Cora glanced at her watch. “Keith will be here in ten minutes, so I just need a few minutes to respond to comments; then it’s all yours.” She glanced outside then at me then back outside again. “It’s such a beautiful day. Let’s sit outside on the balcony.”
Oh, she thought she was clever. The weather was perfect, but I refused to be a groupie to that rude guy. “No, I’m fine in here.”
Cora pouted. “Pwease… pwetty pwease?”
I shook my head. “I want to focus on my work. You want to talk to my new neighbor, walk to his house and knock on the door.”
A thoughtful expression settled on her pretty face. “I might just do that.”
“Good. Just remember, you have a boyfriend,” I reminded her.
She grinned. “Yeah, but I’m a mere mortal with a weakness for guys built like gods. I could feature him on my vlog.”
I hope not. He looked like the type who could tear Cora apart if she dared. “You don’t even know if he’ll be going to our school.”
“I would if you’d bothered to ask him.” Cora sighed dramatically and settled on the window seat with my laptop. Occasionally, she stared outside. I was tempted to ask her if my new neighbor was outside, which bugged me. I shouldn’t be interested in any guy period. I had Eirik—or I would if he could get his act together and ask me out. I hoped his feelings for me were just as strong as mine were for him. As for Cora, her restlessness made it impossible for me to focus. I was happy when Keith picked her up.
Less than an hour later, I grabbed by swim bag and raced outside. I had ten minutes to get my butt to Total Fitness Club for swim practice. I’d swum varsity since my freshman year, but high school swim season didn’t start until next week. Off season, I swam with the Dolphins. Luckily, Matt ‘Doc’ Fletcher, my high school coach, also coached the Dolphins. Kayville might be a small town in northwestern Oregon, but we had three high schools and three swim clubs, and the rivalry was fierce. Most Dolphins went to my high school, too.
I threw my bag in the front passenger seat of my Sentra, ran around the hood, and saw the right front tire. I had a leak? It looked low. Could I take a chance and drive it? Maybe if I drove carefully and slow? Coach Fletcher was anal about tardiness. Worse, my attendance this past summer had suffered because of Dad.
My throat closed and tears rushed to my eyes. Not knowing whether my father was alive or dead was the hardest part of my nightmare. I still remembered the last conversation we’d had before he boarded the plane in Honolulu, the horror at the news about the plane crashing into the Pacific Ocean, the frustration as bodies were recovered and none matched Dad’s. I was losing hope, while Mom still believed he was alive. How could he be after three months?
Our neighbors no longer asked us if we’d heard any news, but I’d overheard Mrs. Rutledge and Mrs. Ross from across the street gossip about Mom, calling her delusional. Prune-faced hags. I hated that we lived on the same cul-de-sac.
I kicked at the tire as though the simple act would ease my frustration, then pulled out my cell phone and checked for text messages. There was none from Eirik, which meant I couldn’t ask him for a ride. I hope he’s at practice in case I need help with my car. I texted him before calling Mom.
“Hey, sweetie.” She sounded preoccupied.
“I have swimming, but I think my front tire has a leak and—”
“I can’t leave work right now to drop you off. I’m dealing with a mini-crisis, too. Skip swimming, and we’ll take care of your car when I get home. Call Coach Fletcher and explain.”
“That’s okay. I can still drive it. It’s a slow leak and should hold until—”
“No, Raine. If you must go, hitch a ride with Eirik or Cora. I don’t want you driving with a leaking tire.”
“Cora’s gone to the football game, and Eirik is not returning my calls. I can’t miss practice, Mom. Coach has a big announcement to make, and today’s the last class before tryouts for varsity.” I’d be mortified if he knew why I’d been flaky the last several months. I still hoped no one at school knew about my father, except Cora and Eirik. “You know how he secretly uses summer club swim attendance to choose co-captains. I don’t want to be the first co-captain to be dropped after one year.”
Mom humphed, which warned me she was about to switch to Mother Bear mode. “I don’t care how he chooses captains. You’ve earned it. I’ll call him and—” There was a cracking sound in the background.
