There’s a long, pregnant pause there that makes me sweat a bit.
“Dewy clovers?” A genuine laugh follows that question, one that’s masculine and smoky and more relaxed than I’ve ever heard it before. Parrish and I have known each other, what, three months now? First time I’ve heard a laugh that sounds so genuine, so stripped of its caustic bullshit and princely rich boy echo. “I’m not sure what, exactly, a ‘dewy clover’ smells like. But I can promise you this: I’m not wearing anything either.”
My heartbeat mysteriously picks up speed, racing so fast and so loud that it actually drowns out the sound of Parrish’s breathing. I wonder if he can hear it, too? There’s a rustling as he sits up and … does something. I think he’s taking off his hoodie and … wow, has it been this fucking hot in here all along or … I’m sweating up a storm all of a sudden.
“So … we’re just smelling … each other?” It sounds a lot weirder coming out of my mouth than it did in my head.
Another long pause.
I adjust my arm, and it brushes up against his, bare skin to bare skin. It’s an accident, but no less potent because of it.
“Get out of my room, Dakota.”
“Yep, it’s time to leave.” I stand up and pause awkwardly at the open door before padding through and crawling into my own bed. The lights in my room are already off, but it’s not quite as dark, moonlight streaming through the wall of windows. If I listen carefully, I can hear Parrish adjusting his covers. “Hey Parrish.”
Several seconds pass before I hear him sigh.
“Yeah?”
“Should I be looking forward to this trip … or dreading it?”
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in.
“I’ll be honest,” he says, his voice so quiet that I have to lay perfectly still to hear it. “It’ll probably suck. Most trips with Kimber do.”
I stifle a laugh, but I can’t keep the smile off my face. It only lasts for about a minute though before I start thinking of Maxine’s forlorn expression as I climbed into Tess’ car. I could see her on the sidewalk, dark hair plastered to her forehead by the rain as she watched us drive away. I have no clue when I’ll be able to talk to her again, let alone see her. Or my grandparents.
And Saffron … what the hell was that all about?
“Has she told you about your father yet? … If she hasn’t, she should—before he finds you.”
A strange thought comes to me, about that night when I woke up outside, the night that I keep telling myself was a dream. Even with all my other electronics gone, I’ve got the new phone Maxx gave me. I’ll keep recording every night, just to see. So far, nothing’s happened and I’m starting to truly believe it was a nightmare instead of a reality.
But then … I just can’t shake the sense of wrongness that Saffron gave me with that conversation. Before he finds me? Why wouldn’t I want my bio dad to find me? Is he a monster? Did he hurt Tess? Are any of the things she wrote in Fleeing Under a Summer Rain true?
“Go to sleep, Dakota, and stop thinking so hard.” Parrish’s voice surprises me. Somehow, I thought he was already asleep.
“Do you know anything about my bio dad?” I reply, and once again, there’s a significant amount of time before Parrish replies.
“About as much as I know about my bio mom. He was a bad person who hurt Tess. You’re better off without him, trust me.” There’s some more rustling, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s … like, maybe he’s jacking off?
“Are you touching yourself?” I whisper, and I hate how weird my voice sounds when I ask that.
A minute later, there he is, standing in my doorway and glaring at me, face limned by moonlight.
“Would I really do that? Without a door? If you need to relieve some stress, go do it in your bathroom.” He hesitates there for a second, like he isn’t sure why he came all the way in here to begin with. Eventually, he sits down on the edge of the bed, denting the mattress in just such a way that I’m reminded of our last make-out session, of me putting his hand on my boob, of … everything. “I like your furniture.”
Oh.
I wasn’t expecting that.
“Thanks,” I hazard, my body stiff with the knowledge that his is so damn close. I can smell him again, but I’m not about to mention that ridiculous social faux pas aloud ever again. “My grandma made some of it. The rest of the pieces came from antique shows.”
“And the Tess Vanguard books?”
Shit. I should’ve known that was coming.
