by Tonya Kuper
“So. Josie,” Santos said.
I eyed him. His dark hair was messy from his helmet. His white shirt was half tucked in. A little disheveled, but that fit the jokester. “What about her?”
“You gonna tap dat?” he asked with a straight face.
I buckled over, laughing. “Hell no! And you’re not, either, Lil Jon. Who says ‘tap dat’? Really? And the only thing that would let you tap it is a maple tree…if you’re lucky.”
No way would I let Santos hit on her, let alone sleep with her. I wouldn’t let anyone touch her. She was too important.
He did have good taste, though.
As I was about to flick the backlight on, the switch moved from the off position to on without my doing. Santos beat me to it. “Maple tree?” he asked. “That’s just lame. Let me be the funny guy. Besides, she’s not my type.” He lumbered toward the back of the building. “So…how are you going to tell Josie?”
“That you aren’t her type?” I snorted. That got me a basketball to the chest. I Pushed three balls, lobbing one and rocketing two more his way. “I need to gain her trust. Maybe reveal a little at a time. By now, she has to know something is up. I just need to convince her I’m not a wack job.” We went into our separate bedrooms.
The square room held nothing but empty space. It reminded me of every other warehouse I’d lived in over the last year. The road was a lonely place to be. I could hear Santos shuffling around his room and crunch-squishing something very displeasing to him. “Awww, sick. Hey man, wanna trade rooms?”
At least I had one constant. Santos.
I was used to staying in dumps for training, but this time would be different. This warehouse, no matter how briefly we were here, would be where I trained Josie Harper. It was already more special than any other I’d lived in.
It would also be nice to be around a girl for a change. I wasn’t a perv; I was only hoping for something different than the usual testosterone and egos that came with training mostly males.
I blinked, and a chest of drawers appeared in front of me. I loaded the dresser with the contents of my small duffel and Pushed a bed, along with bedding.
After investigating, I decided the decrepit, industrial kitchen was not so much gross as just old. The bathroom was the same. Mildew crept from behind several layers of caulking. Santos and I could fix it the traditional way—elbow grease and TLC—or we could make it whatever we wanted it to be with a little concentration. The possibilities were endless.
Would it raise questions if we decked out the place? Maybe. But no one would be in the warehouse except for training, which meant Santos, myself, and Josie.
“Hey, man. You up for some redecorating?”
Santos jogged out from his bedroom, wiping his shoe on the threshold. “Let’s do it.” He spun around in the center of the warehouse, taking in the dilapidated structure.
If Santos were doing this by himself, he’d have to snap a few pics to see how to Push it back to its natural state when we were done, but since I could Push and Retract, I could simply undo the improvements we were about to make. The Retraction worked like an eraser.
We agreed on a few points and worked in tandem. The floors, the windows, the bathroom—the cleaning, we did together. We decided the corner would be the living area. I focused there. Black leather couches. Sixty-inch LCD perched on the wall, cable and all. Stainless-steel industrial tables, lighting. Boom. Man cave.
I turned around to see Santos concentrating on the kitchen. It was a replica of something I’d seen in a Pottery Barn catalog. “You’re totally killing the dude vibe here, Martha Stewart.”
“What? Look who’s talking. Want some guy-liner for those baby blues? Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.”
I picked up my phone and searched the web. Santos attempted to steal a look at my phone. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m about to give myself a haircut.” Googling one of the television shows all the chicks were addicted to, I found a guy with similar features, and I Pushed the new hairstyle. Not many could Push reality without observing it—most would have to look in the mirror, but I was one of the lucky ones. I stuck my head in the bathroom to check my new cut. Better. Why pay when I could do it myself?
Santos jogged to the middle of the warehouse and shouted, “I’ll Push the soundproofing, haus.”
He was helping take the Pushing responsibility off of me, which was appreciated. I’d be Pushing quite a bit in the coming week. And the soundproofing, yeah, that would definitely come in handy with what we had in store. “Thanks, man.”
