“Not according to Mackenzie.” Cat sighed as a group of people pushed past them. Thankfully none of them felt the need to mention Bennet’s name. “I still can’t believe we’ve been roped into the decoration committee.”
And then there was her other problem.
The article she was working on. The one she’d told Alex was flowing like a river. The one due in five hours.
Truth was it looked like a dried-up creek bed in the middle of a drought. She’d stayed up until midnight working on it but just couldn’t come up with a way to turn septic tanks into heart-warming news. Especially when she couldn’t even get an interview with the school maintenance guy. Her chances of impressing Mackenzie were getting slimmer by the minute.
I’m so screwed.
Panic jabbed in her belly. She’d dreamed of being a writer for as long as she could recall. Her first stories were all about meeting her dad. But a couple of years ago, she’d put that firmly behind her when her mom had taught her if you wanted to get ahead in the world, you have to do it yourself.
Which was when she’d decided on a career in journalism to pay the bills until she hit the New York Times Bestseller List with her Oprah-endorsed debut novel.
And step one in her amazing plan? Get my damn article finished.
Normally, she would’ve talked to her mom about a plan of action, but her mom had spent the rest of the evening in an “I’m going on a date on Friday” frenzy, and Cat hadn’t wanted to bring the mood down.
“You’re going about this all wrong. The decorating committee is exactly what you need to solidify this relationship. Imagine it—long nights spent painting fake trees. His arm brushes yours while he’s gluing on felt leaves. Then he plucks some fluff out of your hair, and the next thing you know he’s dragging you into his arms and kissing you.” Nikki let out a wistful sigh. “I bet by this time next week your hashtag will be LovedUpAllyCat.”
“I sincerely hope not.” She shuddered. A hashtag like that would send Alex right over the edge. He deserved better. “I thought I was the one with the overactive imagination.”
“Just painting a word picture,” Nikki defended herself before she widened her eyes. “Hey, I should ask Parker if he wants to help out. After all, it’s to raise money for charity. He couldn’t say no.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Cat pushed her own problems to one side and recalled the numerous other ways her friend had tried to throw herself into Parker’s path. There had been the literal approach, where she’d tripped in front of him. Then it had been the “it’s raining, can you give me a lift home” gambit, closely followed by the “can you help me with my geometry homework, smart boy” plan. Nikki had even resorted to the more basic, “we should hang out sometime” approach.
“Of course, it’s not a good idea.” Nikki’s eyes gleamed with possibility. “It’s a terrible one. But you’re living proof terrible ideas can work. It’s two days in, and this plan of yours seems to be going off without a hitch. Exhibit A.”
“Huh?” Cat turned as Alex slowly walked toward them.
Oh.
His hands were in his pockets, his head titled and his intense gaze focused directly on her. The light caught on his cheekbones as his face broke into a slow smile. Her pulse quickened, and the skin on the back of her neck prickled.
What an exhibit A he was.
“Yeah, proof your plan’s working. He’s looking at you like you’re the only girl in the world.”
“I think he’s just short-sighted,” Cat said firmly. Because believing Alex really was looking at her like she was the only girl in the world was dangerous. Especially for someone who’d recently discovered that, when it came to guys, she didn’t make good choices.
In fact, cliff-jumping lemmings probably make better choices than I do.
Which was a pity because now Alex had removed his leather jacket, and his T-shirt pulled against his chest. Hard muscles—the result of working at Joe’s after school most days—stared back at her. Normally when she heard girls at school talking about someone being ripped, she paid no attention to it. After all, she was a writer. She was interested in the mind.
But, yeah. It was a damn fine chest.
One ticket for the Hypocrite’s Express, please.
“Hey.” Alex gave a brief nod. “Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”
“Yeah, some cocky freshman. Don’t worry, I had it covered.” Nikki eyed them both up. “If you two lovebirds will excuse me, I’m off to talk to Mackenzie about the decoration committee.”
