Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book)

by Reinhardt, Liz

  To grandslam my point home, I flip through a stack of papers and stare at them intently, moving my lips like I'm talking to myself about important filing issues and have no interest in what Winch decides to do.

  Meanwhile, my ears are pricked for his response, and I'm hoping he's going to pull closer instead of pushing away.

  "Alright. If you don't complain about my man-stink, I won't complain about having to do paperwork."

  He heaves off the door and starts to move closer to me. When I catch him taking a discreet sniff under his arms, my smile expands so wide, it hurts my cheeks.

  I slide the files into a cabinet, close it with one hip, and crook my finger his way.

  "What?" he asks, but his voice is low and husky.

  I crook my finger again and he maneuvers around the papers until we're a foot or two apart.

  I lean forward until there isn’t more than five inches between us.

  "Hot sweaty man is one of my all-time favorite smells." I watch his pupils dilate and feel the tickle of a thrill pirouette down my spine. "Now come help me find the rest of the Deckers so we can finish this filing, and I might just take you to my favorite pizza place when we're done."

  Winch 3

  I should have gone out and chopped wood or whatever the fuck it was Rolo needed help with, because being this close to Evan isn't going to work.

  And, to top it all off, she asked me out.

  I avoided answering because I know what I want to answer isn’t what I should, and now we're both working like two busy-ass ants in a hill, trying not to crash into all the awkwardness hanging in the space between us.

  "Did you find the other Fischers?" she asks and leans over to sort through some papers on the floor.

  She leans from her waist, her long, sweet body folded in half, and I notice her feet are always pointed toe out, like maybe she's a dancer. She definitely has the body for it.

  "No. Just a whole hell of a lot of Harris files. That family needs to send one of their kids to law school, 'cause they're gonna have legal bills out the ass forever."

  My breath slams through my lungs when her laugh rings out, loud and happy, filling this stuffy, dirty room with something so good, I never want to leave it.

  I push that thought out of my head. This wasn't supposed to have gone as far as it did. I should never have knocked on the glass when I saw her this morning, all my fears that she'd been reassigned put to rest. I should have walked right past her when she was sitting there, slumped on the floor, that day at court. She probably would have jetted if it wasn't for me interfering.

  She would have missed her court date, and by the time she got reassigned, my community service would have been almost over, and I wouldn't be stuck thinking of a way to dodge this date I want to go on with her so badly, but can't.

  I just can't, and it's too complicated to explain why to her, even though I want her to know all the reasons why more than I've ever wanted anything before. I want to tell her...everything.

  But that's not a possibility.

  "Winch?"

  She's got her head bent over some papers she's sorting between her fingers, so I almost don't hear her say my name.

  Which would be a shame, because I love the way my name sounds from her mouth.

  "Yeah?"

  I hand her over some files and her eyes meet mine, all cool and sweet like a snow-cone in July.

  She grabs the files and her fingers run over the skin on my hand.

  "About later? The pizza thing? It's cool if you don't want to go. Or can't go. If you have a reason...you can tell me if there's a reason that it would be a bad idea."

  She looks down at those folders like they're gonna tell her the secrets of the world, and I'm so shocked by this direct hit, I have no clue how to juggle it.

  "There is a reason--" I start to explain, and her look of pure horror and embarrassment cuts me off.

  "I'm sorry. I mean, if it seemed like I was coming on to you... I sort of thought you might...that there might be someone. It makes sense! And I never asked. And it's not like you led me on. Actually it explains a lot."

  I've never seen her just tripping over her words like this. Her cheeks are bright pink, and she's holding her eyebrows up high, like she's trying to keep all her crazy emotions in check.

  When she looks directly at me her eyes are so fiercely honest, I feel like I took a boot to my ribs. "I had that happen...I was cheated on. And I would never, ever do that to someone else. I mean, I'd never put someone in that position."

  She was cheated on? What fucking loser would cheat on a girl like her? And why is she bringing up...

  "What?" I ask, but my confusion clears up as soon as the word is out of my mouth.