“Once upon a time, she was my favorite author.” It feels like an admission of guilt, especially after what happened yesterday. Tess is stifling, and controlling, and so ice cold she could probably construct an igloo from her feelings. But I can’t deny the truth. “I guess, if I’m being honest, she still is. Even though I don’t like her.”
Parrish doesn’t respond to that, and after a few minutes, I end up falling asleep with him still sitting there.
Surprisingly, when I wake up later to pee, he’s still there, curled up on the far side of my bed without any blankets. I manage to get out, pee, and climb back in without waking him. After a second of hesitation, I cover him up, turn the opposite direction, and put our backs together.
In the morning, it’s Delphine that finds us like that, knocking on the doorjamb and waking us both up.
We don’t say anything about it. Parrish gets up and heads back into his room before Tess shows up. And then … we climb in the car and start the drive.
“It’s like an old west movie threw up on the landscape,” Kimber murmurs, scowling and scrolling on her phone as the luxury SUV rambles up a long, curved driveway. I wouldn’t have put it exactly like that, but I have to say, I’m fascinated by the change in scenery that I’ve noticed on our drive.
Outside the window, the earth is red-brown and dusty, dotted with ponderosa pines and Russian thistles, a far cry from the dewy green landscape up north. I even spotted a tumbleweed, a real-life, honest-to-god tumbleweed rolling down the sidewalk on our way through town. Bend, Oregon is famous for its outdoorsy, ‘old west’ sort of look, but unlike Kimber, I’m enjoying the view.
There isn’t much else to enjoy, to be quite frank. Tess is as cold and shut off as ever; Paul spends about four of the six hours on the drive actively talking on his phone. Kimber is so glued to her own phone screen that she legit failed to realized we’d even stopped at a gas station and started crying about how she had to pee twenty minutes later. Ben is wrapped up in some mid-grade sci-fi novel while the twins bicker over which games they want to play on their iPads.
As per usual, Parrish slumps in the corner of the back seat. If he’d had the choice, I bet he would’ve put more space between us. Thing is, this is an eight-seater SUV with eight people in it. Ben is on my left; my right thigh is pressed tight to Parrish’s. He’s barely looked at me let alone spoken to me. I can’t decide if that’s just because of the oppressive atmosphere or if he’s being weird about last night.
“Are you mad because we slept together?” I whisper, using yet another one of Paul’s phone calls as cover to speak frankly. The look Parrish throws my way is venomous. “Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal.”
He leans in toward me, his words a quiet hiss that I doubt anyone can hear but me.
“I’m into my stepsister. That’s a problem.”
And then he sits back up and perches his chin on his hand, elbow resting against the window as he gazes out at the high desert landscape. I’m too shocked to say a damn thing in response. Instead, I end up sitting there and staring at him until the house comes into view.
By house, of course I mean a fucking mansion.
As soon as I see it, I realize I’ve underestimated the Vanguards, that Danyella was right when she said wealthiest person on campus in regard to Parrish. The house is enormous, an abstract reality in the middle of a beautiful desert landscape. It looks obscene to me, to be quite honest.
Parrish looks back at me, as if to get a ga
uge on my reaction.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he murmurs under his breath, but how can I not be? He just admitted that he’s into me with words for the very first time. Of course, I didn’t really need to be told that. Words are cheap; actions are all that matters. With every action he’s taken recently, he’s been telling me how he really feels. Have I been doing the same? Am I into him in a way that’s deeper than the physical?
“We’re here,” Tess says, trying and failing to inject cheer into her voice. She sounds like she’s on her way to a funeral. She doesn’t look back at us, focusing instead on driving the SUV—it’s not even a rental, just another car that they own—as Paul wraps up yet another phone call.
As we come around the last bend in the driveway, I see some sort of luxury coupe in a metallic silver parked near the front door.
“Shit,” Parrish murmurs just a split-second before Tess slams on the brakes and we all go flying against the constraints of our seat belts.
“Your mother is here?” she hisses to Paul, whipping her head over to her husband in just such a way that he almost recoils. He manages to get himself together and reapply that haughty surgeon tone of his before responding.
