by Lee, India
Harper gravitated to the kitchen, seating herself at the counter as the boy heated up a cast iron skillet on the stove. “Well, you’re older than the kids out there.”
“I’m sixteen.”
“What?” Harper stared at the broad, muscled back in front of her. She had already thought she’d been low-balling when she guessed the boy to be somewhere around eighteen. His build, the tattoos – even the bookshelf. He didn’t seem her age at all. “Are all those books yours?” she asked, wondering if it sounded like a weird or random question. He didn’t seem to think so as he nodded.
“Everything in here is mine,” he answered, throwing salt onto the steak before turning around to face Harper with a crooked smile that made her thankful to be seated. “I basically live here and avoid the main house as much as possible,” he explained, completely unapologetic as he checked her out. His stare roved about her face for several seconds before dipping down to her body in her white halter mini-dress. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Harper. Yours?”
“Levi,” Levi answered. “And how old are you?”
“Sixteen. Same as you.” When Levi pinched his brows, Harper cocked one of hers. “Surprised?”
“You seem older. Same as me.”
“How old do I seem?”
“Eighteen, nineteen.” He nodded out toward the party. “But maybe it’s just because you can hold yourself together unlike those assholes.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Harper said, grabbing his bottle of whiskey when he set it down to return to the skillet. It was a third full. With four swigs, she emptied it. Levi’s eyes widened when he turned around to see the finished bottle, raising his gaze to Harper, who wiped the corners of her mouth with her middle finger. He raised his eyebrows.
“Not even mad,” he said, impressed as he stared at her mouth with a faint grin. Harper laughed, feeling the pleasant buzz that had faded from her first few drinks.
“So.” She arched her back to gather her long blonde hair into a ponytail, watching Levi’s eyes return to her chest as she did so. “I take it your parents are divorced?”
“What?”
“You live in the pool house to avoid your real house. Your parents let your friends come over and wreck their property because they feel guilty about putting you through their drama, never having time for you, that kind of thing. You’re a total divorce baby.”
Levi leaned onto the counter with his elbows. A smirk danced in his green eyes. “I’m not. But you obviously are.”
Thrown off, Harper frowned. “What?”
“When did your parents split?”
She swallowed, trying to look unbothered by the question. “Two years ago.”
“Why?”
“Shouldn’t you at least fake being polite or ashamed about asking me this?” Harper asked with a snort, certain that they hadn’t been acquainted for more than eight minutes although they did feel quickly and strangely familiar.
“I don’t fake things,” Levi said simply.
Fair enough. Harper chewed on the side of her nail for a second. “They split because they have things to do. My dad works and my mom’s trying to work again. They don’t have time for each other.”
“What about you?”
Harper stared. “What?”
“I assume they didn’t have time for you, either.”
Harper wet her lips. “Yeah but I don’t care. It means I get to come to L.A alone instead of with one of them,” she said, trying to sound carefree. When Levi squinted at her, she rolled her eyes. “Please stop trying to read me. I can promise you that I definitely didn’t want to come here with parental guidance.”
“I believe you. But I’m sure you also would’ve been relieved if one of them said, ‘No chance in hell, I’m coming, too.’” Levi smirked at her cocked eyebrow. “You want them to feel like actual parents sometimes.”
Feeling transparent, Harper crossed her arms over her chest. She squinted at Levi and his odd perceptiveness. “I had to be right before about your parents being divorced.”
“No, sorry. That was a genuinely interesting assessment but my parents are still together.”
“Then… why do you get all this?” Harper asked, gesturing to the house and the party. She was pretty sure that her question sounded childish but she didn’t care. She was confused.
“Because my dad doesn’t care if I exist or not. Nothing I do makes him bat an eyelash.”
“That’s shitty.”
“Well, he never wanted a kid.”
“Then why did he have one?”
“A family was my mom’s one dream. My mom is my dad’s one weakness.”
“So he gave her the family she wanted.”
Levi shrugged. “Sure. Unless family means spending time together. Doing shit together, giving shits about each other,” he smirked as he slid the steak off of the skillet and onto a cutting board, grabbing a long, serrated knife from its wooden holder and deftly cutting the meat into thin strips against the grain.
Harper watched him go back into the fridge and remove a jar of what looked like homemade green salsa. “Yeah, that’s called a normal family. Some people only get the makings of one without the normal part.”
“And by some people you mean us.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem all that upset it,” Levi smirked as he plated the steak and salsa. Harper’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile.
“Nothing upsets me when I have enough to drink.”
“Sad.” Levi opened a pantry and pulled out a vintage-looking bottle. “Obviously need to break out my good scotch for this conversation.” Reaching up into a high cupboard, he pulled out two crystal tumblers. Harper watched the muscles in his ribs flex as he did so. “Can you handle more?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Alright. Then just tell me when,” he smirked as he began filling the glasses, lifting his gaze at Harper, whose mouth watered at the sight of both his tattooed forearm and the rich amber liquid it poured. Levi laughed when she stayed silent even as he reached the brim of the glass. “Can’t blame you,” he said, sliding the near-overflowing tumbler across the counter at her. Pouring himself an equally full glass, he took a large gulp before holding it out to her. “Cheers.”
