I swallowed. I’d known she was out of my league, but this was out of my universe.
The guys were talking, but I couldn’t concentrate on their words as I replayed the conversations I’d had with Bianca in my head. She’d talked a lot about people using her, and some of the pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place. I glanced at the paused video, where her smile was cool and detached. Well, it looked fine, but I knew what Bianca’s real smile was like.
I stood up and slipped my feet into my untied sneakers by the door. “Uh, I gotta run out.”
When I turned around, Dre and Shane were frowning at me. “Where’s the fire, Saint?” Dre asked.
I jiggled my keys in my hand, unsure what to say to them. “Uh, so I didn’t tell you a couple of things.”
“Like what?” Shane said.
“Like the fact that Bianca and I kissed? And also made out? And got caught by Coach?”
Dre’s eyes bugged out of his head and Shane fell back onto the couch with a howl.
I kept talking. “Bianca stuck up for me so Coach didn’t murder me, but then she said she couldn’t see me again.”
“So you had no idea she was a model?” Shane raised his eyebrows.
I shook my head. “Hell no. I mean, she looks like a model but I had no idea she actually was one.”
“Shit,” Dre said. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.”
“There wasn’t much to tell!” Dre gave me a look. “Okay, that’s not true,” I hedged. “But it was over before it barely started, and I think the whole time I was convinced it was a dream.”
“I get that.”
“So I need to… clear my head. Or something.”
Shane tossed me my phone. “Take this.”
Shoving it in the back pocket of my jeans, I gave them a small wave. “Later guys.”
I had no idea where I was going. All I knew was that I felt claustrophobic in that damn house. My stomach rolled with every step. What was going on in Bianca’s life? How the hell did she go from that to a student at Travers? My own insecurity was raging too. No way could she have liked me for me, right? She probably dated sports stars and shit. Like real sports stars, not a midfielder at a Division III school.
After ten minutes, my feet were heading in the direction of Coach’s house. I didn’t think about what I’d say when I got there. I didn’t think about how Coach would tear me a new asshole. And I didn’t think about Bianca’s rejection. All I could think about was checking to see if she was okay, and selfishly to ask if what she felt for me had all been fake.
I was a goddamn mess. Shit got even messier as I turned down Coach’s street and the clouds that had been looming overhead unleashed a fucking downpour. I only wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt, so by the time I jogged up Coach’s front steps, I was completely soaked, the ends of my hair dripping water into my eyes. He lived near campus in a nice suburban neighborhood which was home to a lot of campus staff.
I rang the doorbell, knowing I was out of my mind and should just go home.
Footsteps sounded from inside, then a pause. I stared at the doorknob when it slowly turned, running through possible sentences to say to Coach when he opened the door. “I’m checking on Bianca” was a better choice than, “I just saw Bianca in her underwear on TV.”
When the door opened, it wasn’t Coach who stood on the other side. It was Bianca. She wore a pair of pink and white polka-dot pajama pants, an old T-shirt that hung off one shoulder, and no makeup with her hair piled on the top of her head in a messy bun.
Her feet were bare, one propped up on top of the other, toenails painted pink. She stared at me, forehead wrinkled with concern. Her gaze shifted over my shoulder and up to the sky, then back at me.
I’d just seen her on TV, wearing lingerie and makeup and high heels, and here she was looking like she’d just woken up from a nap. Maybe it was the cold water trickling down my back, or maybe it was my frazzled mental state, but I said the first words that came to mind. “You’re just as beautiful standing here as you were on the Angelo Vara runway.”
Her eyes widened, and then her entire face crumbled before she slammed the door in my face.
Just call me Lavin Saint, king of repeatedly horrible impressions.
Ten
Murder Mittens
“Bianca,” I called through the thick wooden door. “Please, I just want to talk to you.”
“Go away!” Came her voice from the other side. It was muffled, and I couldn’t see her, so I didn’t know what she was feeling. Angry? Sad?
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can!”
“Please, B.”
“Fine, you need me to confirm. It was me on that runway. There, now go tell your friends you hooked up with a model and leave me alone.”
