All Kinds of Bad

by Rachel Rust

“Red.” I knew it was the color she was expecting, and the smile on her face confirmed it. “Wanna see it?” I asked.

  “Hell yes.”

  Her answer echoed in my head, the perfect combination of cute and sexy. My gaze fell into her chest. Look up, creep! I forced my eyes back onto her face and unlatched the car door. “Let’s go.” We exited the SUV and walked to the garage. Her hips swayed just enough when she walked. I imagined what it would be like to hook my arm around her and lift her up to my face.

  She would smell like coconuts.

  On the left side of the garage was a small door, just inside was the button for the large garage door. The big door groaned and heaved its way upward. The car sat under its blue cover. My fingers dug into the blue material with an eagerness I hadn’t felt in over a year. The cloth came off with a few pulls, and the Camaro appeared. Its low, sleek style hit me in the chest just as it had the first time I saw it.

  Compared to the red paint, Lydia’s hair was a sandy orange. I didn’t understand why redheads were called that, why they weren’t called orangeheads. Although that was probably why. Orangehead sounded like some weird skin disease or a punk rock band.

  She crossed her arms, framing her chest with her thin, peach arms. Stop looking at her tits! I was a fan of all female body parts, but I was, at the end of the day, a boob man.

  I looked again.

  Chapter Eleven

  She’s Not a Dork

  The stench of motor oil and metal hung in the air as I stood next to Nathan in the garage. I tried my best to ignore his arms. His muscles were not just the sleek kind that appeared on thin people with no body fat. He had actual muscles. Rounded, protruding muscles under flawless brown skin—only a foot away. My fingers flexed of their own volition. I crossed my arms, tucking my hands into submission before they decided to reach out and squeeze something.

  His Camaro’s red paint was a tad faded, but other than that it looked in decent condition—at least to my novice eyes. My mind filled with phantom sounds of a rumbling engine. Parked facing the driveway, the car looked hell-bent on busting loose.

  “It’s cool,” I said. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It needs a ton of engine work.” Nathan leaned forward, placing his hands on the car. The muscles in his forearms flexed, and I nearly melted into a puddle of goo.

  I forced my gaze back to his face. “Does it have a name?”

  Nathan didn’t respond.

  “I named my car,” I said, ignoring the voice in my head telling me to shut up and not be a dork. “I call him Frankie, but his full name is Francisco the Great and Powerful.”

  Nathan laughed. “Francisco the Great and Powerful, that’s a good one.”

  It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or making fun of me.

  He stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “Her name’s Caroline.”

  “I like that name. Did you name it after someone? Some hot chick from a movie or something?”

  Nathan exhaled a small laugh. “No, nothing like that.” The smile on his face then faded as tires crunched over the gravel of the driveway.

  Just behind me, Sergeant Rollins pulled up in his police car. I mentally rolled my eyes. “Why is he here? I already told him everything I know.”

  “I don’t think he’s here for you.”

  “Oh … is he here to talk to you?”

  “Probably.”

  “Why?”

  Nathan stood tall, arms crossed. His silence told me not to ask any more questions. Whatever was going on—whatever Sergeant Rollins’s business was with him—I was clearly not welcomed to be a part of it.

  I took a step back. “Well … I suppose I should go then.” I meant it, but my feet glued to the floor and my mind forced me to say my next words before Rollins came into earshot. “Are you friends with Taya Pearce or anything?”

  “Why?” Nathan asked.

  “She’s having a barbeque at her house tonight for the basketball players. I was wondering if you were going to be there.” My heart galloped into my throat as the words came out.

  “I heard about that. You gonna be there?”

  “Yeah.”

  He smiled. “Maybe I’ll see ya then.”

  I nodded, unable to produce actual words as his smile overtook all my brain functions. Shuffling my adhesive-laden feet forward, I finally walked away.

  “Lydia,” Nathan called out as I approached my car. My stomach flipped at the sound of my name having materialized from his lips. He leaned against a pickup in the driveway, muscular arms crossed in front of his chest, and flashed an impish grin. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll return the favor one day.”

