The Girl in the Mirror (Sand & Fog #3)

by Susan Ward

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you,” he says softly, sternly, but, oh, his voice…low and sexy and some kind of accent I’ve never been able to place—Midwest? Southwest? Southern?—definitely not Californian, but it sure is hot. Sort of a slow drawl with a caress on the end.

  “That’s stupid. All the security guys talk to us.”

  He locks me in his gorgeous hazel eyes. “They’re not supposed to.”

  I glance up at him impishly. “And do you always do what you’re supposed to do?”

  He ignores the question.

  Stupid one.

  Of course he does. He’s Jacob Merrick, GI Joe hardnose perfect.

  “How long have you been out of the military?” I ask.

  “One year,” he says on a releasing breath, annoyed.

  “Well, here’s a clue, grunt.” His eyes flash; yep, I’ve heard the other guys call him that. “This isn’t the army. When last I checked, we were all in Pacific Palisades. Lighten up. You’re allowed to smile and talk here.”

  His impassive features don’t soften an inch. “Will that be all, Miss?”

  Miss that time.

  I study him, then lift my leg into the car.

  He shuts the door.

  Through the open window, I say at his retreating back, “It’s nice chatting with you, Jacob. We should do this again sometime.”

  No response.

  Didn’t expect one.

  He’s back on patrol.

  I take peeks at him in the rearview mirror as I pull from the driveway. Hot guy, thoroughly annoying and confusing, and not worth the time to figure out since next week I’m out of here and Jacob Merrick will be in the rearview forever.

  * * *

  Madison laughs, sitting back in her chair. “You called him security person? You didn’t?”

  My cheeks warm. “Yep, I did. But in fairness you don’t know Jacob. He won’t even look me in the eye and he’s always so standoffish. Like my very presence bothers him.”

  “Maybe it does.” She makes a playful lift of her brows.

  I crinkle my nose. “No, Maddy. It’s not like that. Trust me, it isn’t that guy interested in a girl and playing it cool thing. He’s worked for our family six months and he hardly talks to anyone. Me least of all.”

  She looks down at my place. “Is that all you’re going to eat?”

  I only half finished my lettuce vegan wrap. “Yep, I’m done. It wasn’t very good and I’m not that hungry after dealing with the security person.”

  She laughs, then abruptly switches directions and shakes her head at me. “Well, you might like the food better if you ate something worth eating once in a while. How do you take it, only ever having that crap you eat? Come on, live a little. Have some dessert with me or something. We’re celebrating. Your last weekend before you’re a college girl. And it’s not like you need to lose weight. You’re thin enough as it is.”

  She scoops up some of her fries and dumps them on my plate. I ignore them. “I can’t eat those. I’m at optimal ballet weight. I can’t start stacking on the pounds a week before school starts, Maddy.”

  She grimaces. “If that’s optimal weight maybe you should go to college for something other than dancing. Jeez, you are practically nothing but muscle and bone.”

  “Jealous?” I taunt.

  “No. Shoot me. I’d rather eat what I want.”

  I focus on pushing my plate away because I know she’s not jealous of me. I’m jealous of her. Five foot nine inches of long-legged and big-boobed California golden girl hotness.

  She looks exactly like a younger, more statuesque version of my mother.

  She’s Chrissie perfect.

  Even if I ate six meals a day, I could never compete in the looks department with Madison. I’d just end up fat, as well as flat chested, totally average, and short.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” I ask.

  She nods, shoveling another mouthful of her burger into her, and I wave for the waitress to bring us our check.

  As we walk to the car she loops her arm around me. “We’re going to have fun this weekend. We won’t see each other again for months. So lighten up, Krystal. Whatever is bothering you—the security person or whatever—get over it.”

  “Nothing is bothering me. I’m in a great mood.”

  “Then let’s start acting like it,” Madison says spiritedly as she makes a dramatic whoosh with her hips before dropping down in the car.

  I stop with my door open. “Wait here. I forgot something.”

  Madison frowns. “What?”

  “I think I left my credit card in the check holder. Stay here. Be right back.”

  After slamming the door, I hurry back into the restaurant, my body clammy and my pulse racing.

  The impulse.

  The need.

  Sharply in me.

  Even before I ate dinner.

  It started back at the house right after I woke.

  When I hadn’t had anything but coffee for breakfast.

  Oh please, don’t let Madison follow me.

  I go into the bathroom, stare at my reflection, and breathe in then out in a feeble effort to stop myself.

  I go into the stall anyway.

  I shove my finger in my throat.

  Well practiced, the contents of my stomach leave me. And then I flush away my lettuce wrap down the toilet.

  At the vanity I wash my face and take from my purse the small bottle of mouthwash I carry. I swish it around. I try not to look at my reflection.

  I’m not optimal weight.

  I’m seven pounds too heavy.

  Chapter Four

  I study my reflection in the wall mirror. Simple pale pink sundress, a shrug—such a ballet type of accessorizing, inescapable—flats instead of flip-flops.

  No need to show off my toes and feet. Definitely nothing worth showing today or really most days. I wiggle them in the soft leather and I can feel every tender spot from heel to nail.

