitters or manipulators,” I said with a huff. “Give me my bag. Forget you ever spoke to me.”

“Sorry, babe.” He kept marching, a determined look on his face. “And you came. Because you like me too.”

Whoa, all of that blew me away, but I went with, “I’m not your babe. Don’t even try.”

He stopped and grinned. “Fine, you’re not a babe. I can see you’re too good for it. What do you want to be?” He reached out and touched my cheek.

I backed up. “I’m Dovey to you, that’s all.”

He mulled this over. “No one ever call you Happy Feet or Twinkle Toes?”

“Pfft, they’re all dead now ‘cause I killed them.”

We reached his Porsche, and I got sidetracked..

“She’s gorgeous,” I breathed, running my hands across her smooth lines.

“She’s like you in a lot of ways.”

“How?”

“She’s got an aerodynamic body, like you. She’s sexy and hot and I want my hands all over her. I really want to crank her up and ride her, but I think I may have to wait, which is fine. I like delayed gratification.” He arched a brow.

I sputtered. Lost for words was an understatement.

He swung away from me, opened the passenger side, tossed my bag in, and then reached in and grabbed something from the back. He eased out, got down on one knee, and presented me with a lopsided bouquet of red and yellow wildflowers.

Holy shizzle. My mouth parted again. The surprises just kept coming.

“Dovey, first of all, I have never gotten down on my knees for a girl. But you’re a special girl who requires special measures, so here goes.” He cleared his throat and spoke as if he’d memorized it. “The first time I noticed you was through the window of the dance building. I don’t know jack about ballet, but I’d never seen anything more beautiful than the way you moved. The second time I noticed you, you waltzed into my art history class this year, and walked right past me, like you didn’t even care who I was. And…I don’t know…I wanted to get to know you.” He shrugged and looked down sheepishly. “I picked these up at the lake house this weekend for you. Been trying to keep them alive until I saw you, but well, I don’t think they made it, but here.”

I took the wilted flowers and stared into them.

That was, that was…

“I have a rep…and most of it’s true, I’ll give you that…but I can guarantee-dam-tee-you I have never gone this far just to ask a girl to dinner.”

“Are you saying I’m different from all the other girls?”

“I am.”

I let the flowers fall to my side as my arms went weak. This. This was insane and he needed his head examined if he thought for one moment…

“And if you tell me no, then I’ll leave you alone. Right now. I’ll call it quits and stop harassing you. I won’t sit with you at lunch or walk you to class. I will never speak to you again. No hard feelings. I’ll pretend like you don’t exist.”

And that made my heart clench.

Cars passed and students walked by, but I didn’t notice, my eyes on his impossible yellow ones, wondering how many other girls had stared into those orbs and believed they’d change him. But, he’d never gotten down on a knee for them. Right? That’s what he said, and I didn’t take him for a liar.

I sighed. “It better be Italian, is all I’m saying, because I’m starving and I need the carbs.”

Relief flooded his face. “Then I have the perfect place. Vespucci’s just opened near the Galleria.” He opened the car door. “And I never want you to go hungry.”

That comment put me in a sort of sexual daze. The thought of a guy taking care of me, making sure I had my food, well, it was a turn-on. I never said I was normal, okay.

We must have looked interesting in the restaurant booth, him still in uniform and me in my ballet tights. I did manage to throw a long tunic on over my leotard, and he’d removed his pads and cleats in the car. Now he wore his jersey, the pants, and flip-flops. And we were going into one of the most expensive restaurants I’d ever been to. But he was Cuba Hudson. Any maitre de would bend over backward to serve him.

Three hours later, after we’d had a wonderful dinner and had talked about everything under the sun, I knew I had to go. Heather-Lynn was with Sarah, but I wanted to get home and check on her.

He’d been texting his own parents as well. First to check on his mom and then to make sure his dad was home with her. I thought it sweet.

He leaned in across the table. “Before I take you back to your car, give me a little something to dream about tonight when I’m all alone.”