I looked to Gordon and said, "You know the manager's lying, right?"
Gordon was short and plump with a thick toupee and beady eyes. Of course he knew the manager was lying. Gordon owned that gas station. Knowing Gordon, he'd probably put the guy up to it.
I tried to think. But how?
By threatening his job?
Or through old-fashioned bribery?
Gordon gave me an oily smile. "Why would he lie?"
I met his gaze head-on. "Maybe someone made him lie."
This time, it was my mom who replied, "Oh Anna, don't be ridiculous."
It was just after dinnertime on the same day that John Archer had been dragged away from school. For dinner, we'd had poached salmon with asparagus. Now I couldn’t help but wonder what John was getting in jail.
Bread and water?
Or nothing at all?
Or maybe he wasn't in jail-jail. Maybe he was in a juvenile detention facility. Was that better? Or worse? I'd tried to find out, but no one was telling me squat.
Abruptly, Gordon said, "Are you screwing him?"
I almost gasped. "What?"
"Sex," he said. "Is that why you're trying to get him off? Because you two are doing it?"
It?
With John Archer.
Good Lord.
I looked to my mom, praying that she'd jump in and put a stop this. But as usual, my prayers went unanswered. Suddenly, she was more interested in her new manicure than anything going on with me.
Apparently, I was on my own.
As usual.
I looked to Gordon and said, "We're not doing anything." In truth, I was still a virgin and wasn't looking to change that any time soon.
His eyes narrowed. "Then why are you lying for him?"
"I'm not lying." I gave my mom another pleading look, not that it did any good. She was still studying her nails like they were the most interesting thing on the planet.
I made a sound of frustration. "Mom? Aren't you listening?"
She looked up. "Of course I’m listening. But you do know you'll have to testify."
I felt myself swallow. "What?"
"Just tell the truth. That's all we ask."
For what felt like the millionth time, I told her, "I am telling the truth. But you're not listening. He didn't sell me anything. He didn't give me anything either. You say you want the truth? Okay, here it is. I didn't even know that he worked there."
Gordon turned and gave my mom a sympathetic look. "Barbie, would you like me to handle this?"
I said a silent prayer. Just say no.
She bit her bottom lip. "Well…"
Gordon reached out and squeezed her hand. "Hey, why don't you check on Becka? I'll talk to Anna, father to daughter. Don't worry. We'll work it out."
What a snake. I had to say it. "You're not my dad."
My mom gave a little gasp. "Anna!"
"It's true," I insisted. "He's not."
My own dad had died in a motorcycle crash more than a decade ago. Although I couldn’t recall much, I did know that he'd been a real dad, not a slimy substitute.
My mom gave me an exasperated look. "What's gotten into you lately?"
Already, I'd tried to explain, not that it did a lick of good. With new desperation, I tried again. "I’m just saying—"
"Well, don't!" my mom snapped. "We've had more than enough for one day." And with that, she stood and looked to Gordon. "I'm so glad you're handling this." With a warning look in my direction, she added, "Anna doesn't know how lucky she is."
Oh, I knew all right.
And lucky wasn't what I was feeling.
Whether my mom realized it or not, I'd be a million times better off with no stepdad at all. I didn't care about the money, or the house. And, at the moment, I was having a hard time caring about my mom either.
Seriously, how blind could she be?
If only I had an ally, maybe everything would be different.
But I had nobody, not even Becka, who I'd never involve in a million years. For now, I was just glad that Gordon never looked at my little sister the way he sometimes looked at me.
But I had to face facts. She wouldn’t stay a kid forever. Someday, she'd "blossom" too.
It was this realization that stiffened my resolve. When my mom disappeared into the neighboring room, I glowered at Gordon and said, "So, are you going to tell me?"
He smiled. "Tell you what?"
"What's really going on."
He leaned back on the sofa and looked at me for a long, calculating moment before saying, "You are fucking him, aren't you?"
Heat flooded my face, but I refused to flinch. "No. I'm not, just like I said."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. It is."
"Then why was his coat in your car?"
I lifted my chin. "What makes you think it was his?"
"Paystub. Left pocket."
Shit.
I made a sound of exasperation. "Okay, I had his coat because I forgot mine when I went for a walk. He happened to drive by and lent me his. That's all. End of story."
When Gordon said nothing in reply, I added, "It was actually pretty nice of him."
Gordon looked unimpressed. "And this was when? Last night?"
I shrugged. "Maybe."
"Uh-huh." His eyebrows lifted. "You think I don't know that you sneak out?"
My stomach clenched. Until now, I hadn't realized. How stupid was that? Still, I held my ground. "I wasn't 'sneaking' anywhere. I was just going for a walk."
Okay, as far as excuses went, yes, it was pretty lame. But it was technically true. After all, it's not like I'd ended up at anyone's house or inside anyone's truck for that matter.
Gordon's lips thinned with obvious disapproval. "He's a loser. Surely you know that."
"You mean John?" My chin lifted. "He can't be that much of a loser. I mean, he takes calculus, so…" I shrugged and let the statement speak for itself.