I jerked back, the sting of her words like a sharp slap on my face. “Are you fucking serious? You think I would do that? You think that’s why I came here?”
She didn’t answer, and I waited, my hot breath releasing little white puffs in the cool air. At least I was under the porch roof, although I was dripping all over the wood floor.
That’s when I heard the sniffle. “Go away, Lavin.” She sounded tired, and far away. Was she walking away from the door?
I banged my fist on it again. “Bianca!”
She didn’t answer, and I leaned down, peering through the distorted glass panes on either side of the door. A dark figure was walking down the hall, away from me. I didn’t think rationally, I just vaulted myself over the side railing of the porch and began walking along the side of the house, peering in window after window as I tracked her through the house. I tripped over a bush, the hard branches poking me in my stomach. I fell to my knees in the wet dirt before popping back up to see she’d left the living room. I sprinted to the next window, glancing inside to see her enter the kitchen.
I knocked on the window there, startling her so that she jumped in the air, hand on her chest. She glared at me, and said in a shouted whisper, “I said, go away! What is wrong with you?”
She was definitely crying. Her eyes were red, and she wiped furiously at her eyes. A dark shadow appeared behind her, and I ducked down just as Coach came into view. I stayed hunched below the window. I didn’t think he’d seen me but I couldn’t be sure. I held my breath, waiting for the window to open and his large hand to come down and choke me out.
But all I heard was muted voices from inside the continued pitter-patter of the rain. It was letting up now—as it was one of those evening thunderstorms that didn’t last long.
“Who was it?” Coach’s deep voice murmured.
“Someone selling magazines.”
“Oh, you sounded annoyed.”
“Yeah, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
I rolled my eyes. When the voices seemed to drift deeper into the house, I slowly lifted my head. My thighs were screaming from being in a crouched position for so long. I risked a glance in the window, but the kitchen was empty. Shit, that was a close call. But I was still left with zero answers. I didn’t care that she was a model; I cared that she had secrets. I cared that she had been that and now she was this—a college student with a spontaneous streak and sometimes sad eyes. I’d been fine with her keeping secrets, but now I was in deep and I wanted to know more. I wanted to help. Maybe that was selfish of me to push her, but I wasn’t going to give up.
Tonight was a lost cause though, with Coach there. I exhaled roughly, running my hands through my wet hair before stepping to the side, away from the window, so I could stretch my legs. I took a foot out of the flowerbed and froze.
Two iridescent eyes met mine, and the glow from the kitchen window shone on shiny, multi-colored fur. It was Coach’s cat, Callie. I’d seen her one time, when Coach all had us over for a backyard thing. She’d been there, ready to pounce on Dre when Coach scooped her up and took her inside, talking to her in a baby voice. She was a calico and only about twelve pounds, but that didn’t really matter
when she was looking at me like she wanted to claw my eyes out.
I took another step toward her, and she braced, her butt wiggling in that I’m-about-to-pounce way.
I held my hand out. “Hey Callie. Hey kitty. Good kitty. Sweet kitty. I’m just going to go home now. You can have your, uh, territory.”
The bell on her collar didn’t even jingle as she moved an inch toward me on silent murder mittens. “Good kitty,” I tried again.
I sidled to the left, toward the front of the house, and she hissed, the sound eventually cutting off into a low growl. Oh shit, she was pissed.
Cats ran from predators, right? And I was a predator. I changed tactics. “Shoo,” I waved my hands at her, talking as loudly as I dared. “Go away.”
The growl came again right before she pounced. One second she was on the ground and the next she was in the air, arcing toward me like a tiny tiger. Razor-sharp claws glistened in the moonlight and her eyes glowed like a demon. And then she was on me, those weapons of mass destruction on her paws sinking into my shoulder.
I bit back a scream of pain, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but that shit hurt. But the cat wasn’t letting up. Her teeth sunk into my neck and I started to panic. She was going for the fucking jugular, like a goddamn panther. “Motherfucking bitch!” I didn’t want to kill Coach’s cat. He’d have my head on a damn spike. But I was starting to worry she was going to rip my throat out.