  There’s always something touchy-ouchy on my feet.

  They never look good.

  Just like my outfits.

  Concealing and not revealing.

  That person who said a girl should always dress for success obviously wasn’t a dancer, and it’s not like I need to stress over outfits with Daryl.

  I knew he was just the guy for me the first time I kissed him, and he performed exactly how I expected him to when I gave him my virginity a year ago.

  Rough. Selfish. Quick.

  It’s so easy to identify the Daryls of this world.

  It’s like basic math, the answer always the same. If a guy sticks his tongue down your throat and considers it kissing, he doesn’t know squat about sex. Why are girls always surprised by the absolute of that equation? As if the way a guy kisses isn’t a tell before you go all the way with them.

  No, how bad it was didn’t surprise me, but how agreeable he was to my suggestions on how we could improve our sexual relationship did surprise me and is the only reason I continued dating him. And let’s face it, sex is a need—just like food—even for me.

  Daryl is how I shut off biological preoccupation.

  You won’t find me messing up my life by turning into an idiot over some guy. No, sir. He’s just a vaccine I use so I can focus on what I want.

  Becoming a prima ballerina before twenty-two.

  Mastering my weight when it often wants to master me.

  Living a famous and celebrated life in the dance world, far from California where my parents and grandfather dominate the music world.

  Even getting the future you want is like basic math. Identify the variables that get you where you want to go: hard work, sacrifice, focus, and determination. Remove the variables that fuck up every girl: guys, sex, want of love, and having a substantive relationship with the male species.

  All I require from a guy is a movie sometimes, a lay now and then—in the way I prefer
sex—and someone to hang with during the high school social moments that too frequently are unavoidable.

  Daryl is dependable.

  Predictable.

  He shows up when I want him.

  He stays away when I don’t.

  Really, why does a girl need more than that?

  Tossing aside the mascara, I turn toward Madison sauntering into the room, chomping happily on chips and looking fantastic when all she did was change her clothes into a sexy black short-short romper.

  She plops on the bed, lying on her stomach with the chip bag dangling over the edge pointing in my direction.

  “Are we really just having Daryl and Nick over tonight?” she asks between chomps. “I thought you were joking about not wanting a sendoff party. That I’d come down here to find it all arranged and that you’d put the word out. Jeez, in four days you’ll be gone to the Big Apple. We should have a party. Yeah? Good idea?”

  Her blue eyes sparkle up at me, hopeful and pressing.

  Laughing, I drop onto the bed next to her. “No party. I’m not in the mood for anything intense. I’m not going to see Daryl for months. Don’t you wanna just do a couples thing tonight?”

  She springs to sit cross-legged beside me. “Yes. But a variation. We can do couples things while having a party. You definitely deserve it.”

  “No, not in the mood for too many people and too much drama.”

  “Maybe you would be if you ate something.” The chip bag starts dancing in front of me. “Come on, Krystal. I thought we were going to get crazy.”

  I take one chip out of the bag so she’ll stop shoving them at me. “OK. Revision. We start as a couples thing, but if it’s boring, we put out the word.”

  Her face lights up. “Deal, sista.” She climbs from the bed, doing a useless tug on her hem to cover her legs better with her shorts, but really, how the hell do you cover those endless rails with a few inches of fabric? At the door she turns back and crinkles her nose. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”

  My cheeks heat. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  She shrugs. “Nothing. You look cute. It’s just”—her index finger taps the side of her mouth as she studies me— “it’s not a very date night outfit. Not if you want to get Daryl hot for you.”

  I shake my head, annoyed. “Trust me. Just saying yes tonight—which I plan to since it’s my last opportunity for sex before I leave—instead of no, don’t want to is all I’ll need with Daryl to get him hot.”

  She giggles. “A touch conceited, Krystal? God, you’re awful.”

  Well, that was rude.

  I lift my chin. “No. Not conceited. Teenage guys, so predictable.”

  Madison’s mirth melts as her mouth contorts—a little open O on one side—and she makes an irritating sucking-in sound in the way she does to express I share your pain.

  She scrunches up her nose. “Wouldn’t it be nice if guys were a sure thing about more things than sex?”

  “I think Nick is a sure thing in all things for you,” I tease, my face moving into hers as I pass her at the door.

  She tosses her long golden hair, lifting her nose. “Yep, definitely a slam dunk on everything. Kind of takes the fun out of dating.”

  In the kitchen I pull out a pricy bottle of chilled white wine—one of my few, if rare, caloric indulgences—and go to the cabinet for glasses. “Dating in high school is so pathetic. High school guys are such jerks.”

  Madison settles on a stool, planting her elbows on the island with her chin on her balled fists. “Not Daryl. He worships you. Calls you his dancing queen and goddess to his friends.”

  My mouth gapes. “Not really? You’re joking, right?”

  Madison’s gaze shimmers as she shakes her head. “No. That’s what Daryl calls you to Nick. I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

  I grimace as I open the wine. “Yuck. I would have preferred never to know that. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before today. Not cool, Maddy.”

  Her eyes widen innocently. “I thought you knew. Like, how could you not know? He never calls you that during the heated moments?”

