Never again. He would make certain of that.
Chapter Four
By Wednesday, Sophie was ready to chew her own leg off if it meant escaping the watchful eyes of her mother. The sofa had a permanent imprint of her butt and she was becoming disturbingly addicted to daytime television, especially Days of Our Lives. She knew it had become a problem when she began creating family trees for each character.
“What if you faint?” her mother rationalized when Sophie told her the plans to return to school. Never mind the fact that it had been a full week since the incident and if Sophie was going to die, she would have already.
“Mom, if I see one more rerun of Who’s My Baby’s Daddy, I will kill myself,” she said, almost meaning it.
Her mother fretted while Sophie slung on her backpack. She stood on the other side of the island, wringing her hands and darting anxious glances at the kitchen window. It was raining again, a steady drizzle that hadn’t let up in almost a month. It was one of the perks of living in British Columbia. It rarely snowed, but be prepared to be left soggy.
“Then at least go next door and—”
“No!” The headache was resurfacing, a dull throb at her temples. Sophie was careful not to let her hands reach for the spot and massage. It was all her mother would need to strap her to the sofa again. “I’m not going to ask Spencer to walk with me. I still don’t like him or his creepy little sister.”
“But he saved your life!” Apparently that now meant Sophie owed him her first born and a kidney.
“Mom, if he ever needs a kidney, I will grudgingly volunteer. But I’m not asking him to walk me to school. I’m not five.”
Her mother sighed. “I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult.”
Snatching her cell phone off the island, stuffing it into her pocket, Sophie grinned. “Because I’m stubborn like you.”
“Like your father!” her mother shouted after her as Sophie hurried out of the kitchen.
She chuckled as she threw open the front door and dove into the foul weather. Rain drenched her. No amount of hunching her shoulders protected her against the assault. She grumbled down the sidewalk, wondering how long before she caught a cold from being exposed to so much wetness.
A loud thwack made her jump. She whirled around, surprised to find Spencer behind her, clad in his habitual black jeans and green jacket. The noise, she guessed, was him opening the umbrella now protecting him from the elements.
“Did my mother send you?” she accused.
He stared at her, an eyebrow lifted. “Good morning to you, too, Mary Sunshine.”
She glowered at his dry sarcasm, a retort prickling the tip of her tongue when a raindrop found its way past the collar of her jacket.
“Cold!” Sophie yelped, giving a shudder as it left an icy trail down her spine.
With a slow, measured step that had every muscle in her body stiffening with awareness, he closed the two feet between them and extended an arm. She almost jolted back, not sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t him covering her with the umbrella. Something in her chest jolted at the uncharacteristically sweet gesture.
“It’s yours,” he said with a slight shrug. “I figured since you risked your neck to get it, it must hold some kind of magical powers like Mary Poppins’ or something.”
Unconsciously, she dampened her lips, tasting rain. “It’s just an umbrella,” she said stupidly.
His gaze, that up until that moment had been fixated on her lips, rose up and met hers, dark with the same intensity he’d shown back at church. Like he wanted to take a bite out of her. The hot flare in his eyes was both threatening and exciting. She didn’t know whether to run or lunge at him.
“Yeah, imagine my disappointment.”
“Thank you,” she whispered for lack of anything better.
She swallowed hard, painfully aware of his proximity, aware of his scent mingling with the rain and his heat wrapping around her like a blanket. But more than anything, she was aware of his eyes. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then his … God his were the doors to somewhere hot and tempting and inviting. They dared her to do something, something crazy and impossible and … bold. The challenge in them made her itch with needs she knew would not … could not be returned.
Involuntarily, her gaze dropped to his mouth and traced the hard lines with the longing a starved person would show a fully loaded pizza. Her own parted as a shaky breath escaped her congested lungs. A shiver that had nothing to do with the wind and cold stole through her.
His head lowered. She was sure of it. His mouth hadn’t been that close before. Their breaths weren’t tangling together before. She couldn’t count his lashes or see herself in his eyes before.
