Every Little Piece of Me (Orchid Valley Book 1)

by Lexi Ryan

  I shake my head. “Not exactly. I ended up majoring in business so my dad would pay for school.”

  He winces. “Some things never change.”

  I know he doesn’t mean it as a barb, but it burrows just beneath my skin anyway, festering there. I pick at a piece of sushi. “I guess not.”

  “You’re working for him now?”

  “No.” And this is something I can be proud of. “I manage a day spa on the lake. It’s called The Orchid.”

  His face lights up, and warmth spreads through me at the pride in his eyes. “A spa, huh? I might know a little bit about that line of work. You like it?”

  “It’s nothing as big as the places that hire you, but I love it.” My words come out a little rough. “The Orchid is a space for women to relax—to treat themselves and be taken care of, because they spend so much of their lives treating and taking care of others. It’s a place of luxury for those who can afford it, but when I came in, I decided every woman deserved a taste of that. So we also offer free yoga classes weekly and encourage the community to attend. Every quarter, we offer a series of free meditation classes. We also do wine tastings and girls’ nights, and the only expense there is any food you buy or wine you want to take home. It’s been a hit, and these community outreach efforts have improved profit margins rather than reducing them, like the owner’s sons swore it would.”

  “Only you could find the intersection of good business practice and civic duty. It’s perfect. They should interview you for the commercial.”

  “I don’t mean to sound like a sales pitch. I just truly love it, and I love the people I work with and what we offer to the community.”

  “If half these places we work for had someone with your passion at the helm, they wouldn’t need us at all.”

  I duck my head, blushing. He has no way of knowing how much that means to me. “Thank you.”

  I consider telling him the rest—that the owner is selling, and I want her to sell it to me. She’s given me until next June before she searches for another buyer, but the bank won’t give me the loan I need.

  But that’s all content under the heading of Reasons I Shouldn’t Be Here with Him, so I say none of it and instead stare into my drink.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  I slip off my heels under the table and lift the broken one up for him to see. “I’m wishing I hadn’t tried to run in ten-year-old shoes. I wanted to cut loose this weekend, but dancing barefoot in a Vegas nightclub is on the other side of that line.”

  He laughs. “Fair enough. Let’s run back to your room and get another pair.”

  The only other shoes I brought are the canvas sneakers I wore at the airport. They’d look ridiculous with this dress, but I’m afraid I’ll sound shallow if I admit that. Savvy has Barbie feet, so anything she has will be too small. “Maybe I’ll go to the boutique down the street and treat myself to a new pair.” It’d totally blow my fun-money budget for the month, even with the cash my parents gave me for my birthday, but it is my birthday, and . . . I really do want to dance.

  Marston picks up his phone, and for a jealous moment I wonder if he’s already making plans with someone else, since I’m about to leave. Would it be too clingy to make sure he knows I’m planning on coming back?

  Don’t be that girl.

  I grab my own phone and text Savvy that I’m going to the mall and I’ll find her when I get back.

  “I already messaged Alec to let him know,” Marston says. He slides out of the booth and offers me a hand. “Let’s go.”

  Maybe the vodka’s getting to me, because it takes me a beat to put it together. “You bought this table for the night, and you’re going to leave to go shoe shopping with me?”

  “Getting it for the night means it’ll still be ours when we get back.” He turns his palm up and curls a finger. “Come on.”

  I slip my broken heel back on and climb out of the booth. “You surprise me,” I say, taking an awkward hobble-step forward.

  “I do?” He steps behind me, and I release a surprised shriek as he scoops me into his arms and strides toward the door.

  I throw my arms around his neck. “You cannot carry me all the way out of this club.”

  We get a few curious glances, but people turn away just as quickly. As crazy as his behavior seems—as crazy as it’d be anywhere else—apparently it’s not gawk worthy in Vegas.

  “I think I’m proving that I can,” he murmurs in my ear, still weaving through the crowd like carrying me is nothing. He’s not even winded. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother with the new shoes.” His breath tickles my ear. “I like having you this close.”

  Fireworks detonate in my belly, and I close my eyes and mouth, not trusting myself to answer. He smells different than he used to. The scent of detergent and whatever soap he used as a teen has been replaced with citrus and fresh water, like subtle, expensive cologne. The smell suits him. It’s bold without being overbearing, interesting while still smelling clean. I’m intoxicated by it and want to bury my nose in his neck until I can imprint the smell on my memory.

  When we reach the sidewalk, he strides straight to a black limo pulled up along the curb and opens the door. “This is us,” he says, his voice a little deeper than before. My body brushes against his as he lowers me to my feet, and our eyes meet for a beat, his hands still at my waist.

  Kiss me. I press my lips together to trap the wish on my tongue.

  The next car in line lays on its horn and tears me out of my trance. I duck into the limo and take a seat.

  Marston leans in the front and says something to the driver before sliding into the bench seat beside me.

  The food and booze have me feeling loose and relaxed, and instinct has me leaning my head on his shoulder. “I remember when you were so intimidated by my parents’ money, but now you ride around in a limo and order people around like you’ve done it all your life.”