“What was that?”
“Jared dropped a mirror.” There was mumbling in the background, then silence.
“Mom?”
More mumbled words reached me before, “I’m here. About the coach—”
“Don’t call him. I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you sure?” She sounded frazzled.
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll try to be home early. Six-ish.”
That meant seven or eight. My parents owned Mirage, a framing and mirror store on Main Street. With Dad gone, Mom was pulling double duty and often stayed behind to clean up and get the shop ready for the next business day. I rarely saw her anymore.
I texted Coach Fletcher, in case I didn’t make it on time, then slipped behind the wheel. The tire pressure should hold. Please, let it hold.
I backed out of the driveway and reached out to shift gears when my new neighbor left his garage, pushing a Harley. Shirtless. I swallowed, drooled. His shoulders were broad and well-defined. His stomach ripped.
He glanced my way, and I quickly averted my eyes and stepped on the gas pedal. My car shot backwards instead of forward and slammed into something, jerking me forward. Panicking, I hit the brakes and looked behind me.
“Oh, crap.” Of all the mailboxes on our cul-de-sac, I just had to hit the Petersons’.
Cursing, I shifted gears, moved forward until I got off the curb, switched off the engine, and jumped out of the car. Everyone had their mailboxes imbedded in concrete, but not the Petersons. They had to go overboard and use a fancy, custom-made miniature version of their house. Now the post leaned sideways like the Tower of Pisa, with red paint from my car all over the white pole. Their mailbox was totaled, the mail scattered on the ground.
Someone called out something, but I was busy imagining Mr. Peterson’s reaction when he saw his mailbox. He was a big conspiracy theorist. The government and people were always out to get him. He’d believe I deliberately knocked down his stupid mailbox.
“That looks bad,” Blue Eyes said from behind me, startling me.
“You think?”
He chuckled. “From that snarky comment, you must be okay.”
“Peachy.”
I picked up the mail. He moved closer as he helped, bringing with him a masculine scent hard to describe. It bugged the crap out of me that I liked it. Worse, the heat from his body seemed to leap through the air and wrap around me in ways I couldn’t describe.
My mouth went dry. The instinct to put space between us came from nowhere, but I ignored it. Only cowards ran when faced with something they didn’t understand, and my parents didn’t raise one. Still, a delicious shiver shot up my spine, and a weird feeling settled in my stomach.
I waited until I was in control of my emotions before turning to face him. I tried not to stare at his masculine arms and chest. I really did, but all that tanned skin was so inviting and begging to be ogled. I’d seen countless shirtless guys before. Half the swim team spent time in tight shorts that left very little to the imagination, but their bodies were nothing like his. He must be seriously into working out. No one could be this ripped without hitting the gym daily.
“My face is up here, Freckles.”
My eyes flew to his, and heat flooded my cheeks. I rushed into speech to cover my embarrassment. “I, uh, I was just leaving to go to swim practice and… and...”
“I distracted you. Sorry about that.”
He didn’t sound sorry. “You didn’t.”
He cocked his eyebrows. “Didn’t what?”
“Distract me,” I snapped and snatched the mail in his hands. “Thanks. I was checking my text messages when I should have been paying attention to where I was going,” I fibbed.
Amusement flared in his eye, his expression saying he recognized my explanation for what it was: a lie. He had incredibly long lashes and beautiful eyes. Sapphire came to mind but…
Grinding my teeth at my weird behavior, I started toward the driver’s seat, going for that space between us before I did something stupid like reach out and touch him or continue gazing into his eyes like a lovesick dimwit.
“Aren’t you going to tell them you hit their mailbox? I mean, it’s against the law to flee a crime scene and all that.”
I glared at him. “I will talk to them when they come home from work. For now, I plan on leaving them a note. Not that it’s any of your business.” I searched inside the glove compartment for a notepad or anything to write on, but found nothing.
“I could explain to them what happened if you’d like,” he offered in a gentle voice. “You know, share the responsibility. After all, I did distract you.”
