Sometimes you have to talk what’s rightfully yours.
“I’m supposed to trust you?” Harper asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. “When you’re trying to steal your best friend’s girlfriend?”
All traces of a smirk vanished from Kane’s face, and he glared at her with hooded eyes.
“First of all, Grace, I don’t believe in trust—which is why I don’t believe in best friends. It’s easier that way. And second of all, as for stealing his girlfriend …”
Harper leaned forward eagerly. She’d been wondering how Kane could justify his scheming, especially when he seemed to have no particular motivation for choosing Beth, of all the girls he could have pursued.
“… let’s just say—karma’s a bitch.”
“Care to elaborate?” Harper asked.
“No.”
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster
Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 2006 by Robin Wasserman
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Ann Zeak
The text of this book was set in Bembo.
First Simon Pulse edition January 2006
Library of Congress Control Number 2005927086
eISBN 978-1-43910-863-5
for Grandma
chapter
1
Beth loved to trace her fingers along the gently curved line of Adam’s back. It was her favorite part, this moment, this quiet pause just after they’d finished rolling around beneath the covers (careful not to go too far or to mention the fact that, as always, they stopped just before they did). And just before the inevitable. The tension. The bitter look. The fighting.
No, it was worth it to lie there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Adam’s back as he sprawled on his stomach, spent. Easy to prop herself up and admire his lean, muscled form, to marvel, for the thousandth time, that he was hers, that she was in his bed, that she could lean forward and softly touch her lips to his bare back, that her body still glowed, warm and tingling where he’d last touched her. Better to lie still, breathe deep, enjoy the light streaming through the windows, warming her bare skin, and feel close to him, like their bodies were connected, like they were one. It was always her favorite moment—and it never lasted.
“So, are you still working at the diner tonight?” he asked in a carefully casual tone, stretching and rolling over onto his back.
“Unfortunately.” She kissed him again. “You know I’d rather be with you, but …”
“I know,” he said quickly. Sourly. “Duty calls.”
“But maybe I can come over again after school tomorrow?” she asked hopefully. Her voice sounded falsely cheerful, brittle, even to her. But maybe she was imagining that. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
“Can’t. Swim meet,” he said. “But we’re on for Saturday, right?” He sat up in bed and began looking around for his clothes, which had been tossed aside hastily a couple hours before.
“Definitely. Right after that SAT prep meeting.” Beth’s chest tightened at the thought of it, the test that would define her future. She had only a few weeks left to study, which meant she didn’t have the time to waste on a stupid school-sponsored practice test and prep session that would surely fail to teach her anything she didn’t already know. But, like all school-sponsored wastes of time, it was mandatory.
“Great,” Adam said shortly, pulling a T-shirt over his head. It was pale blue—the same shade as his clear, sparkling eyes.
“Wait!” She sat up and grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to the bed, back to her. She didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know how to get back that feeling of closeness that, these days, disappeared every time one of them spoke. It used to be so easy, so comfortable, and now it was like their relationship was some fragile piece of glass. If one of them said the wrong thing, spoke too loudly or too long, it would shatter. So they were careful. They were polite.
They were strangers.
Was it because she’d been so jealous of him and Kaia, the new girl who looked like a model and sounded—to her, at least—like a phone sex operator? Because she had refused to trust him, no matter how many times he’d assured her that nothing, nothing would ever happen? Or was it because of what had happened with her and Mr. Powell, the hot French teacher who’d taken such an intense interest in the school newspaper, and an even more intense interest in Beth, its editor in chief? Was it because of the unexpected, unending kiss Powell had suddenly planted on her, a kiss she’d never asked for, that she’d fled from, that she’d said nothing about—but that maybe, deep down, she’d wanted?
Whatever it was, she wanted it to just go away. She wished that she and Adam could somehow find their way back to normal, if only she knew where to start.
“What are you thinking, blue eyes?” he asked, half in and half out of the bed—and his clothes.
She could tell him, and they could talk about it, about everything. Finally, an actual conversation—open, honest, painful. Real. And maybe they could finally try to fix things.
Or not.
“I’m thinking I’m not due at work for another hour,” she told him, and threw her arms around his neck, drawing him to her. “I’m thinking that this shirt has got to go.”
He obediently pulled it over his head and tossed it back on the floor, then lunged toward her and swept her into his arms. It wasn’t open or honest, and it wouldn’t fix anything. But it was easy. And right now, easy was all she could handle.
In most towns the Nifty Fifties Diner, with its rancid burgers, temperamental jukebox, tacky decor, and rude waitresses, would have quickly become an empty shell, housing a few lonely patrons whose taste buds had long since abandoned them. Empty on weekends, scorned by the breakfast crew, it would, by all rights, have lasted about six months before the owners shut its doors and got the hell out of town. But this wasn’t most towns. This was Grace, California, where haute cuisine meant ordering from the booth rather than at the counter, and even MacDonald’s feared to tread. In Grace you took what you could get, and pretty much all you could get was the Nifty Fifties Diner, wilted French fries, surly service, and all.