  His eyes are hooded as he looks down at me. “I’m not the boy you knew in Orchid Valley.” He sweeps two knuckles gently across my cheek then tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I worked my ass off to put as much distance between him and me as possible.”

  I swallow hard. “That’s too bad.”

  “I disagree,” he says, his voice tight.

  I slide a hand to the back of his neck. “It’s too bad, because I really liked him.”

  Marston’s dark eyes are fixed on my mouth, and there’s so much longing in his gaze that my skin heats.

  I’ve spent ten years convinced any reunion would lead to heartbreak and thinking that he must hate me, that he should hate me. But he just carried me in his arms out of a nightclub and is looking down at me now like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

  “Is this real?” I ask.

  He searches my face and shakes his head. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

  “I missed you.” Then, because I need it like I need air and because I realize he’s holding himself back, I kiss him. It’s a simple brush of lips that, between any other two people, could be nothing more than friendly affection. But we aren’t just any two people. We’re Brinley and Marston, and ten years later, it feels like we were never apart. Ten years later, and it feels like he still owns my heart.

  He sighs against my lips, then takes control. He turns toward me just enough to cup my face and tilt it toward him, but he doesn’t devour me. He sips, tasting me in measured sweeps of his mouth. I shift too, angling toward him and pressing closer until I’m practically in his lap. I’m lost as his gentle exploration turns searching.

  Yes, I think, find me. I’ve been lost for ten years.

  He guides me to straddle his hips. My skirt slides up then bunches around my waist, and I rock forward and feel the hard length of him.

  He groans and pulls away. “We’re here.”

  I blink and look out the window. Sure enough, the driver has brought us to the circle drive at the entrance of an upscale mall.

 
; I straighten and start to back away, but he holds me fast, his grip on my ass firm enough to make me think of a hundred ways we could spend the next hour right here in this limo.

  “I missed you too,” he says, voice gruff. “I thought leaving was the hardest thing I’d ever have to do, but it turned out staying away was so much harder.”

  My heart pinches, and I draw in a sharp breath. “Marston—”

  He presses a firm kiss to my mouth. “Later. We’ll talk later.” He moves me off his lap just as the driver opens the door.

  Chapter Four

  Brinley

  October 5th, before

  “Come on,” Liam says, stroking his hands down my arms. “I’ll be real sweet. I promise.”

  I shrug out of his grasp and shake my head. Again. I’ve been politely declining the invitation to join him in his car for the past ten minutes, and yet we’ve somehow made it all the way from the dance floor in the middle of the gymnasium to the back door. “I said no. I’m not interested.”

  “You know what you are, Brinley? A cocktease. You make promises with those pretty eyes and short skirts, and then shut down when it’s time to follow through.”

  Promises with my eyes? What does that even mean? My cheeks burn, and I tug on my dress and glare. “I didn’t promise you anything, Liam.”

  “Pretty soon that shit’s going to catch up with you,” he says. “Then you’ll be sorry you didn’t just give yourself to a nice guy like me.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond before turning around, pushing out the door, and heading toward the parking lot.

  I nearly forget Liam when my gaze snags on the tall, dark-haired boy sitting on the hood of a beat-up Honda Civic and smoking a cigarette. He smirks when he catches me staring, and I blink at him as the door floats closed again.

  I stand there and argue with myself. I could dance with my friends and tell them what an ass Liam was, but I’m afraid they’ll say he’s right and I should loosen up. Or maybe I should go home. I’d need to find a ride, since Liam’s the one who brought me here, but if I did, I could keep Brittany company. The doctor wouldn’t release her to come to the dance, so she and Mom are doing a movie night.

  Neither option appeals to me. And maybe this makes me a bad friend or a bad sister, but what appeals to me is the guy sitting in the parking lot just beyond that door. Marston Rowe.

  He’s a senior at OV High, so I don’t have any classes with him. But I’ve seen him in the halls since he started here last month, and he’s barely acknowledged my existence. I’d say he’s avoiding me, but that’s ridiculous. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not one of those popular girls who maintains her status by stomping on other people. I’m nice to everyone. But maybe . . . maybe he thinks I’m uptight too. Or maybe he hated kissing me?

  I should stay away. If he wants to avoid me, that’s his business, not mine. It was just a kiss. It probably didn’t mean anything to him, and it shouldn’t mean anything to me. But . . .

  When I take a deep breath and push outside, I’m relieved to see he hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s not in dress clothes like the other boys. Marston’s wearing torn-up jeans and a button-up shirt. He’s undone the top buttons and rolled the sleeves to the elbows, exposing thick forearms and a tattoo around his right wrist.

  I stride to him, pretending we’re friends and he doesn’t intimidate the hell out of me. “I’m surprised you came.” I look over my shoulder toward the gymnasium doors. I didn’t see him in there earlier, and I’d bet money he didn’t set foot inside tonight. Since my attention goes to him anytime he’s anywhere close, I don’t think I would’ve missed him. “If you want some company, I could go inside with you and introduce you to some people.”

  “Nah.” He takes a drag off his cigarette and turns his head to exhale a long stream of smoke. “I’m good.”

  I bite my bottom lip, then take a chance and hoist myself onto the hood beside him. “Hasn’t anyone told you that’s a deadly habit?”