“When she heard we were coming, she cancelled her annual trip to Grenada to be here.” Paul and Tess just stare at each other as I try to imagine what it might be like to take an annual vacay to the West Indies. Jesus, these people are extra as fuck.
“To meet Dakota?” Tess queries, casting a quick glance back at me. She looks nervous which makes me nervous. Tess is like Elsa on steroids, the grand supreme ice queen. If Paul’s mother strikes such fear in her, then I better steel myself for some serious drama.
Also … “I’m into my stepsister. That’s a problem.”
How can I not be obsessing over that?
Paul murmurs something so quietly to Tess that I can’t hear it. Whatever. If it’s about me, I probably don’t want to know anyway. She parks the car beside the silver coupe, and we all climb out, groaning and stretching and in most cases, bitching.
“God, I hate it here,” Kimber grumbles, pulling on one of her blonde curls as she scowls up at the house. “The Wi-Fi is shit, and I can’t get a signal on my phone.”
“Oh, the trauma,” Parrish spits back at her, and then the two of them get into some sort of physical tussle that has me raising my eyebrows. What was it that Tess told me on my second day in Washington? “We do not resort to physical violence in this house.”
Hilarious.
I ignore them while Paul deals with the altercation, following Tess into the front door after she punches in the key code.
“Hello?” she calls out, lifting her sunglasses up and perching them in her hair. She looks around the relatively small bottom floor without going into any of the bedrooms, and then goes up a set of stairs on the left. I go with her because … what else am I going to do? I can’t use my secret phone around her, and she monitors everything I do on the one she gave me. For all the use it has, it may as well be a paperweight. “Laverne?”
“There’s no need to shout, I’m right here,” a woman snaps as we round the corner at the top of the stairs. The woman—I’m assuming this is Laverne Vanguard, Parrish’s paternal grandmother—glares at us from her spot at the head of the long dining table, a glass of wine in her left hand.
“Laverne,” Tess says, as pleasantly as possible. There’s an edge to it though that scares me. Fantastic.
Parrish is right behind me. Actually, when he comes up the stairs, he pauses way too close to my back, and I swear that we’re vibing off of each other. It’s as if there’s this magnetic pull between us. All I want is to be close to him, as close as I can get.
“Who are you?” Laverne asks, looking right at me. Her gaze is sharp and cruel, and not terribly unlike her grandson’s. The same toasted coconut color, the same almond-shaped eyes. But there’s a coldness to her expression that makes every look Parrish has ever given me burn like fire.
I swallow and take a long, slow blink to steady myself. Her words are intended to hurt, just the way Parrish’s did when I first met him. I’m prepared for this.
“Dakota Banks.” Just that. I step forward and hold out my hand. Laverne looks at it like it’s diseased, but only until her grandson slides up beside me.
“Dakota is Tess’ daughter, but you knew that already,” he says in just such a way that I can tell he’s used to having sway with his grandmother. “Be nice, Grandma.”
“I’m trying,” she whispers under her breath, the autumnal shade of her hair so similar to Kimber’s that I can’t help but wonder if Kimber inherited Laverne’s rotten personality along with it. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Dakota. Since you don’t have a bedroom here yet, you can pick one out in the basement.”
“Um, thanks?” I query back, glancing over at Parrish to see his jaw clenched, teeth gritted together in annoyance.
“I’ll take a room downstairs, too,” he says, reaching down to grab my hand. I’m so surprised by the move that I don’t protest when he drags me toward a separate staircase past the kitchen. I let out a whistle as I pass a wine fridge on the right, a gargantuan kitchen island on my left.
Surprisingly, the basement stairs are carpeted and not hardwood like the rest of the house. When we get down there, I’m even more shocked to see a pool table, a shuffleboard table, and a few vintage arcade machines in the corner. It doesn’t look quite like the fancy pants palace upstairs.
