“I think so too.” I give a quick wink to Ally. Nothing like getting under her skin a little to start the night off in the right direction.
“How’d the move go?” Cruise offers up a knuckle bump, so I reciprocate.
“He didn’t help.” Ally is quick to rat me out. “He stood around and watched as I lugged out box after box all by my lonesome.” She cuts a private smile in my direction.
“Morgan!” Kendall is mortified by my lack of box-moving bravado.
“Relax. I didn’t want her to go. You haven’t seen this place. It’s a crime scene in the making.”
“Excuse my brother.” Kendall’s jaw goes slack in the wake of my shorthand analysis. “He’s usually not this rude.” She glares over at me a second. “Or is this something new?”
“He speaks the truth,” Cruise confirms. “No offense, but I’ve met Ally’s brother.”
“Oh, that’s right”—Ally holds back a laugh—“he wanted to rent the land behind the bed-and-breakfast for his organic farming endeavor.”
“Let me guess”—I venture out on a limb—“medical marijuana?”
“How’d you know?” Her eyes brighten as she lets out a laugh.
“I had an inkling.” I grew up with a half dozen fools who are barreling down Derek’s regrettable road in life. I guess Ally is right in that respect: some people never get off the ground. They get their feet stuck in the mud and only sink deeper.
I wonder what she would say if I told her I’m prelaw, that I have no intention of farming hemp in an effort to make myself and others feel better ten years down the road.
Kendall excuses herself, then a few moments later Cruise does the same.
I glance over at Ally, her long hair—that smoking hot dress—and can’t help but feel like I want a do-over of last night’s carnal festivities.
“So”—her shoulders bounce to her ears—“there’s a huge party in a couple days at one of the fraternities. Sort of a kickoff to summer, if you want to go.” She pinches her lips to the side, and a little dimple appears in the corner.
Not quite the invitation I was hoping for, but it’s a start.
“Sounds like a date,” I tease. Let’s see how fast she cuts off her right arm at the thought of pairing herself with a lowlife like me.
“Actually, I will be on a date. There’s this guy, Rutger—”
“Rutger?” I cut her off. “Let me guess. Rutger is from the right side of the tracks.”
“Exactly.” She nods at her own idiocy. “And trust me, there will be a sea of nice girls just dying for you to corrupt them, so it’ll be a win for both of us.” She wiggles her shoulders and a visual of her riding me, with her hair lashing over my face, pops up and ticks my cock to life.
“So what’s up with the dancing career? You hanging up your tassels or you going to give it one more go at the pole?”
She frowns at me a second. “Shh.” She glances around for signs of life in this mausoleum. “It’s part-time. Don’t judge.”
“I don’t judge. That’s your department.”
Her eyes narrow in on mine. “Anyway, I suck at it. I didn’t make any money the first night.”
“You made sixteen dollars,” I correct. Which she’s been slow to return, but I’m calling it a loss at this point.
“I did not make sixteen dollars.” Ally squirms in her seat and her cleavage springs to life.
We make small talk and stare out at the scenery for what feels like a small eternity. It’s clear I have the ability to tick her off spectacularly with the simple act of opening my mouth. Ally’s a little spitfire, and I like that.
Kendall and Cruise come back looking like they just mopped the floor with one another’s heads, and my body tenses up in one giant knot at what their disheveled state of being might mean.
Kendall and Ally engage in their own private conversation while Cruise peruses the menu because I’m pretty damn sure he just worked up an appetite.
“Dude,” I whisper, disgusted at what I’m about to ask. “Did you just fuck my sister?” I might have to kill him if he says yes. I have a feeling I’m going to have to kill both him and his boner, anyway.
Cruise glances over at Kendall and Ally still locked in their heated debate over whether or not people still wear capris, before darting a look back at me like it was none of my damn business.
Shit.
I slide down in my seat and gloss over the menu. The prices are conveniently over the top. I pull the menu down and give a quick smile to Cruise I’ll-do-your-sister-wherever-the-fuck-I-please. He mentioned earlier dinner was on him.