When Gordon said nothing in reply, I tried to think. For the last couple of hours, something had been nagging at the back of my brain. Supposedly, John had given alcohol to a minor. Supposedly that minor was me.
Yes, this was all technically illegal. But was it really such a huge deal? Last year, Wayne LeSalle had been busted for selling pot in the school parking lot, and even he hadn't been dragged off like some animal.
And this wasn't the only thing that didn't make sense. For all the drama surrounding today's events, no one at school had mentioned me at all.
What did that mean? If John were in trouble for giving alcohol to a minor, wouldn't I be in trouble as the under-aged buyer? Plus, he was a minor, too. Didn't that count for something?
I heard myself say, "What's he being charged with, anyway?"
Gordon replied, "That depends on you."
I wasn't following. "What?"
"Here's the deal," Gordon said. "He could be charged for giving alcohol to a minor. Or…" He smiled that oily smile of his and let the silence stretch out.
"Or what?" I demanded.
"Or, he could be looking at something significantly worse."
I swallowed. "Like what?"
Again, Gordon leaned back on the sofa. "I dunno… Kidnapping."
"What?" I sputtered.
"Or attempted rape."
My blood was boiling now, but I was working like crazy to keep my temper in check. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm just saying, throw in a few witnesses, and he could be facing something a lot more serious than the slap on the wrist he'd get for the booze thing."
A slap on the wrist? That so didn't apply.
Did it?
I mean, no one facing a "slap on the wrist" got dragged away from school.
I glared at Gordon. "But he didn't do any of that, including the alcohol thing."
Gordon smiled. "And he's not going to either."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'm doing this for you." He leaned forward. "For your future."
/> "You are not! You're doing it for yourself."
Whether this was true or not, it didn't matter. In the end, I did exactly what Gordon wanted me to do.
I lied – just once – to the investigator who took my statement right there at the house while Gordon and my mom played the concerned parents.
But the lie wasn't for my own sake. It was for John Archer's.
One quick lie, and it would all go away – or so I'd been told. Just between us, Gordon claimed that he was doing this to teach me a lesson – and John Archer too while he was at it.
The lesson?
Stay away from each other.
Or else.
But then, to my absolute horror, nothing played out the way it was supposed to. Instead of the promised slap on the wrist, John got sent away to juvie for nearly a year.
As for myself, my grades hit rock bottom as I wrote letter after letter, trying to make it right.
As if I could.
For some stupid reason of his own, John had pled guilty, which meant there was nothing I could do to take it back, especially with Gordon doing who-knows-what behind the scenes.
I should've known better. But I hadn't. And it hadn't been me who paid the price. It was John Archer, a guy who'd done nothing worse than lend me his coat.
Was it any wonder he hated me?
No. It wasn't.
Even so, after that scene in his back seat, I'd had just about enough.
Chapter 45
Flynn
When I opened my bedroom door, Anna was sitting on the floor in the hallway just outside my bedroom. She was wearing faded black jeans, a little black T-shirt, and black sneakers that looked older than dirt.
The clothes were obviously her own – a bad sign.
I asked, "Where's the clothes?"
"What clothes?"
"The ones I bought."
"They're in the closet with everything else." She stood and crossed her arms. "But forget that. We need to talk."
Yeah, we did. Last night, she'd been right about one thing. I was an asshole.
Afterward, I'd felt like shit, and even shittier when in the privacy of my own bedroom, I'd kept replaying the best parts of that scene in my back seat.
Talk about messed up.
It didn't help that last night, I'd taken a bottle of vodka into my room, where I'd promptly drank myself into a stupor.
I hadn't done that since high school, and now my brain was still fuzzy.
Anna strode forward and glared up at me. "Did you hear me? I said we need to talk."
I tried for a joke. "Obviously."
She hesitated. "What do you mean by that?"
"It's six in the morning."
"Yeah." She sucked in a ragged breath. "I know."
I felt my eyebrows furrow. "How long have you been waiting?"
She tried for a smirk. "Does it matter?"
It did. But hell if I'd admit it. "Not to me."
"Good," she said. "Because you're not going anywhere 'til we talk." As she said it, she looked annoyingly cute, like a kitten ready to mangle a ball of yarn.
This only pissed me off further. "And who's gonna stop me? You?"
"If it comes to that."
I tried for a smirk of my own. "Oh yeah? How?"
"If you leave, I'm leaving, too." Her chin lifted. "And I'm not coming back."
Shit.
I wasn't smirking anymore. After last night, this shouldn't've been a surprise. But if she expected me to grovel, she had another thing coming. "Is that so?"
"Yes." She glanced toward the pink bedroom. "My stuff's already packed."
Well, that explained the clothes.
And yet, the thought of her actually leaving made me want to hit something – or rather, some one.
Me.
It wasn't because I liked her, or because she filled the house with something that I couldn’t quite figure out. And it sure as hell wasn't because I wanted her to stick around for her own sake.
It was because of the agreement.
It had to be.
With an effort, I turned my thoughts in that direction.
Could I find another girl?
Would I want to?
Or I should I just ditch this whole messed-up plan entirely?