Which is why every day after school, a crowd of bored teens crowded its way into the diner’s rusty orange booths. But it wasn’t just the desperation that drove them to it. Harper Grace (formerly of Grace Mines; Grace Library; Grace, California—currently of Grace Dry Cleaning on Fourth and Main) had been known to favor the place with her presence. And after all, the masses concluded, if Harper Grace and her crew deigned to eat there, it must have some redeeming quality.
As far as Harper was concerned, it had one and only one: It was there.
Actually, make that two, she thought, snagging a fry off Miranda’s plate. As usual, her best friend had eaten about one-tenth of her order and spent the past hour pushing the rest of the food around on her plate.
One: The diner was there.
Two: Everyone in it cared less about the food than about watching Harper’s every move. It was just like school … only without all the boring parts. Popularity without the homework.
And she so loved the attention.
“Think Beth is working today?” Miranda asked, looking around for the blond bombshell they both loved to hate.
; “Who knows?” Harper asked, rolling her eyes. “Who cares?”
Miranda laughed. “Be nice, Harper,” she warned, but Harper knew she didn’t really mean it. For one thing, Harper Grace hadn’t clawed her way up the school’s social ladder by being nice. For another, rule number one of their friendship was that Harper said aloud all the bitchy thoughts Miranda was too polite to voice. Why mess with tradition?
“What, would you prefer she be here hovering over us with that stupid smile?” Harper gave Miranda her best Beth Manning grin and affected a high and fluttery voice. “‘Hey guys! Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? My backbone? Don’t worry, I won’t be needing it.’”
“You’re right,” Miranda admitted with a sly smile. “Much better she be off somewhere with Adam. Better making out with him than bothering us.”
And at that, all traces of joy vanished from Harper’s face.
“I’m eating here, Rand,” she complained. “Can we keep the vomit-inducing comments to a minimum?”
Miranda shook her head in apology. “I’m sorry, it just slipped out. I’m a little off today.”
“Yeah, what’s the deal with that, Rand? I know why I’m climbing the walls,” Harper whined, the image of a blissful Beth and Adam popping, unbidden, into her head. There had been a moment, back at the beginning of the school year, when she’d thought she had a chance. Especially when, in a moment of weakness, Adam had turned his back on true love—and slept with someone else. Just two little problems with that scenario. First, the “someone else” wasn’t Harper. Second, Beth had no idea that her perfect boyfriend had cheated on her. The golden couple was still going strong, and Harper was still out in the cold.
She noticed everything, every look, every touch that passed between Adam and the girl he thought he loved. Every day, it seemed, Harper was treated to an endless series of disgusting displays, her days at school transformed into a constant reminder of what she wanted and couldn’t have. And, since Adam lived next door, his bedroom window facing hers, her nights weren’t much of an improvement. Needless to say, these days she was a little off her game.
“Yeah, I know why my life sucks,” Harper said bitterly. “What’s wrong with yours?”
“I can’t stop thinking about him,” Miranda admitted.
“Kane?” Harper’s heart sank. Miranda hadn’t mentioned the local lothario in days, and Harper had hoped that this little chapter was over. No such luck, apparently.
“I know, I know, he’s out of my league,” Miranda complained.
“No, you know that’s not true,” Harper assured her. But it was a halfhearted protest. Kane Geary was handsome, cocky, a consummate asshole—and had privately confirmed for Harper that the Miranda thing was a no go. He had his sights set on someone else. It hadn’t come as a huge surprise. Miranda was many things—smart, caustic, funny, and at least a seven or eight on the ten point scale—but she wasn’t some gorgeous bimbo who would strip down to her thong in a wink of Kane’s eye. And as far as Kane was concerned, that pretty much took her out of the running.
“No, it’s true. He’s out of my league,” Miranda insisted. “But I’ve been thinking.” She grinned, and her voice took on the same “can do” bravado it had had back in fifth grade when she’d convinced Harper they should start their very own babysitter’s club. Harper issued a silent groan. That plan hadn’t worked either.
“It’s time for a New Miranda Stevens,” she continued. (Harper could hear the capital N in her voice.)
“Uh, do I get a vote?” Harper asked, raising her hand in protest. “Because I like the old Miranda.”
“Are you six feet tall with dark brown eyes, washboard abs, and a killer smile?”
Harper rolled her eyes.
“Then no,” Miranda confirmed. “You don’t get a vote. So here’s what I’m thinking….”
Harper sighed as Miranda began to outline a self-improvement strategy that included hair, makeup, fashion, body, and personality makeovers, and so much detail Harper was surprised it wasn’t accompanied by a PowerPoint presentation. Was she supposed to tell her best friend to give it up, that Kane would never be interested in her? Or that the “someone else” Kane was after was Beth? Was she supposed to admit that she’d secretly agreed to help Kane get Beth, if he would help her get Adam? Should she tell her best friend in the world that she’d basically screwed her over and made a pact with the devil, that all was fair in love and war, and Miranda would just have to deal?