“Spencer …”
Five feet of solid concrete, encased in impenetrable steel, slammed down over his face, barricading everything but the anger and hatred now screaming back at her as he jerked away. It was as if her voice, the sound of his name leaving her lips had the power to shock him back to his senses. The umbrella handle was thrust at her. She barely had enough time to fumble for it before he let go, as if the possibility of making contact with her was unbearable. Lips she’d been admiring a moment ago curled back over his teeth.
“Next time, watch where you’re going,” he spat, shouldering past her and marching away, shoulders hunched against the rain.
The guy had a personality disorder, Sophie decided while sitting in English class, doodling idly in her notebook. He had to. There was no way anyone could switch their emotions off and on that quickly and easily without serious medication. The smart thing to do was stay away. Any rational, logical person would agree, except the foundations of her master plan were severely flawed. For example, how do you stay away from someone who shared three of your seven classes, including lunch and lived next door to you?
“How the hell am I supposed to avoid the guy when he’s everywhere?” she complained at lunch over her roast beef sandwich.
Lauren stuffed a forkful of spiral noodles into her mouth, chewed, swallowed and replied, “None of that means you have to talk to the guy! You can still avoid him, although I don’t know why you would. The guy is … rawr!”
“I wouldn’t have to if he wasn’t so hot and cold!” Sophie protested, feeling the urge to put her head down and weep. “One minute, he’s looking at me as if he wants to just … devour me and then the next second, he can’t get far enough away!”
“He did save your life,” Jessie rationalized. “He clearly doesn’t hate you.”
“You can save someone’s life and still hate them, Jess,” Sophie muttered, forking her fingers back through her hair. “I just don’t understand why it bothers me so much.”
“Because you secretly like him,” Lauren said, then opened her eyes wide and let her jaw slack. “Was that a secret?”
Sophie glowered at her teasing. “Not funny. I don’t like him.”
Lauren raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “So you wouldn’t mind if someone, oh let’s say Maggie Chow, were to ask him out?”
Despite her best attempts, Sophie stiffened. “Maggie Chow wants to ask him out? Already? He just started school like a week ago!”
Lauren shrugged daintily. “That’s what happens when you drag your feet.” She popped a forkful of pasta into her mouth and studied Sophie with smug interest. “Why do you care anyway?”
“I don’t,” she muttered, dropping her eyes. “He can date whoever he wants.”
“Who can date whoever they want?” Joe slipped into the bench next to Sophie, brushing his shoulder and thigh against hers as he sat.
“You’re late coming in,” Lauren observed.
Joe sighed, setting his books down in front of him instead of a lunch. “Had some problems in the computer lab. Mr. J is becoming a tyrant.”
“He just wants to make sure you know your stuff,” Jessie soothed, offering him a comforting smile.
“Or you lot aren’t listening again,” La
uren added. “I’ve seen you computer geeks in action. You’re worse than the jocks during football practice with your World of Warcraft and Star Trek whatever-whatever.”
Joe scowled at the comparison, but turned to Sophie instead of responding. “How are you? I called a couple of times, but your mom said you were resting.”
Sophie tried not to roll her eyes or groan as she pulled a second sandwich from her lunch bag and handed it to him, along with an apple. “I think Mom and Mr. J have been exchanging notes. I’m surprised she didn’t wrap me in bubble wrap before I left this morning.”
“She’s just worried!” Jessie said, looking distraught. “You nearly died, Sophie! If Spencer hadn’t been there … ” Lauren patted her shoulder gently when Jessie trailed off, her voice hitching.
“I know! I guess I’m just grumpy.”
Lauren made a humming sound. “I would be too if the guy starring in all my wet dreams was about to be snatched away.”
Sophie flicked a piece of her crust at her friend. “Shut up!”
“Well, I still don’t like him,” Joe offered, making Sophie chuckle.
“You don’t like anyone.”