“This was the first house my grandfather ever bought with his own money,” Parrish tells me, letting go of my hand and looking down at me. We’re just staring at each other, and it’s impossible to deny that something has changed, that even though he’s been ignoring me for weeks, it’s been as hard on him as it’s been on me. “My grandma was the one with the family money; she’s the Vanguard.” He looks past me, toward the cozy basement area that feels so much more like home than any place I’ve been on my journey thus far. It’s practically normal down here. I say practically because most people I knew back home—besides Nevaeh—couldn’t afford a pool table let alone have a place to put it. But it’s better, much less extreme and gauche than the rest of the house. “Anyway, this is the only part of the house that my grandma didn’t remodel. She couldn’t bear it, since my grandpa was the one who designed it before he died …” Parrish trails off and then shakes his head, exhaling sharply and then pushing those foppish waves of his back from his forehead.
“I love it.” Parrish startles a bit at my words, but I ignore him, moving into the room and opening doors. The first one leads to a surprisingly spacious bedroom with a queen bed, a desk, and a dresser. There’s even a small coffee maker, an electric teapot, and a series of teas and coffees in a tray beside them. “When she said basement, I’ll admit, I got like, Harry Potter under the staircase vibes, but this isn’t like that at all.”
“Mm.” Parrish follows behind me as I continue down a short hallway, pausing to open another door and finding a fancy-pants bathroom with a huge tub. “Okay, so my grandma did get her hands in the bathroom, but that’s the only part of the basement she touched.” I grin as I close the door, continuing around the corner and finding yet another bedroom. This one is much smaller than the last with a pair of twin beds and a desk with an ancient looking desktop computer on it.
I turn around to find Parrish waiting in the doorway, one arm outstretched, palm pressed against the doorjamb. He’s frowning gloriously at me. Like, the expression is so exaggerated that it’s almost cute.
“This will be my bedroom,” he declares, his tone one that’s intended to brook no argument. I cock a brow at him.
“It’s so sterile in here …” I start, looking around at the mostly bare walls, the small beds, the dinosaur of a computer. “What does your other room look like? The one that isn’t in the basement?”
“I’d rather be down here—away from Kimber and my dad and my grandma and …” He trails off and then stops himself, as if he almost let some s
ecret piece of information slip. “I’d rather be down here.”
“Away from Tess?” I query, but Parrish gives me such a dark look that I decide not to push it any further. I move towards the door, pausing just in front of him when he makes no move to scoot back or drop his arm. “Into your stepsister, huh?”
“Jesus.” Now he really does drop his arm and move away from me, heading right for one of the arcade machines. And … oh my god. Oh my god. I let out a small shriek, squeezing in beside Parrish and bumping our shoulders together.
“This is … it’s Gauntlet Legends!” I choke out, turning an excited look his direction. This time, it’s his turn to raise his brows.
“So?”
“So?! This is a classic! Late nineties, totally iconic.” I press the two-player button and flash Parrish a grin. “Play with me?” He looks back at the screen with a strange expression, but I’m already picking my character—blue Valkyrie for the win. “One of the best multiplayer dungeon crawlers ever made.”
“You really are a gamer nut, aren’t you?” he asks, sounding exasperated, but he picks a character anyway and off we go.
Kimber eventually finds her way downstairs, scowling when she finds us engaged in the game together.
“Seriously? That game is so old it belongs in a museum.”
“And your face belongs in a Ripley’s Believe it or Not. Get the fuck out of here, Kimber.” Parrish doesn’t falter in his gameplay, watching my six as I open a treasure chest. He’s not bad, I’ll admit. Not as good as Maxx, but not bad.
Maxx. Maxine. My sister.
I swallow hard but push the emotions back, focusing on my kick-ass Valkyrie avatar instead of my pain. That’s what I like about gaming, the ability to become someone or something else for a brief period of time. But in the end, reality always wins out. You can’t escape who you really are, can you?
“I hope the Seattle Slayer gets both of you,” Kimber spits, shoving Parrish’s shoulder before she takes off. He ignores her, scowling as he focuses on button mashing with me. We make it about halfway through before we’re both dead, and the game ends.
Stolen Crush Page 38