“What are we toasting?”
Levi thought about it for a second. “You.”
She smiled as their glasses touched. “Why?”
“For holding your liquor. Unlike anyone else out there.” Levi thought for another moment. “And for being interesting. Unlike anyone else out there.”
Harper laughed. “You don’t find a single person out there interesting? I figured those were your friends.”
“They’re all friends. I just don’t think they’re very interesting.”
Harper considered it. She actually didn’t find a whole lot of her friends from The Cabot School interesting. All they ever did was whine about calories, shopping and boys. “So, what, you just hide out here every party?” she asked.
“Generally.”
“Somebody’s read The Great Gatsby too many times.”
“Only twice.”
Harper laughed, taking a swig of the scotch. She knelt on the kitchen barstool as she looked over at the wall. “You do have a lot of other books.”
“Yeah.” Levi’s gaze roamed her body again as she twisted on the swivel chair. He nodded toward the shelf. “Go pick some out.”
She did, even if the suggestion had been merely an excuse for him to look at her from another angle. Pulling a mostly random selection of books, she brought them back to the counter, happy to draw a genuinely delighted laugh from him as he watched her balance the stack of a dozen books in her lithe arms.
Over scotch and steak, Harper listened to Levi’s short anecdotes behind each book. The South American cookbook belonged to his mother, the former popstar, Olivia Reyes, who was born to a Brazilian father and Chilean mother. The book of Japanese tattoo art had
been from a shop in Tokyo, where Levi had gone with his parents in eighth grade for the launch of Oro Records Japan. With Cliff and Olivia obligated to publicity events, Levi had been left with Nick, a trusted handler whom the Westins had employed as security personnel for years. Somehow, Levi managed to convince the ink-happy Nick to let him tag along on his trip to Saitama, where he went to get a traditional tebori tattoo.
The World War II book had a simpler explanation – an interest in history. Similarly, the Henry Ford and chopper books had just to do with Levi’s affinity for Ford trucks and streamlined motorcycles. Before he’d been legal to drive, he had already owned one of each.
“I’m planning on taking my bike and my truck on a road trip to the East Coast. Pretty sure I’ve seen more countries than I have U.S states,” Levi snorted, washing down his last bite of steak with his last ounce of scotch. Harper felt a pang of jealousy, realizing she too had been to more places overseas than within her own country.
“Alone?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes.”
“Your parents would let you?”
“I’m not going to tell them. I’m just going to go. If my dad wants to care, he will.”
“But how are you going to just go?” Harper asked, her envy audible in her question. When Levi smirked at her, she tried to hide it. “I mean won’t you get recognized?”
“People know my parents. They don’t know me. I don’t get recognized outside of L.A and that’s how I like it.”
“You don’t feel the pressure to eventually be famous like them?”
“Famous how?”
“Like… a celebrity. A singer or actor or model. Something like that.”
“Hell no. I don’t want someone telling me how to act. Celebrities… they just adopt whatever persona people like my dad give them.” Levi studied Harper as she looked down at her hands. He was quiet for a moment. “Christ, let me guess – you want to me an actress or a model,” he said as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small vial, which he twisted open.
Harper scoffed. “What makes you think I care about any of that?”
“Because you do.”
She did. “Fine.”
He grinned. “You don’t have to be either of those things. Just keep being yourself and you won’t be able to avoid fame.”
“What makes you say that?” Harper asked, trying not to look fazed by the fine white powder he poured onto the counter. Levi gave her a look as if she’d asked a stupid question.
“Look at you.”
She looked down at herself. There were scotch and grease stains on her white dress. “Looking.”
“You’re gorgeous and you have a crazy side. People naturally want to know about girls like you.” He ran a hand along his square jaw. “And you’re interesting. Give it a few years and you’ll be my Kryptonite.”
Harper cocked her head, knitting her brows despite the smile on her lips. “Why aren’t I now?”
“Because there’s still some good girl in you,” he replied, reaching into his other pocket to retrieve his wallet. He pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and a shiny AmEx, using the card to cut the small pile of white into two lines before bending over. The rolled fifty a tunnel between his nostril and the powder, Levi made it quickly disappear off the surface of the counter. Standing straight again, he nodded toward the second line – an offer to Harper. Suddenly, despite feeling oddly un-attracted to Levi while he was snorting, Harper wished she’d done coke before.
Trying to look casual, she nodded. “Sure.”
Levi studied her. “Actually.” With a smirk, he bent over again, clearing the second line. Harper burst out laughing despite her confusion.
“What the fuck?”
Levi put the card and bill away. “I’m not going to be the person who offers you your first line.”
Harper didn’t bother lying about having done coke before. Something told her that lying to Levi was pointless.
“I’ll try it eventually,” she reasoned. “Who cares if you offer it or someone else does? Besides, you said I was going to be bad in two years anyway.”
“I figure you will. I’m hoping you won’t.”
“Because you care so much about me,” she teased.