Seriously, how could someone so beautiful and tempting be so arrogant and annoying? I counted from ten to one then said slowly, “I don’t need your help.”
“Actually, you do.”
“No, I don’t.” I marched to my house, conscious of Blue Eyes watching me. Sure enough, when I looked back, just before I entered the house, his eyes were locked on me, an amused smile on his lips. What was he so happy about? And why couldn’t he just go away?
I pulled a piece of ruled paper from my folder and scribbled an apology with unsteady hands, then went to Dad’s home office for a large manila envelope. Times like this, I missed him more. My eyes welled.
I blinked hard and put everything from the Petersons’ mailbox into the large envelope before taping my note on the outside. I’d have to figure out how to pay for a new mailbox. Mom didn’t like me working at the shop ever since I broke a few mirrors last summer, and jobs were hard to come by because of the bad economy. Something would come to me once I was calmer. Right now, I just wanted to get my butt to the pool and lose myself swimming.
I paused to calm myself before leaving the house.
Blue Eyes was studying the damaged mailbox like an insurance adjuster. Why couldn’t he go bother someone else? Or at least put on a shirt?
“Excuse me.” I skirted around him and propped the manila envelope against the crooked pole.
“I can fix this before they come home,” he said.
I eyed him suspiciously. “Really? How?”
A weird expression crossed his face, but his eyes were watchful as though he couldn’t wait to see my reaction. “Magic.”
“Magic?” My hands fisted. I was in trouble, and he was messing around. “You know what? Stay away from me, Blue Eyes. Don’t talk to me or even acknowledge we know each other when our paths cross again. ”
“Blue Eyes?” he asked, eyebrows cocked.
“That’s me playing nice.”
He laughed. “Look, Freckles—”
“Don’t call me that.” I hated that nickname. It was a reminder of the hated spots on the bridge of my nose and the teasing I’d endured in elementary school. I slid behind the wheel, started the car, and took off. I was careful not to drive too fast even though I wanted to floor the gas pedal.
I could see Blue Eyes watching me as he grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, until I left our cul-de-sac and turned right. My day had just gone down the toilet.
***
I was twenty minutes late for practice and still pissed off at myself for overreacting to my nosey new neighbor. So he had a hot body and an attitude? Big whoop. He was the least of my problems. I had my family to worry about, my position as co-captain to defend, and a guy I was crazy about to convince I’d make a great girlfriend.
“Did you fix your flat?” Coach Fletcher asked when I walked to the pool deck.
“I’ll take it to DC Tires after practice.” I slid in the pool and joined the thirty members of the Gold Team. Silver and Bronze swam at five.
We had eight lanes, but two were reserved for club members, which meant we shared lanes, taking turns pushing off the wall and looping each other. I didn’t see Eirik. He rarely skipped practice, so that was weird.
Following Coach Fletcher’s instructions, I finished my freestyle warm up laps while the others worked on their backstroke. I attacked the water like it was my enemy, although I wasn’t sure who I was ticked off at, me or my new neighbor. When I started studying the male swimmers and comparing their bodies to Blue Eyes, I knew I was definitely my own enemy.
“Since all of you swim for the Trojans, don’t forget we have Ultimate Frisbee tomorrow afternoon at Longmont Park. We’ll meet in the north field at four o’clock,” Coach Fletcher said at the end of practice. “I sent your parents e-mails last week, so no excuses. This is supposed to be for the team, but we’ll meet some of the new swimmers and discuss a few things. Tryouts start on the seventeenth, which is sooner than we usually start. Why, you may ask?” He grinned and paused for effect. “We’ll be hosting Jesuit High and Lake Oswego on the twenty-ninth at Walkersville’s swimming pool.”
Everyone started talking at once. Others high-fived each other. The two schools produced the best swimmers every year and often won at state championships. We’d never hosted them before.
“In the meantime,” Coach Fletcher continued, “I’ll need volunteers to work with some of the new swimmers. Any takers?”
