I ordered a coffee from the waitress and waited, keeping an eye on the parking lot through the windows. I checked the time on my phone, hating every single thing about this day. Why I was here, what I was doing, what I’d be doing for the foreseeable future…
It fucking sucked.
She showed up ten minutes later, all bundled up. She went to unzip her jacket as she turned and headed in my direction. Jazmine shoved her backpack onto the booth before she slid on, knocking her legs with mine under the table, immediately causing me to pull mine back and scowl.
No fucking touching.
“Sorry,” she said, noting my scowl. Her long black hair hung over her chest, catching on the open zipper as she turned toward her bag and unzipped it. “I have your money.” She said it loudly, and I glanced around the diner; it was pretty empty, so it wasn’t like the whole town had heard her declare it, but still. This girl had not an ounce of common sense in her head, clearly.
She handed me flat bills after taking them out of her backpack, and I quickly counted them on my lap before shoving them into my coat’s inner pocket. Well, seemed mommy and daddy did come through, or maybe she’d had the thousand stashed away, pocket change for later.
“Um,” she started, biting her bottom lip. I shouldn’t have let my attention fall to those lips, but it did. Her teeth were perfectly straight and almost ridiculously white, or maybe that was because her lips were rosy and her skin was tan. “Before we start, you should probably know that my name isn’t Marie. It’s Jaz.”
Jaz. So she went by Jaz. Somehow, that wasn’t surprising.
I tried to act surprised that Marie was not her real name, cocking my head after taking a long sip of coffee. “Why’d you give me a fake name, Jaz?”
Her amber eyes fell to her lap, and she shifted her weight in the seat. She must’ve crossed her legs, because again, she touched me under the table—this time with her foot. God, if I could get away from this girl, keep her at a ten-foot distance…hell, even ten feet might not be enough. I angled my legs away from her, tilting my whole body so I pretty much faced the window.
“I don’t know,” she finally said, meeting my eyes. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I didn’t know who you’d be.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Anything else you want to tell me, Jaz? Before we continue, that is. Anything you’re hiding from me that I should know going into this?” After taking another sip of coffee, I waited.
She shook her head, parting her lips to say, “No, I didn’t hide anything else.”
At this point, I didn’t know if I believed her, but I had to remember to be calm. To be charming—as charming as I could be, given my past with girls like her. If I was supposed to look into her, I had to act friendlier toward her.
These were the days when I hated my job.
“Let’s discuss why you’re hiring me, then,” I said, running a finger around the rim of the mug. The coffee here wasn’t the best, but it would do. It did just fine.
“My mom and I are new in town,” she said, holding her arms together. “I just…I just want to make sure we’re safe here.” As she spoke, she hardly seemed like the bold, defiant girl who’d literally crawled over me in my car.
And whacked me with that bag and the textbooks inside.
I studied her. She was uneasy before me, but whether she felt so because she was with a stranger or because of what she was asking me to do, I couldn’t say. I understood what she wasn’t saying, though—if she wanted to make sure her mom were safe, it meant she didn’t think she was safe.
Knowing someone out there wanted me to keep an eye on her, investigate her, I couldn’t help but agree with her.
My job, however, wasn’t about keeping people safe. It was about finding the truth, no matter how deeply that truth was hidden.
“And what can I do to help you?” I questioned, staring at her perhaps a bit too hard. Jaz seemed to squirm under my gaze; maybe I was overdoing the gruff, no-nonsense act a bit. It was hard not to though, when she kept accidentally touching me.
“I want you to look into some people,” she said. The tip of her nose was red from the walk in the cold, and the waitress came by to ask if she wanted anything. Jaz waved her off, shaking her head. She’d rather have a cold nose than order a hot chocolate or something. “Oliver Fitzpatrick and the Scott family.”
I was in the process of taking another sip from my coffee when she told me the names, and I nearly choked.
Why in the fucking fuck would she have me look into Oliver Fitzpatrick? I found it almost ironic, given my history with the man and his family.
And the Scotts? They were…well, from what I heard they weren’t the type of family you looked into. You steered clear of them, avoided them, unless you had to—and this girl was basically tossing me to the wolves.
It wasn’t like I could say no. She’d already paid me a deposit, and I had to keep an eye on her anyway. Getting on her bad side would only make things harder, so I had to do my best.
I didn’t want to do anything with her, but that was off the table completely. The money was too good.
“Do you—”
“I know who they are,” I said. What this girl did not need to know was my history with them. It was a long story anyway; I was sure she had homework or something to do. I started to get up, to reach for my wallet to pay for the coffee, but she stretched her arm across the table and grabbed my hand first.
“Wait,” she said, fingers tightening around my hand. “That’s it?” Jaz did not release my hand, even when I sent her a dark glare.
This girl…working with her was going to be hard, if she kept insisting on touching me at every single turn.
