Incognito

by Siobhan Davis

  I work hard to smother a groan. Seriously, could this day get any worse?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Shawn

  “Daydreaming and insubordination will not be tolerated in my class,” the prof says as I’m standing in front of the podium facing him with the little firecracker by my side. “This is the only warning you’ll get from me.”

  “I apologize, sir,” she replies, her soft, lilting voice sending shivers down my spine and blood rushing to places it shouldn’t. “I promise I’ll focus one hundred percent in class from now on.” If I looked over at her face, I’d bet she’s giving him the puppy-dog treatment with those wide, sad, blue eyes.

  He nods curtly at her. “And what do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Quinn?” He tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing my face like he knows exactly my type.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to screw off, but then I remember why I’m here and how important it is to keep a low profile. I can’t do anything to draw unnecessary attention to myself. Summoning humility from some long-forgotten hidden place, I wet my lips and tell him what he wants to hear. “I’m sorry, sir, and I’ll behave myself in future.”

  His eyes narrow suspiciously before he gives me a terse nod. “Very well. I don’t want any reason to call both of you out again.” He jerks his head toward the door. “You’re dismissed. You may leave.”

  Blondie doesn’t need to be told twice, flying up the stairs so fast I’d swear she had wings. Pulling my ball cap out of my book bag, I ram it on my head and take the stairs two at a time, anxious to catch up with her.

  Although I’ve honestly no clue why.

  Girls are a complication I don’t want or need right now, but since she plowed into me this morning, I can’t get her out of my mind. She’s a conundrum my brain itches to piece together. A temptation my body wants to indulge. I should be running in the opposite direction instead of chasing her down the hall and outside the building.

  I’m not surprised she’s fast on her feet. She wasn’t the only one inspecting the goods earlier. I was totally checking her out too, but I’m more skilled and discreet at it. No way I could miss those long, bare tan legs or the obvious muscle definition there. The girl is clearly sporty, or she works out, because she’s in great shape. My hands twitch with the need to explore the smooth planes of her body, and my jeans strain against my crotch.

  Cupping my hands together, I holler after her. “Hey, Blondie!” I still don’t know her first name, but even if I did, I doubt I’d use it. “Wait up!”

  Spinning around, she keeps walking backward, sending me a gloating smile before she blatantly flips me the bird. I come to a complete standstill, staring at her with a slack jaw. Grinning, she turns around and continues walking. I bark out a laugh, smiling to myself as I casually stroll in the same direction.

  I don’t know what it is about this girl, but it’s refreshing.

  She’s a strange mix of fiery and sweet, mischievous and sad.

  Keeping my head down, I walk after her. Not exactly following, but not wanting to lose her in the crowd either.

  And I can’t really figure out why.

  Is it because she’s the first girl in years to run the other way? Or is it her feistiness or the lingering sadness that surrounds her like a halo that has captured my attention? I’m not sure what it is, and I really shouldn’t be entertaining any thoughts of her, but it’s like she’s cast me under a spell and I’m powerless to control my actions.

  I follow her from a safe distance, my body warring with my mind—one part of me cautioning this is not a good idea and the other telling me to go after what I want.

  She comes to a halt up ahead, facing a big guy with cropped dark hair wearing a Hawkeyes jacket. He looks like the stereotypical jock, and I’ll bet he has the giant ego to match. Not that I’m in any position to criticize. I’m about as fucking stereotypical as they come.

  Or, at least, I was.

  As I approach, I take cover under a large tree, concealing myself in the shadows. The girl at the jock’s side is a tiny thing with a mass of strawberry-blonde hair that falls in straight lines to her butt. She clings possessively to the jock’s arm, glaring at my girl.

  My girl? WTF?

  I attempt to shake myself out of my stupor, but there’s no denying the surge of protectiveness I feel toward this girl, even if I can’t fathom why or where it’s come from.

  Heated words are exchanged. I’m too far away to hear exactly what’s being said, but, judging by the angry faces and frantic arm gestures, I’m guessing it’s not an amicable conversation. I’m debating cutting in when Blondie storms off. The big guy looks a little dejected as he stares at her retreating back, but the little bitch at his side slaps his chest, shouting at him before she drags him away.

  Her eyes meet mine with a flash of interest as I pass them by, and I definitely know her type. I’ve met enough manipulative bitches to recognize the form. Pinning the full extent of the Lucas sneer on her, I’m hugely satisfied when she visibly cowers.

  Up ahead, Blondie is nowhere to be seen, so I give up the fight and head back to my apartment, ignoring the stab of disappointment I feel.

  After grabbing a quick bite to eat, I head into the small room at the back of the penthouse that has been remodeled into a makeshift music studio and mess around with some melodies on my guitar for a couple hours. But inspiration won’t come to me, and I give up, frustrated. Heading into the living room, I sip from a bottle of water as I watch some mindless garbage on TV for a few hours.

  I glance at the clock regularly.

  As it approaches midnight, I grab my guitar and move over to the window seat, sitting down to watch the show.

  I spotted the girl dancing on the rooftop of the old building across the way the first night I stayed here. I’m often prone to bouts of insomnia, and since the break-in and assassination attempt, I regularly have trouble sleeping so I don’t tend to go to bed until I’m dead on my feet.