“I care about me,” he corrected. Harper tried not to look offended. “And I have a feeling you’ll be the end of me if you get into all the same shit I’m into. The last thing I need is a partner in crime. We’d probably set L.A on fire.”
“So let’s set L.A on fire. I fly home tomorrow, anyway,” Harper said playfully. She swallowed when Levi didn’t laugh, embarrassed by her flirtation. She watched as he leaned back against the counter. The way he looked at her made her chew her lower lip.
“You know, you don’t have to be fucked up,” he said flatly. “You just want to be. Because the divorce hurt and you’re pissed at your parents and you think you have the perfect excuse to be a shitty, rebellious kid. But I can tell you’re smart and strong. You don’t have to be some kind of premeditated screw up.”
Harper stared, a mixture of shock and embarrassment forming in her stomach. And anger. Suddenly, a fire blazed in both her cheeks and eyes. “I’m sorry, but why exactly are you trying to talk to me like you’re so much older and wiser? You’re fucking sixteen, Levi.” Her stare narrowed at him. “And I’m pretty sure you’re the one who thinks he’s this old, damaged soul because boo-hoo, his dad never wanted him, so don’t patronize me.”
“That’s not how I meant it, I’m just saying you can still be good. And normal.”
“So why can’t you?”
Levi stared back at her, looking tired. He stretched, rubbing the back of his neck before clearing the plate in front of her and casually tossing it in the sink along with his, probably breaking at least one of them. “I’m too tired for this conversation,” he decided.
“Convenient.”
Levi shot her a look. “Unless I’m mistaken, I met you forty-five minutes ago and only because you broke into my house. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t owe you any life stories.”
Damn it. Harper clenched her jaw. He wasn’t wrong about any of that and she would sound way too emotional if she pointed out that it felt like they’d known each other for much longer, even if it was true.
“And I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings,” Levi clarified, watching Harper as she headed for the door she’d come in through. “I like you. I just wanted to help.”
“Get over yourself,” Harper muttered on her way out.
And for the rest of the night, she thought about the words “I like you,” all the while regretting the juvenile retort she’d exited on.
“It’s fine, I would’ve said the same thing. ‘Get over yourself’ is a classic comeback, so you’re good,” Zoe said that night. “But dude. I’m imagining Levi Westin all mad and it’s giving me tinglies in weird places.”
“You’re so stupid.”
“Hey. You’re gonna regret saying that. I’m hurt now and I’m going to call Marco Donovan for emotional support,” Zoe said, chucking her oatmeal cookie at Harper as they watched 4AM infomercials on the leather sectional in the living room.
“What about Steven? Or Stephan? I thought you liked him.”
“I do. I totally plan on losing my V-card to him.”
Harper made a face and laughed. “’Kay.”
“But I have a feeling that I’m going to end up sleeping with Marco somewhere down the line, anyway. Maybe in a couple years, when the age difference isn’t super disturbing,” she said, shrugging breezily as she changed the channel. Harper stared.
“What the hell was the point in me hooking you up with Steven-Stephan if you plan on eventually boning that douchebag?”
“Harpie. Sometimes things are just destiny, ‘kay? Now lose the judgment before I throw my glass of milk in your face.”
“You would never.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Zoe chirped merrily, retrieving the cookie she’d thrown at Harper and t
aking a bite.
The next morning, Harper awoke on the same couch they had fallen asleep on. But the cookie crumbs were suddenly cleaned off and the whole area looked generally neatened from the night before. Zoe was nowhere in sight and through the reflection of the television, Harper could see that her hair had been fanned out prettily over a pillow and she’d been neatly covered and tucked under a blanket when she knew for sure that she’d passed out with her limbs splayed the night before.
Before she could vocalize her confusion, Zoe rushed into room, jumping on top of her.
“Ouch! What the fuck, Zoe?”
“Levi Westin called me this morning is what the fuck. He said he was coming by so I did the creepiest thing in the world and made you all pretty in your sleep in case I couldn’t get you to wake up by the time he got here.”
Harper glanced at the Mason Pearson hairbrush on the table and burst out laughing. “Did you brush my hair while I was sleeping? That’s straight up stalker material, Zoe.”
“There’s a fine line between stalker love and best friend love.”
“We’re best friends?” Harper snorted.
“I decided this morning. Don’t be a dick about it.”
“Okay.” Harper rubbed her eyes, blinking and finally absorbing Zoe’s earlier words. “Wait. Levi called?”
“Yes, that’s what I was telling you and I have no idea what the hell he wants but he’s gonna be here any second so wake your ass up and put your clothes and your face on!”
By the time Harper was packed and dressed, she heard Zoe open the front door downstairs, obviously trying to alert Harper with her loud greeting. “Oh, hey, Levi! You’re here!”
With her bag slung around her shoulder, Harper slowly made her way down the stairs to the front hall, her eyes on anything else but the door since she knew that Levi stood in it, watching her the entire way down. When she finally reached the bottom step, she looked at him.
“Hey,” she said. She watched him eye her bag and then nod out toward the driveway.
“I’m driving you to the airport,” he said, as if it were just a fact. Harper ignored Zoe’s extremely adamant nod.