  Cheating? She must think I have a steady girl. This is the perfect time to go with it. It would explain so much without me coming off looking like an asshole. It's my chance to walk away, no strings, and know that she doesn't hate me.

  I'm ready to agree with her entire misunderstanding.

  But I open my mouth and say, "Evan, I don't have a girlfriend."

  Relief floods her eyes and she lets all her breath out at once. "Oh, good. That's so good. I was feeling like such an ass since I asked you." But the relief blots out as soon as she realizes there's still some reason I didn't say yes. "And you still don't have to go, of course. It was just a friendly invitation, okay? No pressure. But if you have something else, some big reason, it's okay."

  She slams the file cabinet shut with a little too much force again, and I pull close to her like she's an industrial magnet and I'm a heap of scrap metal.

  I should let it lie, should let this whole thing fizzle out before it blows the hell up in my lap. I look at her so I can tell her, to her face, without being a pussy, that I can't, and I fully intend to stand firm and just spit it out.

  But all my stupid intentions crumble under my feet.

  The look in her eyes is the perfect cocktail of self-assured sexiness and vulnerable worry, and it brings out my swagger.

  "I'm not letting you buy me dinner. We'll go out, but it's on me."

  Her long hair sways back and forth when she shakes her head.

  "I asked you. My terms or nothing."

  She bites her bottom lip a little to stunt the smile.

  Even though every logical brain cell in my skull screams at me for doing it, I take a giant step over the line of good fucking sense, and land my ass flat in no man's land with my next brilliant statement.

  "I've never let a girl pay for a date before, and I'm not starting with you."

  She files a few folders, and I keep my hands busy making piles of paperwork without really seeing what I'm doing, because I'm waiting on her answer.

  "No one said this was a date, Winch. Let me pay, and we don't have to go there."

  Her voice is smooth and, to anyone who isn't paying close attention, it would sound like she's completely in control. But I've spent hours watching this girl and trying to figure out exactly makes her tick. I know she's playing cool.

  I should lose her. Drop this. Let it go.

  I keep giving myself this same damn speech, then I let myself drift a little bit further. This is just trouble waiting to happen, but it's been a long time since I got into any trouble of my own. I've been so busy picking up the pieces for other people, and being around Evan, I've started realizing for the first time in a long time how much I want something for me.

  Something that's all mine.

  It occurs to me that she can be mine, at least for a little while. No one else has to know. No one else has to have any say.

  It's stupid. It's risky. But I want this to work, even if I know it can't, really.

  I reach over and pull the folder out of her hand, tug her to me so we're eye to eye. I watch her throat move when she swallows and the way her lips tremble, and I have to stop myself from kissing her here and now.

  "I don't do things halfway. Come out with me on a date. I pay, and we go wherever you want."
<
br />   Her lips part. She's got a tiny overbite, and it makes her lips puff out, like an invitation. "Are you sure?"

  I rub my thumb over her knuckles just to see if her breath will catch, and my jaw clenches when it does. The things I'm going to do with this girl...

  "Never been more sure in my life."

  I check the gold watch my dad gave me, passed from his grandfather, a reminder of who I am and exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.

  Taking Evan out is not on that long, complicated list of who I'm expected to be, but, right now, I don't give a damn. "We've got twenty minutes before this shift is over. I'll be back to get you then, okay?"

  I pull my hand out of her grasp and walk backward to the door just because I love the way she looks, and I don't want to stop looking yet. Her eyebrows furrow low over her eyes.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Some mean-ass girl told me I stink. I'm going to wash up."

  I grin at the out-of-focus look on her face and wonder if her brain went there, to hot, soapy showers and slippery naked bodies. Cause that's exactly where mine went.

  Luckily all I get is a cold, sputtering rinse at the hose with some anti-bacterial soap I found in the bathroom. I need something chilly and uncomfortable to jar me out of my current insanity.