He said nothing as he searched her face, his dark curls falling over his brow. He was handsome, Sophie mused, but in a younger brother by three months kind of way. There had never been any sparks there, but she knew some lucky girl would get him one day and he’d make her so happy.
“What did he do this time anyway?” Joe asked, tearing the wrapper off his sandwich.
Sophie shook her head, picking at a blade of lettuce poking out of her sandwich. “He hasn’t done anything. I’m the one with issues. I mean, so what if he doesn’t like me? It’s not like I care. He’s probably all moody and sullen with everyone.”
“He has no reason to hate you,” Jessie said. “He doesn’t know you. I’m sure it’s just the stress of the move. He’ll come around.”
“He better not,” Joe muttered around a large chomp. “I’ll break his kneecaps.” Then, before anyone could ask if he was joking, he said, “Did your mom make this?”
For as far back as Sophie could remember, she’d brought Joe a lunch. It started off because Joe never had one and she split hers with him, but as they got older, she just brought him one of his own. It never bothered her and she tried to make it for him, because her mother didn’t like Joe overly much and normally refused.
“Yeah. How did you know?”
He shrugged. “I know when you make me food. It tastes different.”
Sophie laughed. “Good different, or I shouldn’t give up my day job different?”
His eyes met hers. “I just know.”
A tense moment of silence swallowed all conversation at the table as Sophie tried to decode the odd look behind Joe’s eyes.
“Ooookay! We’re moving past the creepy awkward, because lover boy just walked in.” At Lauren’s slow drawl, all eyes swiveled to the other end of the cafeteria where a small crowd of jocks and cheerleaders swarmed like flies to a picnic. They were shouting and laughing and making more noise than a stadium full of people. In the center of it all, laughing right along with them was Spencer. It apparently hadn’t taken him long to fit in with the right crowd.
Gone was the scowl, the wave of anger and resentment that wafted off him whenever Sophie was around. His gray eyes were bright pools of liquid silver shimmering with light. He had dimples, something she had never noticed until that moment, maybe because he never smiled at her. They were etched perfectly on either side of his beaming mouth like twin stars. He looked so absolutely beautiful that it hurt.
Then, as if needing to add salt to Sophie’s open wound, Maggie Chow appeared out of the crowd and linked her thin arm through Spencer’s. Sophie waited, expecting him to shove her away, or scowl, or glare, or something … anything. But he just continued with his conversation as if he had not a care in the world.
Maybe it was her. Maybe there was something about her that he didn’t like. He clearly had no problems with anyone else.
“Hey, you okay?” Joe touched her arm lightly.
Scooping herself together, Sophie forced a smile as she turned back to her friends. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just realized I forgot something in the library that I need for next class.” She pushed her lunch quickly in Joe’s direction. “I’ll see you guys at Bill’s?” Barely waiting for nods of confirmation, she made a hasty escape, hurrying right past Spencer and crew with her head ducked, hair forming a solid curtain between her and him.
The rest of the school day went by in a slow blur. For the most part, she managed to keep Spencer out of her mind, refusing to be one of those girls who spent a majority of her time thinking about a boy and wallowing. By the time she’d left the cafeteria and her friends, she had kicked herself repeatedly for being so stupid and letting him affect her at all. Whatever the reason, his dislike of her was his problem, not hers. She just needed to remember that and not act like a total moron every time Spencer Rowth was around.
Bill’s Grease Pit was a hole in the wall between the hardware store and a floral boutique. It was a cramped little place with a spatter of round tables, worn booths and shelves with rows of gleaming trophies from Bill’s athlete days. They were his pride and joy. At first glance, the place was nothing special, but the food was to die for, literally. The Grease Pit wasn’t just a name, it was a way of life for Bill. But anyone under fifty who didn’t mind their arteries getting clogged loved it.
Sophie was the last of her group to arrive. The others sat in their habitual spot at the back, binders and books already open in front of them. Bill looked up from the grease spot he’d been trying to scrub out with a worn rag and glowered.