I’ll be sure my meal comes stock with a lot of heavy-handed digits.
“Kobe beef,” I muse without breaking his hostile stare. His eyes enlarge as if I just threatened to crush his balls with a sledgehammer.
That’s right, Cruise.
Screw you and your little credit card too.
“So, Ally”—Kendall picks up her napkin and tosses it into her lap—“if things don’t work out with your brother and his RV, you can move in with us.” She wrinkles her nose at her brilliant epiphany.
“That’s a great idea,” I chime. Not sure why I didn’t think of it.
“And you can sleep on the couch.” Kendall nods over to me as if it’s a given.
I tweaked my back twice last season. There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping on the couch. It’ll end my baseball career before it ever begins. I’ll be forced to leave the field of dreams and change my name to Rutger, thereby scoring girls like Ally who want to use me for my social standing.
I don’t say a word, just offer a brief smile to the blonde bombshell seated by my side.
“I’ll be fine at my brother’s.” She’s quick to wave the idea away as if it were a fly on a shit sandwich. “Unless of course something unexpected happens. I guess you never know.” She gives a sideways glance in my direction.
Oh, I definitely know. In fact, I predict something unexpected of the legal variety will happen to a Mr. Derek Monroe as soon as I can alert the Carrington sheriff’s department of a hostage situation brewing in the Shady Oak RV Park. I’m guessing the hypodermic needles will give the authorities a whole other reason to hang around once they realize it was all a hoax. In fact, I’m betting Derek has experimented in a little farming on the side that might interest the fine folks over at the DEA.
I’ll be keeping a spot warm on the bed tonight for Ally. I’m pretty sure she’ll need a mattress to land on.
I reach into my pocket and pluck out my cell.
“Excuse me.” I head off down the long, dark corridor in the direction of the restroom.
I Google Carrington sheriff’s department and hit CALL.
Sorry, Ally—just want to be sure you’re safe.
Funny, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to protect anyone like I do Ally.
Too bad Derek has to lawyer up for me to do it.
3
LIGHT MY FIRE
Ally
Morgan Jordan is a cocky ass. I ruminate over this well-established fact as I drive what feels like a million bleak miles in my hatchback on the way to shack up with Derek and his unfortunate girlfriend. An oily darkness leads the way past acres of nothing but brush and evergreens. If living off the grid was my brother’s goal in life it’s safe to say he achieved it. It’s going to take me forever to get to work from here.
Morgan and those heather-blue eyes of his come crashing back to the forefront of my mind. It’s like he’s haunting me, mentally stalking me with his ironic smile, those rippling abs my fingers seem to remember so well.
Mega Morgan had the nerve to continually grill me, all the way to my car, on my stance on dating people who share my socioeconomic disadvantage to which I cited, case in point, dumbass and ass hat, aka Raya and Derek. Met in high school, spontaneously dropped out to “
spend more time together,” and are now a moment away from living out their days in his-and-hers prison garb.
A glow of red-and-blue lights marks the sky as I near the RV park, and a horrible feeling comes over me.
“Crap.” I’m in full panic mode as I take the final turn to Derek’s place.
A stream of bright-yellow caution tape encircles Derek’s tiny RV, and a bevy of men in navy jackets with the word FEDS emblazoned on their backs swarms the area.
“The Feds?” I hit the brakes fast, inspiring a half dozen of them to look at me. I give an overeager wave and start in on a sixteen-point turn. From the rearview mirror I can see at least three of them hunched in the lower compartments where I stowed away my boxes while another one hoists all my stuff into the back of a windowless van.
Shit.
I hit the gas and hightail it away from Derek and the ill-timed narcotics seizure that happened to take down all of my worldly belongings in the process.
For a second I think of sending him a text to see if he’s okay, but I’m guessing this is a bad time. Clearly he is not okay, so I text Lauren and Kendall instead.
Drug bust. Need a place to crash.
Lauren texts back. Good God! Your family is shit!
