Muttering some obscenities, she jumped from her seat, once again knocking the wooden table to the side. This time the mug of tea didn’t just rattle, it fell over, spilling the thankfully now lukewarm liquid over my khaki pants and right onto my crotch.
“Arghh!” I instinctively yelled, stumbling out of my seat. The coffee shop audience snickered, undoubtedly snapping photos of me to post online. I really couldn’t give a shit, though. All I cared about was the fact that Mallory was now running out the door.
Chapter 8
Mallory
Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, burning the inside of my eyelids. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t let any of them see me cry.
I ran out of the cafe, sucking in the cool California air. However, not even the fresh air could make me relax. I was downright humiliated.
“Mallory! Mallory, wait up!”
“Go away!” I barked, quickening my pace. I would have sprinted away had it not been for the flimsy sandals covering my feet. It was truly the wrong fashion choice and one I had made to impress Asher.
Stupid me.
“Wait, I need to talk to you,” he pleaded.
I navigated down the sidewalk, hoping to lose him in the crowd by Mission Beach. It was like a scene right out of the movies. I dodged to the left and then to the right, like an invisible dance between San Diego’s tourists, desperate to get away. With the boardwalk in sight, I thought I was home free, but nearly shit my pants when I felt someone tug at my arm.
“Please just give me one minute. I just want to talk to you about something.” Asher spun me around so quickly it nearly gave me whiplash. I’d always considered myself a pretty good height, but even at five-foot seven Asher practically towered over me. I gulped, staring at his well-defined pecs, which were visible through his form-fitting tee, before finally lifting my gaze to meet his.
I tried to yank my arm away to no avail and scowled. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to call the cops.” To my relief, one of San Diego’s finest happened to choose that moment to whiz by on a bicycle. I eyed Asher and lifted an eyebrow. “It’ll only take just one scream.”
“Fine. You win. Just please hear me out for a second.” He immediately dropped his hand from me, leaving an imprint of his warmth on my skin. The vague reminder of our night together caused a flutter to build deep inside of me.
I cleared my throat, pushing those thoughts away. “What do you want with me?”
His eyebrows lifted as if enjoying his own private joke, but I didn’t see anything remotely amusing about the situation.
After pausing for a beat, Asher took a deep breath and solemnly looked me in the eyes. “Mallory, I think I’m pregnant.”
Sleepless nights, diapers, bottles, and baby blankets flashed in mind in an ‘oh, fuck’ moment. Pure terror ran rampant through me before I was hit straight in the face with reality.
Asher threw his head back and broke out into a loud laugh. “Oh my gosh, I totally got you, didn’t I? Shit!”
Scowling, I shook my head and grunted. “Can you answer me like a mature adult? Why did you want to meet up with me if you…”
I let my sentence trail off. I’d already embarrassed myself once and would not do it again. I pressed my lips together, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “You have five seconds, or I’m really calling the cops. You know stalking is a federal offense in California, right?”
He bowed his head and smiled apologetically. God, why did bad boys have to look so cute?
“Okay, I’m sorry for messing with you. It’s just a lot easier to joke around to tell the truth about why I wanted to see you.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. My skin grew cold as I waited impatiently for him to continue. When he remained quiet, I prodded, “Why did you have to go viral with my picture? What is so important that you had the whole World Wide Web looking for me?”
“I guess I have a lot of friends online sympathetic to my need.”
I gulped. “And what need is that?”
“To break the jinx.”
I stared at him, unblinking. “I’m sorry, can you say that again?”
He sighed as if it pained him to have to repeat himself. “To break the jinx—your jinx. You’re a jinx.”
If I hadn’t already felt like crying before, this time I was on the verge of sobbing. I pressed my lips together, biting the inside of my cheek to prevent one tear from being shed. I calmly took a step around Asher, ready to say goodbye to him, that night, and just everything Asher in general.
“Mallory, wait a minute,” he called after me.
I turned at my waist and glared at him. “You just fucking called me a jinx. Why would I even want to talk to you?”
“Don’t you want to know how I know you jinxed me?” he asked in genuine disbelief that I really did not care.
“Um, no?” I huffed away, grunting quietly to myself. Unfortunately, Asher wouldn’t let it end like that.
“I’m a b-boy, you know a breakdancer,” he yelled out, once again drawing attention to us.
Cheeks warming, I spun on my heel and stomped over to him, grabbing onto his forearm. Even in my angry stupor, I couldn’t ignore the way his firm muscles tensed under my touch. Yanking him toward me, I led him to the cement wall lining the sand, gesturing for him to sit down. “If talking to you is going to get you to stop yelling in public, then come on, spill it.”
He sat down slowly, perching his ass at the edge of the waist high wall. I tapped my feet impatiently, ready to get the weird meeting over with.
“Well?” I raised my arms in the air.
He cocked his head to the side and laughed. “For someone as gorgeous as you are, you really don’t take to people staring at you well, do you? I would have assumed you’d be used to people checking you out all the time.”
Okay, I really wasn’t expecting that. I averted my gaze, looking anywhere but at him.