And if I did, then what? I'd be dealing with a whole different set of problems – Felicity, my agent, the publicity people. Hell, if I thought Anna was trouble, those vultures made her look like a peach in comparison.
I shoved a hand through my hair and tried to think. It was harder than it should've been. I'd been awake for only ten minutes, and my hangover wasn't helping.
To clear my head, I'd been planning to ease out of the house long before Anna got up, giving me time to figure out what the fuck had happened last night – and what I should do about it.
I glanced past her and muttered, "I'm going for a hike."
"Fine," she said. "I'll come with you."
After last night's downpour, the trails would be covered in mud – a good thing for me. It allowed me to tell her the truth. "You can't."
"Oh yeah? And why not?"
"Because it rained last night."
"So?"
"So the trails are muddy."
"So?" she repeated.
"So you don't have boots."
"You mean hiking boots? I don't care." She pointed to her feet. "Look, I'm wearing old shoes." Her voice hardened. "Pretty convenient, don't you think?"
No. I didn't.
But if I wanted her to stay, it appeared that I had two choices – talk to her now or let her come with me on the hike. I didn't want either of those things, and yet, the thought of her leaving – well, I really didn't want that.
I said, "I'll make you a deal."
Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of deal?"
"If you can't cut it on the trails, you'll come back to the house, and we'll talk when I get back – meaning you won't leave before then."
She might not know it, but I was buying myself some time. Hiking always helped me think, and shit knows, I had a lot of thinking to do.
As far as the talk, it wouldn't be happening on the trails. The mud wouldn’t matter to me, but it would to her.
I had hiking boots and was used to it. But Anna was a lightweight. She had old sneakers and not much else, unless I counted all the high heels in that pink closet of hers.
She wouldn't last five minutes.
I crossed my arms and waited.
Finally, she grudgingly said, "All right. It's a deal."
I was relieved and not just a little. "But remember," I warned, "if you can't cut it, I'm not gonna carry you."
"Oh, please," she said. "Like I'd even let you."
After last night?
This, I believed.
Chapter 46
Anna
Turns out, Flynn and I were both liars. Oh sure, I'd felt sooooo smart telling him that I'd simply join him on his hike.
Now, all I felt was foolish. His words from earlier made a mockery of my plans. "I'm not gonna carry you."
Turns out, that's exactly what he was doing, and yes, I was letting him.
Stupid shoes.
Stupid mud.
Most of all, stupid me.
Fifteen minutes into the hike, I'd lost my footing, twisted my ankle, and went ass over applecart into six inches of mud at least. But that wasn't even the worst part.
The worst part was that Flynn was being surprisingly decent about it. At the time, he'd been hiking behind me and mostly ignoring my attempts at conversation. But then, the moment I'd gone over, he'd morphed into a completely different person – someone who was surprisingly chivalrous.
And it was making me crazy.
Now, I was cradled in his arms as he navigated the muddy trail like it was nothing at all. Heading back toward his house, we were traveling just as fast, if not faster, than we'd been going separately when I'd been leading the way.
For the tenth time, I said, "You don't have to carry
me. I'm sure I can walk now." This might've been a slight exaggeration. In truth, I could probably hobble at best, and only if I took it slow.
As we moved, I could feel his ab muscles shifting against my side, making me recall how wonderful it had felt last night when he'd held me in his arms and kissed me like he'd meant it – until it all went to crap.
God, what a nightmare.
But at the moment, I was having a hard time remembering all of the bad stuff, especially when he replied, "Not a chance."
"But why?"
"Ask me later."
"Why later?"
"Because we'll be back at the house."
I made a sound of protest. "But then it'll be too late."
"Got that right." His voice softened. "How's your ankle?"
"It's fine," I lied. "And seriously, I can walk." Oh sure, my first attempt hadn't gone so great, but now we were surely nearing his house. Somehow I could hobble the rest of the way – or cripes, drag myself if that's what it took.
When I made yet another bid to walk on my own, he stopped in mid-stride. I looked around. Surrounding us was a dense forest, with the morning sun filtering in through the treetops. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, and I might've gotten lost in the beauty of it all, if only my ankle weren't killing me, and my pride hadn't taken yet another mortal blow.
He said, "I'm gonna set you down, okay?"
I nodded against him. Finally.
But he didn't set me down on my feet. Rather, he lowered me in a seated position onto the wide surface a nearby stump.
As he let go, I got my first good look at him, well, since my fall, anyway. I tried not to cringe. He was absolutely filthy.
Thanks to me.
If Flynn were anyone else, I would've apologized like crazy for all the trouble. But the truth was, he didn't deserve an apology. If anyone should be apologizing, it was him for last night.
Jerk.
Except he wasn't acting like one now. As I watched, he knelt down in front of me and said, "I'm gonna take a look at your ankle, all right?"
When I gave a reluctant nod, he gently removed my left shoe, now caked in mud. I winced when he ran his hands along the ankle and asked, "Does that hurt?"
"A little."
He frowned. "It hurts more than a little."
He was right. It did. "It's fine," I lied yet again. "If you want to finish your hike, I'll just walk back on my own."
"Alone? Forget it."
Flipping His Script: A Loathing to Love Romance Page 18