“What? Don’t you think you should ask Parker first?” Cat yelped.
“And give him an out? Not likely.” Nikki shook her head, sending her green hair out like a Dr. Seuss character. “Do you want to come with me?”
And see Mackenzie? The editor I promised to dazzle with my amazing, heartfelt septic tank story due this afternoon?
Not so much.
“Pass. I have a bit of work to do.” Cat gave a vague shrug. It seemed to satisfy Nikki, who went bounding off down the corridor toward the newspaper office. Alex leaned against a locker, blue eyes homing in on her like she was transparent. She gulped. “Is there a problem?”
“You tell me,” he said, not blinking.
“Is this some weird game I don’t know about?”
“Whenever you told your mom you were going to ride your bike at the park, you always looked a little to the right,” he said as he dragged his gaze down to her Vans.
“The park? I never rode my bike around the park, the most I did was find a tree and read. But I never told her—” Cat paused as understanding hit her. “I look to my right when I lie. God, is there anything you don’t miss?”
“You’d be surprised at how much I miss. So, what gives? Why don’t you want to see Mackenzie? Especially since this whole thing is to get back into her good books.”
She shut her eyes.
There was no point avoiding the truth, since apparently Alex Locke had superpowers when it came to her. Considering the effect he had on her lately, it could be awkward.
“So, I might’ve exaggerated when I said the article was flowing like a river. And by ‘might’ve’ I mean ‘totally.’ There’s no word tsunami. Hell, there’s no words. I’m screwed. And you’re right. We’ve done all this work just to watch it go down the drain. Or, in this case the septic tank.”
“Cat, you’re a great writer.”
“I guess we’ll never know because unless I can find the mysterious school maintenance guy, I won’t have a story. I’m starting to think he doesn’t exist. He’s just a fictional name someone’s created to scam the school for a paycheck. Which for the record, would make a great story, but I won’t be able to write it because I’ll be kicked off the paper. See how this thing works?” Even to her own ears, her voice was tinged with hysteria.
Alex tilted his head, and a half smile tugged at his mouth.
Glad he’s finding it so amusing.
“Come with me.” He headed toward the exit with long strides.
“Where to?” Cat hurried after him as they came out by the dumpsters behind the cafeteria. A couple of janitors were sitting on upturned crates drinking soda with their legs out, trying to catch the shafts of sunflower sunshine. He nodded as he walked past, and Cat jogged to keep up. She’d never been to this part of the school because it was out of bounds.
He came to a halt at a nondescript outbuilding with a Danger sign hanging from the door. He knocked three times and stepped back. She wasn’t quite sure whether to be terrified or intrigued.
The door opened, and a head appeared. It was a guy in his thirties, and as soon as he saw Alex, his scowl faded, and he grinned.
“What’s up, Al?”
Al?
In what universe did anyone call him Al?
Cat widened her eyes as Alex grinned at the guy.
“Tony, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine. Her name’s Cat, and she’s writing an article on the school’s new septic tank.”
“You’re the maintenance guy?” Cat’s mouth dropped open as she looked from Tony to Alex and then back again.
“Shhhh.” Tony held his finger up to his mouth and winked at Alex. “I have enough work to do as it without students bugging me all day long to fix their lockers and retrieve their shoes from whatever roof or toilet where they managed to lose them. Kids are idiots. Er, apart from you two. So, Cat, tell me how I can help…”
Chapter Five
Alex pulled down the roller doors, the metal squealing in protest until it hit the cement floor. The garage was shut for the day. While he wasn’t a trained mechanic, he’d worked there long enough to take bookings, change oil and tires, and do the grunt work, including keeping the place tidy. Grease hung in the air and coated his skin as he sorted out the tools before he walked outside and up the stairs to the small apartment that sat above the workshop.
When he first moved in, it had been filled with posters of half-naked girls, along with mismatched furniture. Joe had told him to make himself at home, but he hadn’t done much more than pull down the posters, give the place a good clean, and buy a bookshelf and a study light.