Lauren is always the first to comfort and support. Another text comes in, this time from Kendall.
So sorry! I have a bed for you. I’ll wait up.
I stare at it a very long time. I’m pretty sure she’s not the only one who’ll be waiting up. In fact, I bet Kendall’s tattoo-bearing brother is already warming the sheets.
The moon washes over the landscape and the fireflies spread their magic under a nearby willow. It looks heavenly—like a sign. If I were a sane person, I’d think it meant things were about to turn around for me—that rainbows and unicorns were in my future—but I know the truth. Fireflies are magic for other people. For me they’re just something else to splat across my windshield. Their fiery asses are probably just trying to warn me that the rest of my world is getting ready to burn down to cinders.
Morgan Jordan.
I shake my head at the thought of him as I get back on the highway. He’s going to be the next catastrophe to cross my path. I can feel it.
One thing is for sure, I refuse to get burned.
The tiny cottage that Kendall and Cruise call home is lit up like a pumpkin on Halloween night with the curtains pulled tight.
Mega Man’s oversized dirt bomb is parked obnoxiously outside, all cockeyed and crooked, and for a moment I’m convinced he’s parked this way just to piss me off.
I pluck my purse off the passenger’s seat and make my way up the porch. It’s cold out, and I don’t even have a sweater to call my own. Crap. I’m going to wring Derek’s neck. Leave it to the Monroe family to get all of our earthly possessions seized in an FBI sting operation. The door opens before I have an opportunity to knock. I half expect Morgan to be standing on the other side, wielding a mega-sized condom and his killer grin, but it’s just Kendall.
“What the hell happened?” She pulls me in and offers a quick embrace. Thank God for Kendall. She’s so much more caring and supportive than Lauren. At least with Kendall I have a shoulder to lean on. She’ll probably make me a cup of hot tea, and run a bath for me, then we’ll sit at the kitchen table and talk into the wee hours of the night about what imbeciles we have for brothers.
“There were cops,” I say, “and caution tape, and all my stuff was floating in the sewer…” Okay, slight exaggeration.
Kendall cuts me off. “Horrible.” She stretches her hands over her head. “Well, I’d better get to bed. Morgan said he’d help you get settled.” She gives a quick wink. She grins deviously, as if she’s the last person who’ll stand in her brother’s way while he pins me to his mattress. Correction, my mattress. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Night!” She skips all the way to her bedroom and bolts the door shut behind her.
What the hell?
A gorgeous bare-chested male enters from the hall with his dark hair slicked back from the shower. His body looks as if it’s hewn straight from marble, with tattoos running up and down his arms and stamped across his chest like a cityscape I suddenly have the urge to explore.
Great. I’ve just been seduced without him having to utter a single word. And as soon as those dimple bombs go off, I’m going to spontaneously drop to my knees in an act of carnal worship.
“Heard what happened.” He struts over with water still beading over his chest. He slings his towel over his shoulder. He has on a pair of navy sweats but my eyes ride up to the labor-intensive pictures he’s permanently impressed upon himself.
The scene from Derek’s flashes through my mind, and I freeze for a moment.
“Ruby’s pictures.” I bury my face in my hands. “It’s all too much to process right now. I’m sure Janice will help me replace them, but I’m not looking forward to sharing how I lost them to begin with.”
“They took the pictures?” His arms circle my waist, and I let him pull me in. The light scent of musk and soap mingle, creating an intoxicating combination that causes my underwear to disintegrate in the process.
“They took everything. I’m homeless, and the only thing I own in the world is this little black dress.”
The beginnings of a lewd grin twitch on his lips, then in an instant he grows serious as death and leans in just enough. I push in just a little and his lips descend closer to mine. He stops short of a kiss and circles over my mouth with his oven-hot breath, forcing me to make the first move, and God, I want to make the first move.
“Whoa.” I push him away. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m not in the mood for some sexual healing.” And even if I were, I would totally deny it.