  I nearly collapsed into the gravel. Forcing my legs to cooperate, I went to my car, ignoring Rollins. He and Nathan said nothing to each other, both watching as I turned Frankie around to head down the long driveway. As Nathan’s form became smaller in my rearview mirror, a chuckle arose from deep inside me. One thought engulfed all others in my head: Thank God I moved here.

  Chapter Twelve

  He’s Gone Desperate

  Chet Rollins stepped past me, into the garage, looking at the Camaro. “Helluva a car.”

  I ignored his insincere pleasantness, watching Lydia’s car disappear around the corner at the end of the driveway. I would’ve given just about anything to be in the passenger seat … right next to her, nose full of coconut, moving far away from Rollins.

  “So, Nathan, how’re you adjusting to life back on the rez?” Rollins asked with the faintest smile. A smile I had seen before. The one Rollins wore when he felt superior, as if he had someone by the balls and was just about to squeeze. The one he had worn each time he had busted me for something in the past.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  Rollins shrugged a bit. “Just welcoming you back into town, ya know … wondering what’s going on, what you’re up to.” He paused. “Wondering where you were two nights ago.”

  “Unpacking.”

  “Unpacking, huh?” Rollins’s eyes inspected the workbench and the shelves next to it.

  “If you’re looking for spray paint, it’s in the cabinet to the left,” I said.

  Rollins shot me a dead-eyed look.

  “We’ve got all kinds of colors,” I continued, now with my own smug grin. “We use ’em to mark different things on the ranch, things that need repairing usually. Hell, some of ’em probably have my fingerprints, so go ahead and print ’em, but I didn’t spray paint anything at school.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but the bank wasn’t spray painted. Bricks were thrown through one of its windows … straight into Chris DeMarco’s office.” Rollins’ ball-grabbing smile returned. “You remember Chris DeMarco, don’t ya?”

  Of course I knew Alex’s dad. He was the president of the bank and had more money than class, as Ed always said. And Chris DeMarco threw his money around to things he found important, constantly wielding his power and influence. The week I had left for Colorado, the school purchased a new maple basketball court; likely Chris DeMarco’s celebration for his part in ridding the team of me.

  “Chris sure as hell remembers you,” Rollins said. “Had quite the look on his face when I told him you were back in town. Of course, with a brick laying in his office, maybe that didn’t come as a great surprise to him.” Rollins drummed his fingers on the hood of the Camaro. “But, at least it wasn’t a bomb, so there’s some improvement.”

  My muscles clenched. “I wasn’t at the bank.”

  “Didn’t say you were.”

  “Like fuck you didn’t.”

  “You got a serious attitude problem, Mr. Stone.”

  “Yeah, you’ve informed me of that before.”

  Rollins took a few steps toward me. “And I’ll keep telling you that, so I suggest you stay off my radar. I don’t wanna hear your name, see your face or—”

  “No problem.” I walked away. If Rollins wanted me out of his face, that was the one and only demand I was willing to o
bey. I continued walking, straight into the house, not giving a damn about the idiot in the police uniform.

  I entered the kitchen and came face-to-face with my uncle. Fuck.

  “What did Rollins want?” Ed asked.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Same shit, different day.”

  He leaned a hip against the counter, crossing his arms. “What did he want, Nathan?”

  I shrugged, wishing he would mind his own damn business. “Some stuff was spray painted around the school couple nights ago. Guess the bank’s windows were smashed.”

  Ed’s eyebrows raised. “The bank?”

  My eyes veered away, unable to look at him. “Yeah, the bank.” My fingers gripped tighter to the water bottle. “I wasn’t there, so don’t even bother asking. And I haven’t seen Chris DeMarco since I got back.”

  “Let’s keep it that way, huh? You can do all your banking up in Shadville. Most stuff’s online these days anyway.”

  I scoffed. “Sure. No problem.” I didn’t give a shit about where I stashed my paychecks. It just pissed me off that I had been back in town less than forty-eight hours and Rollins was already trying to get rid of me.

  “Just watch your step,” Ed said. “And don’t do anything stupid, especially when Rollins pokes his nose around, or you hear or see anything else that pisses you off.”