“And you don’t take compliments well, either. That’s too bad.”
I groaned in exasperation. “Just get on with it.”
He took a deep breath and explained, “Fine. Like I said, I’m a b-boy. I battle.”
“Battle?” I frowned, glancing at him curiously.
“I compete in breakdancing competitions,” he explained patiently.
“Oh, like those underground things where you dance on street corners and stuff?”
“Not too underground,” he mumbled. “And not on street corners. We’re not prostitutes, okay, Mallory?”
I shrugged, earning another amused grunt from him.
“Anyway, I don’t battle a lot since I’m always gone filming, but when I do, I never lose. At least, not until after I hooked up with you.”
“A bit too full of yourself, eh?” I mused, scrunching up my mouth in distaste.
“Look, I’m not cocky; I just work really hard and am really ambitious. I practice hours and hours a day. I don’t lose because of my work ethic. Not because I’m some arrogant self-entitled bastard, okay?”
The corners of my mouth tugged up into a soft smile. Being one to practice until the crack of dawn, I knew the definition of work ethic pretty well and I also knew the sting of losing after putting in so much hard work. Still, I couldn’t believe what he was accusing me of!
“So you think somehow sleeping with me caused you to lose?” I asked in pure disbelief.
He nodded adamantly. “Yes! God, I’m so happy you understand. I thought you’d look at me as if I were insane…kind of like the way you’re looking at me now.” He frowned, scanning my crinkled forehead and opened mouth.
I shook my head slowly. “What fantasy movie did you just step out of? Sorry, but this is real life. No wands, potions, or werewolf imprinting here.”
He rolled his eyes. “Dude, this is as real as it gets!”
“Don’t call me dude,” I snapped.
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Habit.”
“You don’t really know how to talk to women, do you? First
you call me a jinx and now you call me a dude.”
“Given that you ended up in my bed last week, I’m pretty sure I did know how to talk to you,” he said with a smirk.
My face fell and eyes darkened. “And I am officially done. Goodbye.”
Before I could turn to leave, he squeaked frantically, “Wait, I’m sorry. I’m just freaking out right now. I need to figure out how to fix this jinx.”
“How are you so sure it’s me? Maybe you just suck now.” I snapped my fingers and eyed him pointedly.
His shoulders sagged forward. “I guess I deserve that.”
“Yup,” I replied with a pop of the P.
“But that’s not it, I swear. I couldn’t even land my signature move! In fact, I can’t land half of my moves anymore.”
“Again, I’m not following how this is my problem.”
In a tone that reeked desperation, he asked, “Do you follow sports?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“I don’t either.” He scratched at his head and scrunched his mouth. “You look like the kind of girl that follows celebrity news, though.”
“Uh, no. Can’t say that I do that either,” I replied in a bored tone. Though my attention would be piqued any time Theo James was mentioned, I literally couldn’t give a shit what Hollywood was up to. Besides being too busy practicing piano, it wasn’t as if these celebrities could better my life in any way.
He groaned. “Just throw me a bone, will you? You have to know about the sports jinx—you know, sports superstitions.”
“You mean how baseball players have to use the same bats during every game or how basketball players use the same sneakers?” I offered.
“Yes!” he exclaimed, sighing with relief.
“I’m not a pair of sneakers, and if you’re thinking about sleeping with me again before every competition, forget about it,” I hissed.
“I don’t fuck sneakers,” he joked.
I shot him a look.
“Kidding, kidding, and no, why would I want to sleep with you again?”
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.
“That’s…that’s not what I meant.” He sighed and ran his hands through his mess of dark waves. “There’s a superstition about girlfriends and stuff too.”
My heart immediately skipped a beat. “Girlfriend?”
He nodded. “Kind of like how that singer dated a football player, which caused him to have his worst season ever. They ended up breaking up shortly after.”
I reached into the deepest recesses of my mind, vaguely remembering that story. “Yeah, I think I know what you’re talking about.” I shifted my weight uncomfortably. “So you’re telling me that you actually think I jinxed you by sleeping with you and it’s affecting your game?”
“Exactly!” He puffed his chest out as if proud I had figured it all out.
“What do you want me to do about it?” I asked curiously.
“I don’t know…cast your magic spell or something. It’s not like we’re dating or anything, so I just can’t dump you and walk away.”
My eyes bugged out to the point of nearly drying out. “Again, this is real life. No wands here, Harry Potter. And wow, you are one womanizing asshole, aren’t you?”
“I’m desperate! There has to be something you can do!”
“Sorry, but I don’t have some horcrux up my ass that you can destroy,” I snapped.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I never called you a whore.”
I stared at him incredulously and shook my head. “Never mind.” I took a deep breath and took a few steps away from him, intent on finally leaving once and for all. “This was a gigantic waste of time. Goodbye, Asher.”
“Don’t leave!” he pleaded desperately. “I really need to figure this out.”
Though my patience was running thin, there was a certain look on his face that looked mildly familiar. The desperation and the pain—it was the exact expression I wore when Damien announced Sarah was given the solo. As much as I didn’t want to prolong the conversation, I figured maybe I did owe him some sort of solution to his problem. I mean, he did scour the internet for me.