  "Hey, man. How'd you get to spend your day tailing that sweet honey in the office?" Rolo's come up to the hose to rinse off, and I'm torn between feeling sorry for the overworked ape and wanting to slam my fist into his face.

  "Luck, I guess."

  I shrug as the frigid water runs down my shoulders and over my arms. I bend at the waist so I can rinse my head and armpits before I hand the hose to Rolo.

  "She's hot as hell. Put a good word in for me, okay?"

  His grin is easy, and I have to tell myself to relax the fist I'm making.

  "She's my girl."

  The words sit sure and steady in the air between us, and the extent of how true they are shocks through me like a volt of electricity from a Taser.

  Rolo holds his hands up, surrender-style.

  "Alright, cool. Sorry, man. I thought you were still with Lala. I didn't know."

  Lala. I haven't been with her for a few weeks, but I know she'll be pissy if she hears I'm with someone else. I don't need the drama. And I don't need anyone in my family finding anything out yet.

  Or ever.

  "It's cool, man. Look, could you just not say anything? Lala's still a little sore over our whole breakup, and I don't want to mess things up with Evan."

  I know Rolo doesn't want to cross any lines with me. He was there when I fought all three Rahn brothers after they got into it with my brother, Remington. It was a bloodbath, and hardly any of that blood was mine.

  "No worries, no worries, man. Lala's always had a nasty temper. She won't hear shit about it from me."

  His eyes shift down to the hose in his hand, still dribbling icy water.

  "I appreciate it."

  I give him a nod and set out to my car so I can put on some deodorant and throw on a clean shirt. I stuff my sweaty shirt into the trunk, then pick up the garbage on the floor of my car and toss it back there too, chewing my brother out under my breath when I notice that he left a half-empty bottle of Jack in my backseat.

  Sometimes, I swear to God, it feels like Remington wants me to get arrested.

  The car looks good, I smell good, it's all good, and then Evan walks down the steps and toward me, and good gets so much better.

  "Hey, slacker, they need you in there so they can sign you out!" she calls, shading her eyes with her hand.

  I can tell she dolled up for me a little, and it feels damn amazing. Her dark hair swings down her back instead of in its high ponytail, long and straight almost to her waist, where it goes a little curly. Her lips are a deep pink from lipstick, but she doesn't need it, or any makeup really. I've never seen a girl who looks so beautiful when she's dressed plain, hardly done up. The sun is behind her, and I can take in every curve, every long, sweet line of her, and the excitement pumps through so strong, it makes my mouth go dry.

  I want this. I want her. And it's been a while since I wanted anything this much.

  "You wanna wait in my car?" I point to the open door.

  "What about mine?" she asks, walking closer every minute, that long hair picking up and blowing a little in the breeze.

  I have to ball my fists to stop from reaching out and yanking her closer, grabbing her hard, and crushing her to me.

  "We'll come back and get yours later."

  I wonder what will happen in all those hours between when we leave and when we head back to get her car, and the possibilities make the blood rush fast through my body.

  "What if I snoop through your stuff?" She tosses her hair behind her shoulder and her eyes tease me.

  "Snoop away. I got nothing to hide." I hold my arms out wide and know my smile is all cocky confidence, even if my words are the world's biggest lie.

  I hate selling her on a scam. I hate starting things this way. But I'm already taking a dumb risk just going on this date with her. I have to keep myself protected.

  I jog in and get my papers signed, and when I come back out, she's already leaned back all comfortable in the passenger seat, and I'm ready to be somewhere, anywhere, alone with this girl who's daring me to put my hand to the fire and feel the heat for the first time in I can't remember how long.

  Evan 4

  It's been weeks since a Saturday night consisted of anything other than sitting on my bed and contemplating the complete shit my life has recently dissolved into.

  This Saturday night, I'm sitting in Winch's low, gunmetal Mustang, the window rolled down, my eyes squeezed tight, my lungs drawing in the smoky rich smell of backyard fires lit up in time for the sunset and the salty tang of the ocean just far enough away to hold a sense of adventure.