  When Marston turns back to me, he arches a brow. “Do you need something?”

  The day was sweltering, but the heat faded with the setting sun. The October breeze is a welcome, cool caress on my hot cheeks. I shrug. “I was bored in there, so I might as well keep you company out here.”

  He stubs out his cigarette on the hood and tucks the butt into his pocket. “Are you always like this?”

  My stomach pitches, and I tense in anticipation of some sort of criticism. My father is Abraham Knox. I was raised on criticism. “Like what?”

  “The welcoming committee? The one who makes sure everyone has a friend?”

  “Who said I do that?”

  He props his hands behind him and leans back. “We go to the same school. I see you in action. Little Miss Perfect is nice to everyone.”

  I slide off the hood and step away. “If you want me to go away, just say so.”

  He shakes his head, and a shadow of a smile crosses his face. “It wasn’t an insult.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  He chuckles. “Fair enough.” His gaze sweeps over me again, stuttering for a beat where the hem of my polka dot dress meets my thighs. When he tears his gaze off me this time, it feels like maybe he doesn’t want to.

  Is Liam right? Does my dress make me a tease? “Is it too short?” I ask quietly.

  Marston’s eyes snap back to mine. “What?”

  I swallow. “My dress?” I tug on it again. “I felt pretty in the store, but maybe it should be longer. Someone said it was too short, and . . . Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s a dress, just like half the other girls are wearing. You shouldn’t have to dress differently just because you’re prettier than the rest of them.”

  I bite my lip, but my smile breaks through anyway. “You gave me a compliment.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You know you’re pretty.”

  “But you called me the prettiest.”

  He turns his head, looking around the parking lot, at his shoes and the sky and anywhere but me. “It’s true.”

  The red flush creeps up his neck, making me smile bigger. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t peg you as the type who’d come to homecoming dances.”

  “Aunt Lori wanted me to come. She feels like it’s an important part of high school, and I didn’t feel like arguing.”

  “And does Aunt Lori know you’re spending the whole night sitting on your car and smoking?”

  “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He’s silent for a beat, and when he finally looks at me again, his jaw is tight, his eyes narrow. “Your date probably won’t like you sitting out here with me.”

  “My date left when I refused to let him feel me up in the back of his car.”

  He grunts. “Christ.”

  “What?”

  “You sure know how to pick ’em.”

  I shrug. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s me.” He’s quiet, watching me as if he’s waiting for me to explain what I mean by this. “I’m sixteen, and the only boy I’m interested in kissing avoids me.”

  “Happens to the best of us,” he mutters.

  I lean over, knocking his shoulder with mine, and whisper, “It’s you, dummy.”

  His head snaps around and his eyes are wide.

  “Don’t look so shocked.” I smile. I don’t know why I feel more comfortable with this surly stranger than I do with any of the boys I’ve been going to school with for years, but . . . well, maybe that’s just it. I like that he doesn’t know me or my family. I feel like everyone else comes to me with a box they assume I should fit into, but Marston doesn’t have any expectations. It’s freeing and makes me feel bold in a way I’ve never experienced before.

  “If you’re here with me because you want to horrify your parents, I’ll take you home and grope you in front of the security cameras. Save us both some time.”

  “Wow. What an offer,” I deadpan.

  “It would, you know.”

 
“Would what?”

  “Horrify them. Maybe even push them to stop treating you like a child. I’m not judging you for wanting out from under their thumbs.”

  He’s not wrong about the way my parents treat me, but he’s way off about why I’m sitting here. Is it so hard for him to believe I might be interested in him for reasons that have nothing to do with my parents or my need to be kind? I cling to that unfamiliar boldness. “I’d rather skip the security cameras and go somewhere no one is watching.”

  He studies me for a long time, and there’s so much suspicion in his eyes that I expect him to tell me to get away. Instead, he wets his bottom lip and swallows hard before nodding. “Get in.”

  I should be nervous about getting into Marston’s car, given how he could easily misinterpret what I just said. And I am nervous, but not for the logical reasons. I’m nervous because I want him to kiss me again. Because I like the way he looks at me and I want more of it.

  The car has a beat-up leather interior, but it’s clean and doesn’t smell like smoke. I buckle in as Marston climbs into his side. He turns the key in the ignition, and the car slowly coughs to life. He shoots me a look like he’s waiting for me to comment. When I say nothing, he says, “This is Aunt Lori’s dead husband’s car. It’s been sitting in the driveway for two years, so I’m surprised it works at all.”

  “I’m not judging.”

  He smirks at this—because he finds that amusing or doesn’t believe me, I’m not sure—but he doesn’t mention it again as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road. The windows are down, and the cool evening air whips through my hair, tugging strands free.

  “You know much about the south dock at Lake Blackledge?” he asks.

  “Other than that it’s there?”

  “It’s a short walk from Lori’s, and it’s nice and quiet at night.” He takes his eyes off the road for a beat to look at me. “I thought we could go there if that sounds okay.”

  My body is like a balloon slowly filling with helium. I might float. “Sure.”

  “I’m not going to kiss you again,” he says.