Living quarters. Check. Haircut. Check. Make this girl trust me, drop a bomb on her life, and get her to use her body and mind as a weapon. On deck.
Josie
H
annah and I trotted up to Marisa’s front door. Most of our friends would be at her party. And since Hannah gave me a pep talk and Mom surprised me by giving my leash some slack, I was determined to end my birthday on a good note. I even made my eye makeup more dramatic than usual and used lip color rather than my subtle gloss to make the night feel more special.
We weaved through the labyrinth of hot bodies. The sweltering house was enough to drive me back outdoors, but we needed to at least see who was there. I was hoping to maybe watch Ian, a super-cute guy, from afar. Not that I was a stalker.
We rounded the corner into the kitchen. Since it was the only room in the house with lights at full strength, I was almost blinded. Averting my eyes from the bright overhead CFLs, I swiveled my head to the breakfast nook. Tate, my one and only ex-boyfriend, pressed a girl against the wall, their lips locked.
Oh. No. You. Didn’t. The slap of shock was quickly followed by my wounded ego getting further wounded. I didn’t want to see this.
Make out in the dark like everyone else, dickhead.
The lights went out. The darkness squeezed me like a rancor with its prey. I was almost brought to my knees by the shooting pain in my head and the pukey feeling rolling through me. Mom had asked how I was feeling, and I’d lied. Maybe I should’ve mentioned the crazy headache. Maybe I was about to have an aneurism or a stroke. More than 140,000 people died from strokes annually in the United States, and teens contributed to that statistic.
Several people let out screams, including Hannah, who now clutched my arm. The room tilted and swayed as I tried to push myself upright. Bracing my hands on my knees, I pressed against the dark and nausea to stand. I grabbed Hannah’s hand off my arm and headed out the way we came, following the slow strobe light into the next room. The bodies moved in stop-motion animation, and I couldn’t predict where body parts would land next. Dodging the pulsing bodies was impossible, and the room was closing in on me. I needed to get out of this house. Something didn’t feel right.
I made a shot for the front door, but Hannah yanked me backward. She’d stopped to talk to two girls from her cheer squad. I tried to listen to their yells above the music but couldn’t concentrate when the room pulsated between black and flashes of contorted limbs. “I’ll find you guys in a few minutes. I need some fresh air,” I yelled.
Letting go of Hannah’s hand, I rushed toward the door. The people on the front porch were a blur as I ran down the steps to the empty front yard. I sucked in air, gulped it like I couldn’t get enough. The sweat dried cool on my skin. As my breathing calmed, I examined my shadow on the grass cast in multiple directions from the streetlights lining both sides of the avenue.
Man, Nick would’ve kicked Tate’s ass. That thought made me smile. I paced in the grass, mentally recapping my birthday and focusing on my breathing. I pictured my ex licking the girl’s tonsils.
Just one of these events from today—Dad not home, losing the internship, Tate—wouldn’t be so bad, but everything at once made for an unbelievably sucktacular birthday.
Hannah’s arm laced through mine, and she guided me to the steps. I didn’t fight her when we sat on the top stoop. “Harsh day. Wanna talk about it?”
Hello,
repeat of lunch. But bitching about things wouldn’t change them, so what was the point?
“It’s not about Tate,” I said. And the truth of that reflexive denial brought us both to an awkward silence. I wasn’t really good with people. I struggled with crowds. I could follow Hannah’s lead and fake my way through social situations, but the truth was that I wasn’t all that comfortable. Part of me would always be on the fringe, observing, keeping a distance, analyzing.
I was just wired to be weird, it seemed. But that wouldn’t stop me from wanting to be like Hannah, from wanting to fit in. Hannah, bless her cheer-captain heart, seemed to know this.
The sound of engines pulled everyone’s attention to the street. Two crotch rockets gunned around the corner and rolled up Marisa’s circular drive, stopping in front of the stairs. I recognized the bike. It was the hot weirdo from school.
“Seriously? What does Fate have against me?”