No one raised a hand. Coach Fletcher crossed his beefy arms and studied us with piercing black eyes. He was a short, stubby man with a receding hairline, who preferred to shave all of his hair, but took extreme care with his beard and moustache. “Come on, guys. I need volunteers.”
I looked around and saw Eel’s hand shoot up. ‘Eel’ was Jessica Davenport, our senior co-captain and our swim team bad girl. Sighing, I raised mine. A few more shot up.
“Good. You’ll each work with a student the last thirty minutes of practice every day. If they need extra coaching and you want more time, let me know and I’ll okay the use of the pool after hours.”
“I have pep band practice every other Friday and won’t make it to practice,” I reminded Coach Fletcher after everyone left.
“We’ll have someone sub for you. Where’s Cora?”
“She wasn’t feeling well when I saw her after school,” I fibbed. Coach Fletcher’s expression said he didn’t believe me. I wasn’t surprised. I sucked at lying.
“Tell her to text me.”
“Sure. Did Eirik text you?”
“Yes. He explained his situation.”
I frowned. “His situation?”
Coach ignored my question and looked at his watch. “If you plan to take your car to the shop, you’d better get going.”
It was six fifteen, and DC Tires closed at seven. I didn’t bother to shower, just changed and raced to my car. The air pressure held up again, thank goodness. At the shop, while they fixed the leak, I checked my text messages and responded to Cora’s, which were funny. The game was close and could go either way, but she sounded like we’d already won. Cora had a way with words.
There were no texts or missed calls from Eirik, which was beginning to worry me. He never missed practice, and he usually answered my messages and calls. Did his absence have anything to do with the ‘situation’ Coach Fletcher had mentioned?
It was seven when I left the shop for home. I looked at my rearview mirror, convinced I’d heard the sound of a motorcycle start, but there were only cars behind me.
I entered my cul-de-sac, and the first thing I noticed was the Petersons’ mailbox. The wooden post no longer leaned sideways, and the tiny house looked normal as though I hadn’t hit it. Weird.
As soon as I parked, I hurried to the mailbox and studied it. There were no dents. No new nails hammered in. Nothing out of place. I touched the surface to see if it had been repainted. It was dry as th
e day Mr. Peterson had unveiled it. I pushed at it to see if it would lean sideways, but the vertical pole anchoring it to the ground was firm.
Where had my new neighbor found a replacement? The Petersons bragged about ordering the miniature mailbox house from some fancy homeowner’s website, so there was no way Blue Eyes had bought it locally. Had he used magic? Yeah. Right. There was no such thing as magic.
2. MORE THAN FRIENDS
The scent of food greeted me as I entered the house. Mom was home early, as promised, with takeout. Cooking wasn’t her thing.
“I’m home,” I called out, closing the door behind me and dropping my gym bag by the stairs. “Mom?”
“Be down in a sec.”
I went to the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the fridge. As I guzzled it, I glanced out the window at my neighbor’s house, my humiliation returning. I had to go over and thank him for fixing the mailbox. My pulse leaped at the thought, and my mouth went dry.
Think about Eirik… Think about Eirik…
I yanked the cord and closed the slats, then sneaked a cookie from the cookie jar. Chocolate chip, yummy. My favorite.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom said as she entered the kitchen.
I shoved the rest of the cookie in my mouth, turned, and almost choked. Her colorful, flowing skirt, gauzy duster, and matching headscarf were way over the top. Mom was a throwback to Woodstock. She had a flamboyant Boho-chic style, which matched her bubbly personality. But at times, I wished she’d dress like regular mothers. You know, wear jeans or normal pants and tops.
Unlike my boring hazel eyes and dark-brown hair, Mom’s green eyes and pitch black hair gave her an exotic appearance. She was also tall with a perfect figure for someone who didn’t work out. Me? How should I put it? My ass had a mind of its own, and my chest quit on me years ago.
“I’m sorry you had car troubles, sweetie.” She kissed my temple and enveloped me in perfume and other scents that defied description but I’d always associated with her. She leaned back and wrinkled her nose. “Eek, your hair reeks of chlorine.”
Runes (Paranormal Romance, YA,) Page 2