I bowed my head and sighed. “Did you stop to think that it may just have been a fluke?”
“A fluke?”
I nodded. “When’s your next competition?”
“Battle,” he corrected.
“Battle,” I repeated good-naturedly. “Why don’t you see if you win that one? You might surprise yourself.”
“And what if I don’t? Will you help me then?”
I could have walked away. I could have forgotten about that night forever. However, as I stared at his pleading eyes, I knew I couldn’t. If I couldn’t help myself achieve my dream, I might as well help somebody else…right?
Against my better judgment, I nodded. “If you lose, give me a call.”
“But I don’t have your number.”
“I was just about to give it to you,” I snapped in irritation. As I dictated the digits to him, I couldn’t help but notice how quickly the tension in his neck and shoulders relaxed, as if I really was some big help to him. Shoot, if one of us could walk away with a win, then why the hell not?
Once his phone was back in the confines of those tailored jeans that hugged his butt so nicely, I bit my lip and bounced my shoulders. “So I guess this is the part where I say I hope you don’t call me?”
As hard as I tried denying it, the thought of never hearing from Asher surprisingly disappointed me, which was ridiculous considering how irritated he made me in just the few minutes we had talked.
“Yeah…” His voice sounded deeper, almost lost in thought. “I guess we’ll hope for that.”
Chapter 9
Asher
The California landscape flew past the car’s windows, palm trees becoming nothing but blurs of greens and brown. The cab of the car was quiet except for the low hum of the radio, which played some weird indie hit that sounded like somebody whining.
My mind drifted to that day’s event, twisting my stomach in anxiety. Practice that morning had once again sucked, leaving my face burned by my continuous impact with the floor. With not one of my moves landing cleanly, I’d need a miracle to even advance a single round in that day’s battle.
“Yo, you here, buddy?” Gerald twisted in his seat, eyeing me intently.
I rubbed at the edge of my nose and sniffed. “Yeah, man. Just thinking.”
“About that girl?”
I pressed the side of my head against the cool glass of the backseat window and frowned. Mallory was not what I expected, not that I had any idea of what to expect once we met again. I was still pretty much attracted to her, but given how beautiful she was, that wasn’t really much of a surprise.
What did shock me was the fact that she didn’t seem as laid back as she had during our night at Club Mal. Then again we were both deathly sober the second time around, and I had accused of her being some wizard. Hopefully she was right and everything was just a weird ass fluke, but judging by my practice session earlier that morning, she’d probably get a call from me soon. I patted my phone in the front pocket of my jeans, almost feeling it burn a hole in my skin.
Gerald rolled his eyes at my silence and spun back in his seat, nudging Mahone in the shoulder. “Why don’t you stop tailing so badly?”
“Why don’t you stop complaining? Unless you want to drive,” Mahone muttered back.
“How much longer until we get to L.A.?” I asked, interrupting the two―they fought like an old married couple. I spotted Mahone glancing up at me from the rearview mirror in surprise.
“Ah, so he speaks. Thought you’d be mute the whole drive up,” Gerald replied.
“How much longer?” I pressed, feeling a bit annoyed. Despite their initial help, my friends didn’t seem as understanding about my plight anymore. Probably chalking it up to just wanting to get back in Mallory’s pants and being rejected, they all but brushed the whole jinx idea off.
“Forty minutes
.”
“Forty minutes,” I mumbled under my breath. Forty minutes until we reached Cal U and another hour until we found out if this jinx was really just a fluke.
***
It wasn’t a fluke.
It was as far from a fucking fluke as possible.
Drenched in sweat, I bent over, resting my hands on my thighs. My greasy hair flopped over, lying flat against my forehead, probably making me look as pathetic as I felt.
I tried and I failed…miserably.
My right cheek was tender, the newly formed bruise a testament to how hard I worked for it. All my effort didn’t matter; I was disqualified in the first round after my arm gave out during my failed attempt at scissor kicks.
The battle’s giant MC shot me a smirk, practically shoving me off the dance floor as he announced the competitors for the next round. Ignoring the disappointed looks from Grom Attack, I stepped around the crowd of seated audience members, pushing my way toward the back door just as a b-girl named Aura and b-boy named Spinja took to the floor. I’d been gone from the scene way too long and had no idea who they were, but judging by the audience’s cheers, they were definitely some crowd favorites.
“Hey, Hollywood, where you going?” a voice I didn’t recognize called out to me, snickering as I escaped the crowded bar.
“It’s Hellhound,” I barked in anger, practically kicking against the dingy glass door. It took me a brief second to realize I had gone out the back way, but not wanting to turn around, I sucked it up and stomped into the bar’s back alley. It wasn’t until the pungent odor of a nearby dumpster hit my nostrils did I fully regret running out of the battle. However, it would take more than a garbage bin that smelled like five different kinds of shit and STDs to make me want to go back inside the venue with my tail between my legs. I’d just wait it out a few minutes so my sulking wasn’t too obvious.
Breaking Hearts (B-boy #3) Page 5