Hannah laughed.
They pulled off their helmets and dismounted their bikes. Hannah bumped my arm. “Mmm mmm,” she hummed. I couldn’t disagree.
The hot cursing weirdo had cut his hair. He was one of those guys who didn’t try to be hot, he just was. He looked like a badass.
I wanted to glance away. I wanted him to know I wasn’t going to fall for his bad-boy image. I wanted him to know I was different. I wasn’t going to swoon over him like every other girl here…and probably everywhere he went. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t peel my eyes away—mostly because his startling irises didn’t leave my face.
My rib cage rattled as if my heart was demonstrating Newton’s Law of Inertia.
He and his friend climbed the stairs and hesitated two steps down from us. His friend was shorter. Good-looking, close-cropped hair, warm skin, and checking Hannah out big time. I didn’t blame him. I guess if I were a guy, I’d check out my friend, too. Hannah had mocha skin, ebony hair, hazel-green eyes. Exotic. The exact opposite of me.
The hot weirdo guy still stared at me. “Take a ride with me? I swear I’m not a mass murderer.”
Adrenaline spiked in my veins. I didn’t want him to have that effect on me. I interlaced my shaky hands and spoke through a fake smile. “Yeah, because that doesn’t make you sound like a creeper.”
He moved toward me, took one more step, and then leaned down so his face was level with mine. “Just a quick ride. That’s all I’m asking for.”
I couldn’t believe he’d ask me for anything. “Dude, you cursed at me today.” Some nerve. He had a rockin’ bod and a gorgeous face, but I wasn’t stupid. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”
The guy combed his fingers through his hair, bringing my attention to the curves in his arm. “I wasn’t cursing at you. Look, I have an idea.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket. “I’ll leave this with your friend…”
“Hannah,” Hannah said, a bit too enthusiastically.
The guy gave Hannah a flirty smile and continued. “Okay. I’ll leave this here with Hannah to assure that I bring you back.”
“Not enough.”
He held his hand out to his friend. “Keys.” The friend shoved keys into Mr. Hottie’s hand. “I’m Reid Wentworth, and this is Santos. I’ll take his keys. He’ll also be stranded here with Hannah until I get back with you.”
Holding up a finger for the guys to wait, Hannah tugged my arm and dragged me a couple of feet away.
“Why are you hesitating?” she whispered.
“I want to be safe. Stranger danger, ya know? This doesn’t seem like a logical—”
“Okay, Spock. He’s given great collateral. Besides, it is your birthday and your mom let you out of the house. Live a little. Do something crazy for once.”
“Nope.”
Hannah pulled me around to face the guys. “She’s going with you.”
“I. Am. Not.” I threw Hannah a death stare.
The friend, Santos, cleared his throat and pulled his hand out of his jeans pocket. “Heads you go, tails you don’t.”
“This isn’t up for debate. Or chance.”
Instead of listening to me, Santos flipped the coin up in the air. Fifty-fifty chance. I didn’t like those odds.
He caught it and slapped it on the back of his opposite hand. “Heads.”
“No,” I said.
The guy pushed both hands behind his neck and blew his cheeks up with air. His shirt stretched taut across his chest. The breath he’d held in his mouth rushed out as he pulled his hands forward, raking over his scruffy jawline. His sleeve jerked up, revealing the tattoo on his arm I’d only seen the edge of earlier—and my lungs froze in mid-breath.
Holy shitballs.
His tattoo was exactly like my dead brother’s design.
My brother’s tattoo was an original, or so I’d thought. It was no coincidence this guy had one just like it. He had to have known Nick if they had identical ink. And I needed answers. Now.
I pushed my finger into the center of the stranger’s chest. Rock hard. “If we’re not back in a half an hour, Hannah’s calling the cops.”
A mischievous smile parted his perfect lips. “Fair enough.”
Hannah’s body shook against mine. Yeah, she was loving every second of this. I elbowed her and said, “Phone.” She handed over her phone and I snapped a pic of Mr. Hottie’s license plate. I slapped her phone into her hand and she winked at me. “Have fun, kids.”