Yeah, that would go over really well.
“So, are you in?” Miranda asked.
“What?” Harper could tell by the self-satisfied grin on Miranda’s face that while she’d been zoned out in guilt land, the lengthy presentation had finally come to a close.
“Will you help? With the New Miranda?”
“I told you, I kind of like the old one,” Harper hedged.
“Harper! Have you been listening to anything I’ve said? I need to do this if I’m ever going to get Kane to notice me—and you swore you’d help me get together with him.”
“I remember,” Harper said. And she did. The promise echoed in her ears every time she saw Miranda, and it faded just as quickly every time she saw Beth wrap her tentacles around Adam. She needed Kane’s help on this one—more, apparently, than she needed Miranda’s trust.
Though maybe if she played things right, she could get both.
“Besides,” Miranda wheedled, “you’re my best friend. This is what you’re here for. If I can’t count on you, who can I count on?”
Good question.
“Where are we going?” Heather giggled. At least, he thought her name was Heather.
“Shh. I told you, it’s a surprise!” Kane whispered as they crept down the empty halls of the high school, deserted now that the last of the after school meetings had disbanded and all the teachers had climbed into their dismal cars and driven home to their dismal lives. Kane supposed that there were those who wouldn’t see the point of sneaking into school—but some people just didn’t have any vision.
“What if we get caught?” Heather whispered.
Kane grinned and gave her a quick peck on the lips. It was a sexy whisper, nothing like the shrill screeching that passed for her regular voice. She had an amazing body, a passable face, but that voice—it could make your ears bleed. Kane suspected that after today’s little adventure, it would be time to show Heather the door. Unless he wanted to make illegal trespassing a constant theme of their dating life. Which, come to think of it, had some possibility….
“We won’t get caught,” he promised her. “And if we do, I’ll take all the blame.”
She giggled again. “My hero.”
They stopped abruptly in front of an unmarked door and Kane pulled out a key similar to the one he’d used to get them into the building.
“Where did you—?”
He put a finger to her lips, then silenced her with another kiss.
“The master never reveals his secrets,” he explained. “Don’t ask—just enjoy.” He pushed open the doors and ushered her down the stairs to the dark and deserted boiler room. Heather clung to him in fear and admiration as he made his way around the room by memory, setting up the candles and mohair blanket he’d brought along.
“Voilà!” he finally said in triumph. Soft candlelight lit up the room. It was a romantic getaway, of sorts—and it was clearly enough for Heather.
For all the Heathers of the world, Kane thought. It always was. And he was getting a little tired of it. He’d always looked down on the guys at school with steady girlfriends, relationships. Suckers, he’d thought. Tying themselves down to one girl, being responsible, being trapped, and for what? A guaranteed date on Valentine’s Day? A constant ego boost? A steady source of blow jobs?
Kane had all that already. And without all the whining, complaining, and demanding that seemed to come along with having a girlfriend.
On the other hand, lately, when he looked at Adam and Beth together, when he saw the wa
y she looked at him, held him, Kane wondered. Was he missing out? Was it possible that Adam had stumbled onto something better? Kane didn’t believe there was anything out there better than the life he’d crafted for himself. But he had to be sure, because if there was, he would do whatever was in his power to have it.
In the meantime he’d have no trouble finding something, or someone, to occupy his time….
Heather wrapped her body around him, running her fingers through his hair.
“You’re amazing,” she whispered, kissing his ear, his neck, his chest.
Kane let her pull his shirt over his head and watched in appreciation as her pert breasts, tucked into a red satin bra, made an appearance, accompanied by a tan, taut stomach and slender, perfect legs. Then she pressed against him again, her hands massaging their way down his back—and he had other things to appreciate.
“You’re totally amazing,” she repeated.
“Yeah—I know.”
Kaia took a long sip of her vodka tonic and stretched out along the shallow bench of the Jacuzzi, her long, jet black hair fanned out along the marble edge. She closed her eyes and moaned in appreciation as the jets pummeled her muscles and all of her stress melted away into the steaming water.
Not that she had much to be stressed about. Stress required caring what happened, wanting something, worrying about something, doing something—and none of that posed much of a problem in the lame exercise in small town boredom that passed for her life these days. No, any stress she’d had was left behind in New York, along with her friends, her boyfriends, her uncaring bitch of a mother, and her Saks Fifth Avenue credit card. All this apathy was probably doing wonders for her complexion—too bad there was no one around to see.
“Need a refill, Ms. Sellers?” the maid asked cautiously.
“No thanks, Alicia,” Kaia said sweetly. It was useful to be nice—sometimes—to the help. After all, she didn’t think her father—if he ever came back from his latest business trip—would appreciate hearing that she’d drunk her way through half his liquor cabinet. Right now it was her and Alicia’s little secret, and Kaia intended it to stay that way.