  I don't ask where he's driving or what we're doing, because the sweet freedom is made even more delicious when it's twined with the unknown.

  Winch holds the steering wheel with one hand and lays the other arm half out the window, his eyes stuck on the front windshield, his shoulders squared and tense.

  "I won't be upset if this isn't really a date." I hang my head out the window and catch the reflection of my huge black sunglasses in the rearview.

  "What makes you think it isn't?" He looks sideways and his smile is just about to unfurl into a laugh. At me.

  "I get this feeling like you don't really want to be out tonight. With me. Like you aren't sure if this is such a good idea. And it's okay. I like you, but I'm mostly excited to get the hell out of my house. So if this...doesn't go anywhere, you don't need to worry." I stretch both arms over my head and love the way my muscles loosen. "I'm used to being with guys who aren't sure they want to be with me."

  The edge of laughter fades and his smile twists into a hard scowl. "Sounds like you were with pricks."

  "Pricks, dicks, fuckheads, assholes, douchebags, and all assortments of your basic garden-variety loser. Darling, you name an unsavory character from around here and chances are I made out with him. Or worse."

  I tilt my sunglasses down and play-act a cheeky smile that makes the steel bands of a migraine start to take hold at my temples.

  "You're happy about that?" His words are forged out of iron.

  I give a shrug that's supposed to seem thoughtless, careless, but feels like I'm trying to shrug the coils of a venomous snake off my shoulders.

  "I'm not happy or unhappy. I have truly terrible taste in guys and have gotten screwed over by more than I can count, but I like me a bad boy. Stop giving me that look! I'm young. This is the time in my life when I'm supposed to experiment and get burned."

  "Getting burned is one thing." He rolls his neck like he's trying to break up tension in his muscles. "Spending time with guys who treat you like shit is another. You dated Rabin Francis, didn't you?"

  Rabin's name scratches against my ears like a wire brush on an old metal pan. I wi
shed I never mentioned my shithead ex-boyfriend when we were talking during the last community service session.

  "So?" I snap, pulling my sunglasses off my face in frustration.

  "So, he was all over the news for assaulting some dancers." There's a long pause, and the next words out are more rising growls than actual syllables. "Did he do anything like that to you?"

  His lips curl back and his eyeteeth hang out, like a wild animal about to jump for a jugular.

  "No! I mean, nothing that bad." I dig my heels into the floorboards and breathe through my nose to slow the words that are struggling to burst out of my mouth. "Nothing like that. And I can handle myself, okay? I broke up with him because he cheated...well, he also got arrested. And things had been escalating, so I had to get out sometime."

  Sweat dampens under my armpits and coats my palms. I feel gross. I feel trapped. How did it all flip so quickly? I wanted easy and sweet and fun, and this is terrible and so freaking wrong.

  "That's a lot of excuses. How long did you put up with him for?" Winch's words snarl out of his mouth, and I detect the faint aroma of disgust.

  My gut twists.

  "Look, like I said, it was my choice. Okay? Mine. I decided to date him because he was hot and wild and I wanted to be around him. I decided not to date him because he was also an asshole and did some seriously stupid things. But a lot of guys I've been out with have been like that. So..." I shake my head. "I guess I can just chalk it up to the fact that something about me loves an asshole, and something about assholes gets off on yanking my chain."

  I'm so close to tears, my eyes feel like they've been chemically burned. My throat is reduced to a tiny alley that lets my panicked breath crawl and stumble in and out.

  Winch's hand fists over the steering wheel. "I don't know who’s stupider. You or them."

  Magma-hot heat bursts through me and makes me see bright silver spots in front of my eyes. "Well, that's just over-the-line fucking rude."

  "Rude my ass. It's honest and you need to hear it from someone. Don't brag about the fact that guys treated you like shit, Evan." His voice is a midnight cannonball into a winter-frigid lake, and the chills that rush up and down my spine leave me shaky. And to top my discomfort off, much as I want him to just shut up, his voice continues to pummel me. "You think it's cute? You think it makes you badass?"