The thing was hissing and spitting, her claws latched onto me like the jaws of life. I gripped her body, and ripped her off of me, her claws dragging through my skin like hot pokers. I tossed her, and the little bitch landed on her feet before she sprinted away, bell jingling.
“Callie!” Coach’s voice came from the front of the house, and the little shit ran past me in a slow jog, like she hadn’t just almost committed homicide. I bent at the waist, hands on my knees as I caught my breath. My shoulder felt like it was on fire, and I risked a glance, seeing that the shirt was shredded and stained with dark blood. Fucking cat. Christ.
A few minutes later, Coach’s car reversed out of his driveway and then sped off down the street. I squinted, but only saw his figure in the car. Which meant Bianca was home. Alone.
And I was stupid enough to waltz up to the front door and knock again. I knew I was reaching stalker levels. This was bordering on psycho. But I couldn’t make myself walk away. She’d been crying. I’d heard her. And it killed me. Dre would have told me to walk away long ago. Hell he would have told me never to come in the first place, but I wasn’t sensible when it came to Bianca.
No one came to the door, and I peered again through the windows alongside the door. I saw a dark form standing at the end of the hallway.
“Bianca!” I rapped my knuckles on the glass. “Please just open the door. I don’t need to come in. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
The form moved, and she flung the door open, then hem of her shirt flapping from the force of it. Her free hand flew up to her mouth, eyes impossibly wide in her pale face. “What happened to you?”
“Me?” My eyes drifted to the windows where I’d rapped my knuckles. Red was smeared on the glass. I spread out my hands to see streaks of blood on my fingers. “Oh shit.”
She gripped my hand and tugged me inside before slamming the door shut. “Lavin, what the hell?”
She turned and pressed some buttons on a panel beside the door. I assumed it was a house alarm and turned away so she wouldn’t think I was trying to get the password. I glanced around. Everything was dark. Dark wood floors. Dark rug. Dark furniture, and yep, dark-painted walls. There was some weird black sculpture on the front table that looked like a gorilla but I couldn’t be sure. Its eyes were staring at me like it could see my soul so I turned it away to face the wall.
After a beep filled the small space, Bianca dragged me down the hall and kicked open a door. Her hands shoved me, and I lost my balance only to find myself sitting on a toilet. Bianca rummaged in the bathroom cabinet before finding a med kit. She tossed it on the counter, and that was when I noticed her hands were shaking. I reached out for her, stilling her frantic movements with my fingers on her wrist. “Hey, it’s fine. I just had a run in with the cat.”
She jerked. “Callie?”
I froze. Wait a minute. I was about to admit I got shredded by a fucking cat? No way. I couldn’t go out like this. I cleared my throat. “I mean, no, a big cat. Mountain lion.” I puffed out my chest. “He was coming for this whole group of little kids, I think they were on a field trip.”
She blinked at me. “Little kids on a field trip at 8 at night?”
“Yeah, weird right? Anyway, I saved all their lives and wrestled with the, uh, big cat. Subdued it in a chokehold. He had to tap out.”
“You wrestled a mountain lion into submission.” Her tone was dry and I didn’t appreciate her skepticism.
I pulled my lips between my teeth and bit down before letting them go. “Yup.”
She stared at me for a moment, her lips twitching like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or yell. Finally she huffed out a breath and hauled my shirt over my head. “Well okay, then, Tarzan, let’s get you cleaned up. I can’t imagine what diseases a mountain lion carries and he made a mess of your shoulder.”
I risked a glance at my skin as she dabbed at it with alcohol wipes. It stung, but that meant it was working, so I ignored the pain. The cuts were deep, but not wide. They’d probably scar too. Motherfucker. This was what I was talking about. I wanted cool scars. Instead I just looked like I’d lost twelve rounds with a nail file.
Her lips were pursed as she worked, cleaning the cuts before bandaging up the worst of them. She pointed at my neck with raised eyebrows. “These bite marks?”
“Vampire,” I answered quickly.