He pulls his cheek to the side, no smile. “I’ll make a fire.” Morgan busies himself by tossing a few logs into the mouth of the fireplace before squirting enough kerosene to burn down the entire western hemisphere. He lights a match and a ball of flames shoots out a good three feet.
“I knew you were dangerous.” I slip out of my heels and fall beside him on the sheepskin rug. I stretch my legs and sigh. “My feet just said thank you in ten different languages. Be glad you’re not expected to wear high heels.”
“I am glad I’m not expected to wear high heels,” he says, landing beside me. “But I do it just for the fun of it.” He knocks his shoulder into mine playfully, and my body electrifies just being near him.
“Look”—I sigh—“I’m not easy.” Mostly. I put it out there in the event he thinks he’s getting a free ride on the Ally express because we happened to have crossed that bridge already.
“Never said you were.” He cocks his head to the side. “Not that you were difficult, but I’m definitely not holding it against you.”
“You’re a pig.” I close my eyes and roll my head over my shoulders. “Never mind. You make pigs look bad. You’re worse than a pig.”
“Why am I a pig?” He lowers his lids, giving me those bedroom eyes, and my stomach squeezes so tight I can’t breathe for a minute. “More importantly, why do you have the incessant need to be mean to me?”
“Sorry. You seem nice enough.” And oddly he does. “It’s mostly because I have a weakness for bad boys, and we’ve both already determined you are one.”
“You have a weakness for me?” He gravels it out slow and seductive as if this were the crack in the armor he was hoping for. He gives the hint of a sly grin, ready and willing to explode at his command.
“Not you. Boys like you in general. You know, trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for pregnancy.”
“Oh.” He mouths the word, and I fight the urge to trace his mouth out with my finger. “The Music Man, I get that part. The pregnancy part I’m betting has to do with Ruby’s dad.”
“Biological father,” I correct. “It was as if dirt and scum had ma
rried and he was the product of that unfortunate union. Thankfully Ruby escaped his criminally insane genetics. She’s all me.” I blink a quick smile.
“Lucky girl.” His brows twitch and my stomach spikes with heat. Morgan has a way of melting me without even trying. “Look, I’m really sorry about what happened.” His features soften as if he actually means this. “Can you get more pictures?”
“I think so. I’m afraid to ask. I guess I can just take a bunch when I see her next.” I try to shake all thoughts of Ruby’s scrapbook out of my head. It’s sort of a miracle I’ve shared so much with him to begin with. But a part of me wanted to. There’s something about him that makes me want to spill all of my deepest secrets.
“I’ll help you.” He pushes his shoulder into mine. “You know, buy the book, get the pictures in it just right. If you want.” He dips his chin and holds on to me with those sky-colored eyes.
I examine him for a moment and wonder what kind of sexual favors he’ll expect in return and whether or not I’ll deny him. People always seem to want something in exchange for “random” acts of kindness—especially boys who look like Morgan. Usually fantasies and other women are involved.
“Thank you,” I say, feebly. “I’m sorry I called you a pig.” I lean into his chest and lay my head on his shoulder. I can feel the hard contours of his abdomen tighten under my skin. Morgan Jordan is a work of art in more ways than one. “Let’s see the ink,” I say, pulling back so I can properly assess the craftsmanship, or lack thereof, but at one glance I can tell a skilled artist left his mark over Morgan’s flesh.
“This one hurt the most.” He tips his head down toward the one over his heart of an eagle-looking creature with the body of a serpent. “So you might want to kiss it first.” His dimples wink in and out as if they were flirting with me in turn.
“I’m not kissing any of them,” I correct. “And this one?” I run my fingers over his left bicep and trace out the long tail of a dragon. Its head roars over Morgan’s shoulder and its fire breathes toward his neck. “Does it mean anything?”
“They all mean something.” He bites his lower lip until it goes white. “The dragon is to remind me to stay strong—to never be like my dad. I wanted it to remind me of the hell he put me and my sister through.” He shrugs. “Things like sticking around are important to me. I don’t want to become some mythological creature in other people’s lives.”