“Hey Bill!” She smiled at him. “The usual, please.”
Bill Rouster, a six foot nine inch bear, with a head full of curly black hair and hands the size of thanksgiving hams, controlled the Grease Pit with an iron fist. He wasn’t afraid to bash skulls in if things got too rowdy. No one ever dared start anything in his joint. He was usually pretty cool about most things otherwise.
He grumbled, using a sausage-sized finger to stab at the keys on the register. Sophie passed him a crumpled bill from her pocket then turned to leave, only to come up against a wall of muscle. The person behind her wasn’t expecting it either and they both stumbled a moment, doing an awkward little dance as they tried to regain their footing.
“I’m sorry!” she said, shoving back her hair and pulling away to look into the person’s face.
Brian Fisher smiled at her, drowning her in his perfect smile. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t have been standing so close.”
Cotton-mouthed, Sophie shook her head. “Uh no, I’m pretty sure it was my fault.”
Brian chuckled. “How about we split the blame? Fifty-fifty?”
Nervous enough to start giggling like a first grader, Sophie just nodded.
“You’re in my gym class,” Brian was saying, eyes narrowed as if trying to recall.
“Biology,” she corrected. “And Church, which isn’t a class, not really. I mean, it kind of is, because it teaches you things, but it’s not the school kind of classes where you have to you know … learn.” She had absolutely no control over her mouth it seemed, much to her horror.
He smiled. “I remember you.” His smile deepened. “You’re kind of hard to miss.”
Her heart all but leapt from her chest. It took all of her resolve not to squeal and jump up and down with elation. Brian Fisher had noticed her!
He reached out and lightly tugged on the end of a curl. “You kind of stand out with all those curls.”
Her hair wasn’t a massive riot of fuzzy curls that looked like she’d been electrocuted, not the way her grandmother’s had when she was Sophie’s age. It used to be, when she’d been younger and her hair was shorter. But once it grew out, the weight had straightened the top, leaving the ends coiled, not corkscrews like Jessie, but nice curls that started at her shoulders and cascaded downwards like a cape
. On humid days, which was just about every day, it was a nightmare and no amount of weight kept the curls from turning afro around her head. But the way Brian was eyeing her, it took all of her willpower not to flick a strand over her shoulder the way supermodels did, and giggle.
“My mom’s Irish!” she blurted a little too loudly. “I mean, her grandparents were Irish. She’s Canadian. Well, I guess she’s still Irish, and Hispanic ‘cause my dad’s, you know, Hispanic. I mean, his family background is Hispanic, which I guess doesn’t make my mom’s Hispanic, but I got the Irish hair from my mom, ‘cause, you know, she’s Irish and … yeah!” She gulped, trying not to pant from having said all that in a single breath, not really sure why she did, but wishing someone had punched her in the mouth to stop her.
Brian laughed, a beautiful sound that was accompanied by the back tilt of his head, exposing the beautiful column of throat and Adam’s apple. “You’re funny,” he said finally sobering. “Sarah, right?”
“Sophie!” she answered quickly.
“Right!” He extended his hand. “I’m Brian.”
She slipped her hand into his, trying not to marvel at how warm and firm his fingers were curling around hers. She felt an inexplicable moment of raw jealousy towards every football those hands had ever curled around.
“I know!” Heat swarmed up into her face. “I mean, I’ve seen you around, too.”
He released her hand and she fought not to pout. “I have to get back to my friends.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to a group of kids by the window booth. “But I’ll see you again?”
She had to bite her lip to keep from screaming with fan girl delight. She bobbed her head, trying to appear cool and confident. She must have pulled it off because he smiled and moved around her.
Sophie walked as calmly back to her table as possible, slipped into the booth and met the wide, shining eyes of her friends. “Brian Fisher talked to me!” Sophie declared breathing hard.
Lauren and Jessie high fived her, their excitement evident in their grinning faces.
Games of Fire Page 5