And then she finally broke. She burst out laughing, slapping her hand on the counter and nearly knocking over the alcohol.
“Hey!” I said. “Are you not even concerned that I’m going to turn? It’s going to be True Blood up in here. You just wait.”
“Shut up,” she said, wiping her eyes before cleaning and bandaging the rest of my feline attack injuries. When she was finished, she didn’t look at me as she washed her hands. “I’ll show you out.”
I stiffened. No way. Now that I’d survived a mountain lion and vampire bite, there was no way she was kicking me out of the house. I reached for her. “Bianca.”
She evaded my grasp, slipping out of the bathroom. I clenched my hand into a fist and pounded it onto my thigh, keeping my curse to myself. I tossed my ruined shirt in the trash can and followed her down the hall. Although I did glance around, wondering if that cat was waiting in the wings to finish me off. “Bianca, please don’t make me leave.”
She stood at the front door, hunched over with her hands wrapped around her middle. She turned, and I could tell she was trying so damn hard to compose herself, to not break down.
“You told me you could be yourself around me,” I said. “Why are you trying to hide now?”
“I’m not trying to hide.” Her eyes had some fire in them, which was better than that desolate look. “I am myself around you. I’m being myself right now. But that doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything. There are things about me…” she inhaled sharply, her eyes closing for a brief moment before she flung them open and looked me square in the eye. “I’m trying not to be selfish here. I like you, Lavin. More than… more than I want to admit to myself. And you. But doing that is dangerous for both of us. So you have to understand that I’m pushing you away for a reason, a damn good one. But every time you show up here and look at me like you’re looking at me now, it’s a hell of a lot harder to stick to my guns.” She pulled back her shoulders, face set with conviction. “I have to stick to my guns.”
My brain screamed at me to leave, but I was drawn to you like a magnet. “That doesn’t even make sense. It’s dangerous for me?”
She stamped her foot, hands clenched at her sides and eyes brimm
ing with tears. “Why won’t you do this for me, Lavin?” Her body bucked on a sob. “Why won’t you make this easier for me and leave me the hell alone!”
My temper rose, a sudden spike that took me off guard even as the words were leaving my mouth in a matching shout. “Because I’m falling in love with you!”
She jerked back like I’d struck her. She flailed a hand out and braced herself on the wall. I took a step forward to help her, but she held a hand up, stopping me in my tracks. Her eyes were wild, her face paler than I’d ever seen her. She pressed her other hand to her mouth, and I could have sworn her throat worked, like she was going to throw up.
And wasn’t that my fucking luck? The first time in my life that I uttered those words to a girl, and her response was to gag. Sweet. Cool. Excellent, Lavin. Of course a gorgeous underwear model wasn’t going to fall into my arms and live happily ever after with my immature twenty-year-old ass. I couldn’t even buy her beer. Now she saw me as a lovesick kid, and I didn’t even have my pride.
I felt all of the pain now, the ache in my legs from the run here. The sharp sting of the cuts on my shoulder. And my heart, well that was the worst, because I was pretty sure I could hear the cracking of it in my ears, like I’d stepped on too-thin ice.
I didn’t wait for her to answer. I couldn’t even look at her anymore. I walked past her, opened up the door, and walked out.
* * *
I thought I knew what it was like to have my heart broken. In high school, I dated a girl for over a year. Hailey was a good girl, the only daughter of an uber-religious couple. She’d been painfully shy, but cute, and I’d wanted her. I’d asked her out for weeks before she finally agreed. After that, we’d been attached at the hip. She brought out some protective instinct in me, so walking down the hallways holding her hand made me feel like a man. On game days, she’d decorate my locker and leave me good luck notes with candy.
Sweet. She’d been sweet and safe. Honest. She didn’t play games, and the girl didn’t have a lying bone in her body. I had constant blue balls since we didn’t do much other than kiss. At the time I’d been fine with that. I was sixteen and terrified of girls, especially her. Terrified of hurting her, of making her cry, of doing anything that would make the smile on her face disappear.
FALSE 9: Red Card Series Page 11