What was the point of getting comfortable when he’d be out of there in one year and counting? He grabbed a shower and was just toweling off his hair when there was a knock at the door.
He frowned as he hastily dragged his T-shirt on and stepped into his jeans.
It would be Pete, the other mechanic, probably kicked out again by his girlfriend and wanting to bunk on Alex’s couch. He yanked the door open, and his mouth dropped.
Cat.
She was wearing her favorite band T-shirt tied in at her waist to show off just a hint of stomach. She looked cute as all hell. His skin prickled, and his eyes drifted to her full lips, slick with some kind of pale gloss. Edible.
Oh, crap.
“What are you doing here?” The words came out harsher than he intended, and he watched the color rise in her cheeks. Smooth.
“Hey,” she said as she clutched at her backpack. Her hair was hanging down around her shoulders, and her dark eyes were shining. “Your hair’s wet.”
“Shower,” he said before wincing. He was really mastering the inane today.
“Oh.” She looked down to her boots and then peered up from between her lashes. “Is it weird I’m here?”
Weird? Dangerous? Brain melting?
Tough one to call.
“Um, no I guess it’s fine. Is everything okay? It’s not Bennet?”
“What?” Her face wrinkled before understanding seemed to dawn. “No, nothing like that. It’s good news, and I wanted to tell you, but then it seemed dumb to call when I had to run an errand and was walking straight past here. But then when I knocked, I suddenly wondered if it—”
“Might be weird,” he finished. She was still on the top stair while he clutched the door in some kind of stand-off. “Do you want to come in?”
“Sure. I mean, yeah,” she said, though her mouth was set in an uncertain line as he stepped back. He caught her scent—it was sunshine and oak trees and safety.
And it could lead directly to trouble.
“Cool.” He took another step back as she swept past and scanned the room, no doubt taking in the wallpaper, which was an explosion of brown swirls. It might’ve worked in some hipster café, but in a beat-up old apartment it was headache inducing.
“I’m not sure what I imagined your place would be like, but this wasn’t it.” She looked around.
“Yeah, well, I’m in the middle of changing decorators. You know how tough it can be.”
“The pain is real, my friend.” She grinned as she walked over to the old couch. He’d covered it with one of the colorful afghans Birdie had given him. It was more to hide the cigarette burns left by the previous owner than anything else, but as Cat smiled, he made a mental note to keep it.
“You sure everything’s okay?” He double-checked, still not quite sure what to make of her visit. It was like when he was a kid and had first seen his second-grade teacher at the lake wearing a swimsuit, chatting and smiling, instead of standing in front of the classroom reciting times tables. Surreal. Confusing.
And probably not something I should dwell on.
“Better than okay.” Her Cat-like smile reduced the knots in his stomach, and he allowed himself to sit down on a nearby chair. “I finished the article and handed it in. I thought you might want to read it.”
“Sure,” he said and then instantly regretted it as she leaned forward to pass him the folder she’d been holding. Her finger brushed his, and his skin prickled.
He swallowed hard and started to read. If anything could cool him down, it would be an article on the inner workings of septic tanks.
“Waste Not Want Not”
by Cat Turner.
For most people at Franklin High, a trip to the bathroom isn’t something they like to talk about. But that’s where they’re wrong…
Alex temporarily forgot about her presence as he finished the article. It was like she’d bottled her essence and then poured it directly onto the page.
He looked back at her. She was curled in the chair like one of her furry namesakes, all wide-eyed and gorgeous as her fingers linked together trying to hide the nervous tension. She leaned forward, the soft curve of her throat doing wicked things to his heart rate.
Get a grip.
“It’s great. Mackenzie must’ve loved it.”
“She did,” Cat agreed before wrinkling her nose. “Well, she didn’t use those exact words, but she didn’t throw a stapler at my head like she did with Eva Quentin, or make me cry by pointing out all my typos like she did to Stewart, so I’m taking it as a win.”