  It was just after midnight when I first noticed her.

  Moving her body with skill and finesse as she danced like an ethereal being upon the roof of the abandoned building. Now, she’s the highlight of my night, and I count down the minutes until she appears.

  I start strumming a few chords as I wait for her, a melody and words lingering in the hidden corners of my mind, waiting for the right moment to let loose. Checking my watch, I frown as the hand moves past midnight. She’s usually here by now, and I realize how disappointed I’ll be if she doesn’t show.

  Which only demonstrates how truly pathetic I’ve become. Chasing after random girls who want nothing to do with me and obsessing over some tortured soul dancing a lonesome dance at midnight.

  Movement snags my attention from the corner of my eye, and I smile, like a creepy perv, as a ray of light casts dim illumination over the roof, highlighting the forlorn figure as she starts to dance. It’s clear this girl has a lot of skill, and she’s experienced in different forms of dance. Some nights, she’s the classical ballerina pirouetting for an invisible audience. Other times, she contorts her limbs in choreographed street moves that wouldn’t be out of place on my stage.

  Whispers of a melody float through my mind, and I start plucking the guitar strings as an idea takes shape. I watch her, this strange, beautiful creature, and the song forms more clearly in my mind.

  All this time, I’ve been lying to myself

  That mocking face in the mirror spoke the truth

  But I was too scared to see

  Too afraid to fight for what I know is right

  Until you broke through the haze

  Lost and alone

  With your beautiful, haunting moves

  Silently calling out to me

  She dances for longer than usual tonight, and I continue watching, and strumming, wondering what drives her there night after ni
ght.

  I tell myself I’m doing nothing wrong. That it’s not spying or stalking. That I’m keeping an eye on her, because it can’t be safe going there alone every night. But I’m prone to addiction, and this beautiful dancer has captivated me in a way little has for years. While she’s too far away to make out her features, there is something so alluring about the way she dances, something that speaks to secret pain, that calls out to me.

  Like a kindred spirit.

  Another tormented artist struggling to find her way in the world.

  The rooftop spirals into darkness, and the girl is gone. The empty quietness echoes around me, but it’s not isolating or uncomfortable. Back home in L.A., my house was constantly teeming with people and music, with laughter and noise, but it felt like the loneliest place on the planet because none of it was real.

  None of those people who professed to be my friends were real.

  They were all there for what they could take from me.

  What a shame it took me years to figure it out.

  Spent the best part of the last year making a clean sweep. And now, my house is like a mausoleum. Empty of noise and spirit. Dead, like my soul. I amble through the rooms searching for something illusive. Something to remind me I’m still alive. That there are things still worth fighting for.

  But it wasn’t until I came here that I truly started to believe.

  My mistakes are in the past, and rehashing them won’t undo them. So, I stick to the new promise I’ve made myself and focus on moving forward.

  One step at a time.

  One milestone at a time.

  Yawning, I put my guitar down, smiling as I read over the lyrics scrawled across my notepad, welcoming the fire in my belly and the natural high flowing through my veins.

  I knew coming here was a good idea.

  It finally feels like I’m in the right space to move forward with my life.

  And I think I just might have found my muse.

  Another week passes, and I’m settling into a new routine. My midnight dancer has ignited a spark inside me, and I’m bristling with creativity, lyrics and tunes flowing out of me like a river.

  I’ve thought of approaching her.

  Of turning up one night on that roof.

  Of seeing her up close and personal to see what the connection would be like.

  But that’s definitely veering into dangerous stalker territory, so I try to coax my mind into accepting the status quo and to be happy about it.

  I haven’t seen Blondie except for during class where I make a point of hanging back until she’s entered the auditorium, and then I take up position in the row behind her. I know she knows I’m there, but she refuses to acknowledge my presence, much to the delight of her friend with the curly black hair. She introduced herself to me during another class one day last week, so I know her name is Tabitha, or Tabs, as she prefers to be known.

  She wasn’t subtle about hitting on me, and I was as blunt as a bulldozer in turning her down flat. She took it like a champ. Or a challenge. But, meh. I don’t care. Girls are not part of my agenda here.

  Period.

  I’m sitting in the cafeteria at dinnertime on Thursday when a strange sensation causes me to look up. From under the peak of my ball cap, I spot Blondie walking across the crowded floor, apparently headed this way. My heart starts pounding faster in my chest. Her eyes lock on mine, and it’s as if the rest of the world ceases to exist. I’m trying to stay under the radar, so I should look away, but I can’t. Her big blue eyes stare into mine, and a wave of sadness and grief rolls through me. I don’t know what or who put that look in her eyes, but I’ve an overwhelming need to find out.

  To help fix it.

  She stops dead on the spot, looking at me as if she can see right through me.

  As if she’s the power to unlock the secrets buried deep inside.

  It’s unnerving and exciting at the same time.

  I stand up, my chest heavy with emotion I can’t decipher. I’m making my way around the table toward her when she snaps out of it, and the spell is broken. Shaking her head, she frowns. Her cheeks flush a rosy red color and she hangs her head, letting her long, wavy hair cover her face like heavy drapes as she scurries away.