  “No, and trust me, Daryl doesn’t do a lot of talking during…things. And now I’m glad he doesn’t. Those pet names are so guy-juvenile and demeaning.”

  “I think it’s sweet. You’re always too sensitive about the wrong things.”

  “Being called a goddess? I don’t consider that a wrong thing to get ticked about.”

  “It’s a compliment,” she says, exasperated.

  I pour the wine. “It doesn’t feel like one.”

  “Trust me, it is.”

  “What does Nick call you to his friends?”

  She smiles in that Madison dewy-eyed way. “Free bird. Legs, and wild child.”

  Oh God, her expression says she actually likes it.

  I go to the fridge for a bag of prewashed, precut carrots, and as an afterthought grab a few small squares of manchego cheese.

  I slowly munch as I study Madison. “Are you dumping Nick before you take off for U of H, or are you guys going to do that whole long-distance thing until it ends on its own?”

  My question surprises her. “No. Definitely not dumping him. Why would we end on our own?”

  “Duh. Because you’re going to be like three thousand miles away on the Hawaiian Islands surrounded by buff, tan, totally hot guys. And Nick plans to live at home and do nothing with his life after graduation like the rest of the losers here.”

  “He’s not a loser and he does have a plan,” she counters heatedly and then her eyes widen. “Oh crap! That’s why we’re having a hookup weekend instead of a going-away bash for you. You’re going to slam, bam, goodbye Daryl this weekend. I knew something was up when I saw that dress.”

  The dress again! I fight to keep my expression neutral. “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like? Don’t you pretend with me, Krystal. I’m onto your game. Just the four of us. Bon voyage fuck and then you are kicking Daryl to the door, and worse, with us here. You guys have been together two years. You are planning on humiliating him in front of Nick, his best friend. Not nice.”

  Madison’s eyes rake my face in a blistering way before she grabs the empty chip bag and shoves it into the compactor.

  “Has it occurred to you that Daryl might be trying to figure out how to dump me?” I say at her back. “He’s off to Northwestern. I’ll be in Manhattan. We won’t have any time together. It’s time. The way things go after high school. Everyone breaks up before going off to college.”

  “Bullshit. You’re just trying to make yourself feel better about doing a really shitty thing.”

  “I am not!”

  “Yeah, you are. I know you, how that mind of yours works.”

  Icy pricks run my body. “What’s that supposed to mean? How my mind works?”

  “Everything logical. Everything committed to your agenda.”

  “I don’t have an agenda, and there is nothing wrong with having an organized plan for your future.”

  “Organized? Is that what you call it?”

  Now I’m mad. “Yes.”

  She pushes off her stool. “You study four hours a day, obsessed with never getting less than an A. You dance four hours a day so you will always be the best in your company. You eat practically nothing, paranoid about putting on weight when, hell, if anyone should eat a pizza or two it’s you. You participate in the social scene as little as possible. You have two minutes a day for me, when I’m pretty sure I’m the only friend you have outside of dance la-la land. I doubt you have more than a half second for Daryl each week. You don’t see a problem with that?”

  My stomach turns.

  Every part of that is accurate but, fuck, my life sounds awful when she says it that way.

  “God, do you always have to be so dramatic, Maddy? It’s not like that and you know it.” I grab the carrots off the counter and re
turn them to the fridge. “Can we just let it go? I don’t want to get into a wicked fight. Not tonight. You’re never going to understand how much commitment and dedication it takes to be an accomplished ballerina, and there’s no point in trying to explain it now.”

  She plants her palms on the island and leans in to me in an unnerving manner. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m just worried about you.”

  Exhaling, I relax my posture, hoping to defuse things before they blow up completely. “You don’t have to be concerned, Maddy. Everything in my life is exactly as I want it.”

  Her eyes bore into mine as she lifts her chin. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Maybe you should ask yourself if that’s a good thing.”

  The door chimes sound.

  Saved by the bell.

  “Can we go let the guys in?” I ask.

  “Will you think about what I said?”

  Fudge, she’s not letting up on this.

  My lips pucker as I fight back angry words. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

  She shakes her head at me. “No, you won’t. We both know that. But I’m not going to stop trying. You really worry me sometimes, Krystal.”

  Madison’s expression changes into something sad and intense, and out of nowhere a very uncomfortable feeling moves through me.

  “Jeez, Maddy, I just want to be a prima ballerina someday. You make it sound like I’m trying to be a drug dealer or like it deserves an intervention or something.”

  “Maybe it does.”

  “Really?”

  I gracefully flutter across the tile toward the foyer, throwing in an expert pirouette—though deliberately in an in your face way—before smiling and answering the door.

  Chapter Five

  After a fast kiss, Daryl goes to the state-of-the-art sound system in the living room while Madison and Nick are still lip-locked as they move to the couch.

  I settle in a chair a discreet distance from the lusty couple, trying not to glance at them as Daryl rummages through the digital playlist on the wall panel.

  I do a fast once-over of him. Daryl is really cute. I wait, expecting to feel something but I don’t. I don’t feel anything when I look at him, not ever. Shouldn’t I feel something—happy? Excited? Anxious? Glad? I mean, anything—after two years of us being together?