  “What do you think I’m gonna do?”

  “I know you’re angry about being back here, but keep cool. You’re eighteen now, and handing out black eyes means assault charges, not just schoolyard rumbles.”

  “I’m not gonna punch anybody.” I didn’t completely believe my own words. Not that I had any immediate plans, but past experience had shown that my fists sometimes had a mind of their own, acting before my brain could catch up. I turned to leave the kitchen.

  “I have another question,” Ed said.

  I gave him an irritated what? look.

  “Who’s the redhead?”

  Lydia’s face flashed before my eyes and the corner of my mouth nearly turned up, but I forced it down, unwilling to let Ed see the weakness brewing under my skin. “No one.” I left the kitchen and headed into the foyer.

  “Hey, dickhead,” my cousin Sam called out from the living room. “Heard about what you did at school. Trying to get expelled already?”

  I ignored him, headed for the stairs.

  “Next time try something more original than spray paint,” he said.

  My fists clenched at Sam’s words, but my mind was focused on the next few hours to come. Her smile. Her eyes. Her easy-going nature. Her body. My feet took the stairs two steps at a time, feeling strangely glad to be back on the rez, despite the aggravating pulse of the town. She melted away the sharp edges that Chris DeMarco and Chet Rollins had carved into me. She clouded them, snuffed out everything else around her.

  Maybe it was the hypnotizing green eyes, but for once it seemed my life could actually take a turn for the better. It sure as hell couldn’t get any worse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She’s Slapped with a Reality Check

  Tables were scattered across the small backyard of Taya’s house that evening, occupied with people I barely knew. My eyes scanned the scene, finally landing on friendly faces—Taya and Nina seated at a table near the house. Next to Nina sat her shaggy-haired boyfriend.

  “Hi, Lydia,” Daniel said as I sat down across from them. “Don’t worry, I’m just here to eat, not hit you with a basketball.”

  “Good to know,” I said, making us both laugh. But my smile faded a little when Alex appeared and sat down next to Daniel. He was not the boy I came to see.

  The evening sun behind him highlighted the tips of his mohawk. His plate towered with food: Two hot dogs loaded with relish and onions, a mountain of potato salad, and what looked like a half a bag of Doritos. Having a Y-chromosome metabolism was so unfair.

  “How about a long car ride into the sunset after this?” Alex asked me.

  I spit out the first excuse that came to mind. “I can’t tonight. I have to study for a test.” It wasn’t a total lie. I did have a test, except I didn’t need to study. I could do exponential functions in my sleep. But my stomach knotted with guilt as Alex’s face dropped. So, I offered a concession. “Maybe one of these days, okay?”

  “Cool,” Alex said with a pleased grin, then clutched his fork like it was a rock. He turned to talk to Daniel about basketball, finally releasing me from his gaze. A sigh of relief escaped my lips before I could stop it.

  An evening ride in a cool car with a cool boy would’ve been, well, cool. Totally cool. But my eyes were more interested in something else. Something not here. Someone not here. His grin. His braid. His dark eyes.

  All around the backyard, groups of people congregated. Laughing. Eating. I forced a small grin as a girl from my Spanish class waved at me. Despite the fact that there was cheesecake, I wasn’t much of a party person. And as the evening wore on, the air grew colder, chilling my arms. I was half-tempted to go home.

  Until the sound of footsteps behind me turned my head—in time to see Nathan appear and sit in the chair right next to mine.

  Everything else vanished. No more cold air. No more Alex. No more cheesecake.

  “You made it,” I said.

  Nathan studied my face before he answered. “Yeah, I made it.” The breeze caught his scent. He smelled faintly of soap, and his loose hair was somewhat damp. Dirty thoughts churned in my head at the realization that he had gotten naked and taken a shower since I’d last seen him. I forced a steady breath.

  Nathan joined in on Daniel and Alex’s basketball conversation about the team at Shadville as their biggest threat this season. He had gray Nike sneakers and khaki cargo shorts. His legs and knees, like the rest of him, were lean but packed with solid muscle under the most edible caramel skin tone I had ever seen on a human being. His long-sleeve blue Thorn Creek High Mustangs t-shirt was the vintage type that appeared old and dated with faded lettering, although it was probably brand new. It was thin cotton and clung to his taut stomach and chest. Not that I ever noticed things like that.