“Definitely,” he said admiring the calm air that always surrounded her. It had been there from the first time they’d met, when he’d climbed the fence and seen her sitting under the tree. He’d been thirteen, angry as all hell and not in the mood for anything soft or good or nice. And there she was. He’d never been sure if the unmistakable aura was to remind him she was special, or off-limits. Either way, it had singled her out.
Which was all part of the problem.
“You did more than that. You introduced me to Tony. As my mom’s third most popular card says, Don’t say. Do. I get what it means now. It’s all about what you actually do, not just what you say you’ll do,” Cat said as faint pink lines spread across her cheeks. He forced himself to lean back in his chair like there weren’t a thousand volts racing through his body.
She’s not for you.
He raised an eyebrow as he remembered the card in question. “You’re saying I’m a tortoise who keeps on going in the background while the hare stands still and talks about winning the race?” It had the desired result of making her laugh again.
“It means I owe you. Again,” she added. “How do you even know Tony?”
Alex flinched. Normally at this point, he’d just insert a lie, followed by a blank look and a shoulder shrug. It was the quickest way to get people to back off so he could retreat to his own world. Except Cat was already in his world. Well, in his apartment. He suspected she wouldn’t let it go quickly. Downside of her being a curious writer.
He rubbed his hand through his hair and turned away. “Before the accident, when things were tight, I’d take the girls to the soup kitchen on Anfield Avenue. Tony volunteered there and always made sure the girls had enough food.”
“Oh.” Cat’s face drained of color. “That really sucks.”
And some.
“It is what it is.” Alex shrugged, trying to ignore the emotions pounding at his temples like a storm, crashing into his throat—too many of them to be contained in his body. He needed to hit something. Or go for a drive. Anything to release the pain.
This was hell.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to sit with it, while Cat stared at him from over on the couch.
And here it comes. The questions. The curiosity about what kind of mother
let her kids go hungry. The judgment.
“Thanks for telling me. I guess it’s not something you like to think about very often.” Her eyes—more golden than brown in the dull light—were grave rather than sympathetic. The pounding in his chest receded.
“Not so much,” he agreed, not quite able to look away. The air throbbed with energy, and he caught his breath.
“People try and ask me about my dad,” she said. “Like how much it must suck, and how I must hate it. Sometimes I just pretend to agree with them, but the truth is I never think about him anymore. Why should I? I don’t even know the guy. He bailed on us, so why would I want to meet him. Shit.” She stiffened, and her cheeks reddened. “I don’t even know why I said that. I didn’t mean to compare it to what you’ve been through. But, I do totally get why you don’t like thinking about what happened.”
“Big fan of not thinking,” he said, grateful she’d inched the conversation away from the accident. “And hey, your dad’s the one who’s missing out, not you.”
“Right. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know his daughter had written what might be the first ever septic tank article with heart.” She seemed to shake off the serious expression in her eyes as she reached into her backpack. “Which leads me to the other reason I’m here. When Mackenzie was yelling at Sydney about the layout, I saw this on her desk.”
“You took something from Mackenzie’s desk? Don’t tell me you’re turning to a life of crime.” He raised an eyebrow as she produced a familiar piece of paper. He groaned.
“I photocopied it,” she said as she held it up. “I take it you already know what it is.”
He nodded. It was for the Summerset Trust scholarship, set up by the Summerset family, one of Franklin’s finest, or at least richest. He hadn’t bothered to look at it because what was the point? He hadn’t even been able to get a scholarship set up by a local charity that specialized in helping orphaned students in financial difficulties. His chances of getting this one were slim to not-in-this-lifetime.
“I know you mean well. But there’s no point applying.”
“No point applying for a full-ride at college?” She put the paper down on the ancient coffee table and folded her arms. “That’s ridiculous.”
The Heartbreak Cure Page 5