  I scrub a hand over my face as I plop back down in my seat wondering what the fuck just happened.

  I start loading my empty plate, silverware, and glass on the tray, getting ready to leave, when a girl drops into the seat across from me. I don’t even attempt to stifle my sigh. It’s like some girls see a guy sitting alone and think he’s fair game. This isn’t the first time I’ve been accosted by females while trying to mind my own business. Most times, I slink into a seat, hiding under my hoodie or my cap, trying to look inconspicuous, but that doesn’t deter them. And acting like an asshole hasn’t helped either. In fact, I’d say that’s only added to the appeal.

  Some girls get off on that shit.

  Fading into the background is not as easy as I’d imagined.

  “Hey,” the cute redhead says, propping up on her elbows and leaning across the table at me. Her rack is on clear display in the low-cut top she’s wearing, but I’m guessing that’s the point.

  “Did you want something?” I ask in a gruff tone, not making eye contact.

  “I wanted to invite you to the frat party tomorrow night.”

  I lift my head, quirking a brow. Straight up. I admire that in a woman. But I’m not here to party or hook up.

  Unless it’s Blondie or midnight dancer, the unhelpful devil on my shoulder taunts.

  Another girl slips into the seat beside me, sending me a wide smile. “Hey, Levi.”

  Levi is my middle name and Quinn is my mother’s maiden name, so, when it came to choosing a fake identity, the choice was already made. And I kinda like that I’m incognito but still retaining an element of the real me.

  Like I’m hiding in plain sight, so to speak.

  “Tabitha.” I stare warily at her. What is this? A two-for-one assault?

  “Get lost, Hailey. Levi’s already coming with us.” Tabitha makes a shooing gesture with her hand while slanting an “I mean business” look at the redhead, and I can’t help laughing. This girl redefines ballsy.

  Hailey’s chair scrapes loudly as she gets up, spewing liquid venom from her eyes as she glares at Tabitha. “You’re such a bitch, Tabitha. Screw you.” She flips her the bird before storming off.

  “I don’t need you to ride to the rescue,” I say, amusement coloring my tone. “I’m well capable of throwing out the trash myself.”

  “Meow!” Tabitha claws at the empty air, smirking. “I can see that, but I’m not being altogether charitable. My invite is genuine. Come to the party.”

  I chuckle. “Are you always this straightforward?”

  She shrugs unapologetically, throwing back her hair. “Always. You’re not truly living if you don’t speak your mind.”

  “You’re preaching to the converted,” I tell her. “But I’ll have to decline the invite. I’m here to study. Not party.”

  She leans in a little closer. “If I tell you a certain gorgeous blonde, who goes by the name Dakota, will be there, would that change your mind?”

  Dakota.

  I like that name. It suits her.

  But I’ve got to put an end to this shit right now. I’ve obviously been as subtle as a brick. Sitting up straighter, I shake my head. “Nope. Not here to hook up either.”

  She almost chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, right. And I’m fucking Gandhi resurrected from the grave.”

  My nose scrunches up. “Not a nice visual, Tabs. Actually, that’s pretty gross.”

  “Made you smile though.” She lifts her hand and we high five, as if we’re ten.

  “You’re kinda crazy.”

  “I know. Everyone tells me that. Couldn’t give two
shits though.”

  I like this girl. It’s nothing sexual. There’s no spark of attraction between us whatsoever. But she’s cool, and there’s no bullshit and I like that. “Good for you.” I start to gather my things, and she stands up alongside me.

  “I know you like her.”

  “I don’t,” I lie.

  “Uh-huh.” She grins knowingly. “You’re as bad as she is with the denials.”

  Now that perks my interest.

  She grins again. “Yup. Thought as much. We’ll be at the frat house at eight. Come hang out with us. Unless you’re too afraid.”

  I roll my eyes, determined I’m not giving in.

  It doesn’t matter how badly I want to.

  I can’t drag any girl into my world. Not with all this stalker shit hanging over my head.

  Dakota is beautiful and intriguing, and I wish I could dispel the shroud of sadness she wears, but no good would come from starting something with her.

  Nothing can happen.

  Period.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dakota

  “I look like I’m totally easy.” I scowl at my reflection in the mirror.

  “You look totally fuckable, and it’s a perfect party dress,” Tabs retaliates. “Levi won’t be able to resist!” She winks suggestively, and I roll my eyes.

  “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested. The guy is an ass.”

  “Keep lying to yourself if you want, but I know what I see. You’re both sneaking glances at one another in class all the time. Any idiot can see the chemistry between you. And I don’t think he’s that bad. I’ll bet he’s all gooey and soft under that prickly exterior.”

  I roll my eyes again. “If you think he’s that great, why aren’t you going after him yourself?”

  “Tried hitting on him,” she admits, a little sheepishly, “but he’s not interested in me. And, besides, I know now you like him even if you won’t admit it, so I’ll never go there. Girl code and all.”

  My heart swells, and I lean in and hug her. “You’re fucking awesome, girlfriend.”