  Alex threw a potato chip at me, snapping me out of my trance. It bounced off my left breast and fell onto my lap. “You gonna come see me play this weekend?” Alex asked.

  I flicked the chip onto the ground, then glimpsed at Nathan before answering. “Yeah, I’ll come watch the game.” From the corner of my eye, Alex’s gaze was on me, but my only focus was Nathan.

  “Do you even like basketball?” Nathan asked.

  “I don’t know much about it, but I suppose I can learn.”

  He smiled, and we both fell quiet. My brain scrambled to find a non-dorky thing to say. I glanced down at his Nikes. “What position do you play?”

  “Guard.”

  I tried not to look stupid. “Isn’t there, like, more than one type of guard?”

  He nodded.

  “So which are you?” I asked.

  “Shooting guard.”

  “So you’re the best shot?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “So you’re modest?”

  He paused with a hint of a grin. “Not necessarily.”

  I stared at him for a while, unsure of how to respond. My fingers fiddled with the hem of my shirt. The entire space around us had gone quiet. Across the table Nina and Daniel had grins on their face. Alex’s eyes darted from me to Nathan, and then back to me again.

  “Didn’t know you two had met yet,” Alex said.

  Nathan and Alex stared at one another forever, engaged in some kind of guy ESP. Mental conversations were being had, and as the obvious main topic, I squirmed in my chair.

  Before either Nathan or Alex could say anything, the situation cranked up to a whole new level of awkward as Lance sat down in the chair next to Nathan—and plopped his voice recorder out onto the table.

  “You guys hear about the bank’s window getting busted?” he asked.

  No one replied. At least n
ot with their mouths—their eyes, however, all focused in on one person: Nathan.

  Lance gave Nathan a little grin. “Welcome back.”

  “Get the hell outta here,” Nathan said.

  My eyes widened at his rude reply.

  But Lance didn’t seem surprised by Nathan’s sudden attitude. He nudged his voice recorder closer to him. “I’d love to get your thoughts on the bank situation.” Nathan’s glare told Lance to leave once again—but he stayed put, looking my way. “Lydia, have you met Nathan?”

  I nodded slightly.

  “Did he tell you about his history with the bank?”

  I shook my head, but stopped when Nathan’s jaw clenched.

  “Actually,” Lance continued, “he has history with a lot of people. You might wanna do your research before hanging out with him because he’s pissed off a lot of people. Hell, Coach Donnelly probably won’t even put him in the game tomorrow because he—”

  “Glad to know you’re still an asshole, Lance,” Nathan said.

  Lance flashed a broad smile. “That’s funny, coming from the town asshole. And the town vandal, and the town trespasser, and let’s not forget arson, that’s a big—”

  “Shut up, Lance,” Alex said. “Don’t you have something to go write?”

  Everyone chuckled, except Lance. His face tightened and he looked right at me. “Seriously, Lydia, just watch who you associate with. This town is pretty unforgiving for people who hang with criminals.”

  Nathan peered at Lance with just his eyes. “Get the fuck outta here or I’ll drag you away myself.”

  Size-wise, there was no comparison. Even seated, Nathan towered over Lance, and his basketball arms were twice the circumference of Lance’s reporter arms.

  Lance, no doubt sensing his place on this particular food chain, scooped up his phone. “Got that threat on record.”

  He walked away, as the rest of us sat in silence.

  “Well, that was fun,” Alex finally said.

  Everyone laughed.

  Everyone but me. I stared down into my lap, feeling like I should say something—but what, and in whose defense? Lance’s warnings were hard to brush aside. He had never been anything other than nice to me, and I couldn’t imagine he would say bad things about Nathan for no good reason. And Nathan—I glanced sideways at him—hadn’t disputed any of Lance’s assertions about him. Maybe he really was trouble on two legs. But who was I to judge someone I barely knew? Especially when that someone had nice muscles, and a nice smile, and a nice … everything.