What the hell am I getting myself into?
3.
Reid
S
ome idiot had rolled his cheap-ass ride next to mine and was about to compare engines, three friends around him. I guessed football teammates. He obviously didn’t know squat, because otherwise he would’ve known his bike wasn’t in the same league.
I had to say something to make them tuck tail and buzz off, or I wouldn’t ever get time alone with Josie.
“Can I help ya with something, buddy?” I asked.
“Checkin’ out your bike, man.”
Josie stepped between the douche and my bike. “Hey, Derek, we’re heading out for a bit. If you’re wondering, though, judging by the engine size and exhaust, his probably has more torque and power. Can you talk to him later?”
The idiot eyed me, then pulled his chin up at her, giving her a silent confirmation. He walked away, and his cronies followed. She held some kind of cred if all four athletes listened to her.
“Classmate?”
“I tutored him last fall.”
I saddled up and held the helmet in my lap. Josie stood beside my bike, watching me, playing with a stack of bracelets. A tee, jeans, short boots. Damn.
“Are you having second thoughts?” I made sure not to have a mocking tone to my voice. I needed her to trust me. “I’ll be careful.”
She stared at the helmet and then looked up at me. “I haven’t been on a motorcycle before.”
I patted the seat behind me. “One leg on each side, and the rest is up to me.” She swung a leg over and straddled the seat. I turned to hand her the helmet. “You oughta wear this. And don’t worry.” I watched her over my shoulder and tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. “It’s your first time,” I whispered. “I’ll be gentle.”
She shoved the helmet over her head, her cheeks red. I struck the kickstand and started it. My bike thundered to life under us. I reached behind me, found one of her hands, and pulled it around my waist. She probably didn’t have to hold on to me, but I wanted her to. Not only because she was hot, but because she was important.
I saluted Santos and Hannah. Hannah raised her watch in the air and tapped it. We started moving, and Josie’s other hand circled my waist while her thighs hugged me.
“You know,” she yelled in my ear. “Driving without a helmet or your license is not a smart move. You’re just asking for trouble.” She didn’t know that I’d memorized my license and could Push a new one in a matter of seconds if I wanted to. I could also get a new helmet, but I wasn’t about to make one materialize out of nowhere and have her f
aint on me.
We whizzed by strip malls and grocery stores closing down for the night. Headlights flashed across our faces. Ordinary people out doing ordinary things, like heading home to bed.
I was going to show Josie a few things tonight, none of them ordinary.
Josie leaned forward, pressing into my back. “Statistically, one out of five bikers who don’t wear helmets ends up in an accident.”
She sounded like a freaking insurance commercial. I hoped she wasn’t this way about everything.
Josie yelled into my ear, “If you’re going sixty miles per hour, considering your weight of approximately a hundred and ninety pounds, if your bike crashes into a standing object, you will fly through the air with fifty-seven hundred pounds of force. I’d hate to see what happens when you land. With or without a helmet, what’s left can’t be pretty.”
What the hell? I kept my eyes on the road and yelled back at her, “I won’t let us crash.” I meant it. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her or me. Regardless, my fingers tightened around the grips.
We turned into the park. I’d found it earlier in the day—a place remote enough we’d have privacy, but not so far from civilization that she’d wig out. Trails and trees, but no water. Water meant a possibility of gators, and I didn’t do reptiles.
Instead of parking in one of the marked stalls, I popped the curb and drove up onto the sidewalk. Josie leaned forward again, and her hold around my waist tightened. “I don’t think we’re supposed to drive on here,” she said into my ear.
I ignored her. She was going to fry my nerves if she didn’t stop with the Goody Two-shoes act. Crawling along the concrete, I stopped when the trail wound through cypress and oak trees, hiding us. One lamppost illuminated the pathway, but even that was dim. Insects sang, and the smell of cedar hung in the air.