I yanked my hand out from under hers, tossing a look around the diner. The waitress was talking to the lone customer sitting near the register on a stool, and the cook was whistling in the back.
“If we’re going to work together, I need you to…” I trailed off, wondering how I should say it without sounding weird. Meeting her eyes, she almost looked hurt, wounded that I’d tear my hand away from hers like that.
Big, wide eyes like hers, warm as chocolate, could get you into trouble. I had to be careful with her.
“To what?” Jaz asked, leaning forward, pushing her chest against the side of the table.
I looked away quickly, chastising myself for even glancing there. “Just…check your email, I’ll be in touch.” Before she could say anything else, before she could stare at me with those honey-colored eyes, I threw down a five on the table and got up, hurrying to my car.
Once I was safely inside, once I had the engine started and heating up, I glanced up. Through the diner’s windows, I could see Jaz still sitting at our booth. I waited until she got up, pretending to be busy in my car as she exited the diner and started walking.
And then, suddenly, it occurred to me, something that should’ve occurred to me before—she was walking. She wasn’t driving. Did she not have a car? And then, my stupid self, realized something else.
Her clothes.
She didn’t seem like the typical Midpark brat.
I waited until she crossed the street to get out of my car, buttoning my jacket as I decided to follow her. A split-second decision, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. I didn’t know any eighteen-year-olds who’d voluntarily walk in Midpark. Like, anywhere. Not even to the base of their driveway.
I kept my distance, turning up my collar. Jaz kept glancing to her phone, as if needing to follow it for directions—which I also found odd. When she’d said her mom and her were new in town, she’d meant it. Shiny and new, oblivious to the way things worked around here.
Deeper into the heart of Midpark we went, where the streets had dividers between lanes and houses had gates and fences around them. It was quite the jaunt—at least a mile or two. I stayed one hundred feet behind her, keeping my head low just in case she turned around.
She didn’t. She was blissfully unaware she was being fo
llowed, oblivious to the point where it was laughable. I didn’t know how I could ever take this girl seriously—she needed a wake-up slap. I wasn’t sure how things were where she came from, but in Midpark, you had to be careful. Under the painted faces and the freshly-pressed suits laid monsters of every kind.
Cheaters. White-collar criminals. Frauds and gamblers. Even the worst of the worst—abusers, and those who turned blind eyes to it. Midpark might look like a nice, pretty, rich town, and it was, but underneath it all sat an ugly darkness.
I never would’ve guessed where she was going, but I had to slow my footsteps the moment a familiar house came into view. It sat behind wrought iron gates, a twenty-four-hour guard constantly in the guardhouse just outside it. I watched from across the street as she went up to the guard, smiled, and then…then the guard let her in, and she walked up the long driveway to the house as the gate shut behind her.
As the world turned to twilight, I felt something in my stomach harden. That house…I’d been in that house before. I’d sat on the street on watch for hours as I shadowed Celeste. This—my fucking awful luck—was shaping up to be exactly like that.
Jazmine Smith lived in the Fitzpatrick house.
She lived with Oliver, and yet she wanted me to investigate him? That didn’t bode well, and I couldn’t help but wonder just what shit Oliver Fitzpatrick had gotten himself into. Celeste had pretty much fallen off the map. As far as I was supposed to know, she and Astrid should still be in that house.
They weren’t, though.
I knew they weren’t. If they were, the news would’ve been all over them, constantly checking in. Something had to be up. Why was Jaz living there? I could think of no logical reason for her to be in that house, unless she was a distant relative.
She had the dark hair like Zane and Thorne, but her face, the level of warmth on her skin…no. She couldn’t be related. Her last name was Smith, one of the most generic names in the United States.
In my pockets, my hands clenched to fists the moment I decided I was going to find out just what the hell was going on here. Two birds with one stone, two jobs at once. I could handle it. The money would make sure of that.
Chapter Eighteen – Jaz
“So you’re going?” Bobbi asked, referencing the party. Since it was Friday, the choir class was pretty much left to its own devices. I’d long figured out that choir was basically half singing, half study hall, and I wasn’t going to complain. The days we spent singing were torturous.
Bobbi and I sat in the corner of the room, though I leaned away from her. She wore an oversized sweater, covering her mouth with its long sleeve. Her hair was a bit greasy and up in a bun; she’d told me she caught something and was in bed all day yesterday.
“Have you asked your mom yet?” she said, cocking her head, her hazel eyes boring into me like daggers. She knew my mom didn’t want me going out or dating, so she knew how badly tonight would probably turn out.
“Not yet,” I said. I’d figured it would be best to spring it on her and then storm out of the house; it would give her no time to argue with me. “I don’t want to do it early and risk her finding a way to keep me there forever.”
“And you’ve never been to a party before?” Bobbi asked to clarify, her voice muffled and sounding quite sore through her sweater sleeve.
I shook my head. “Is that lame?”
“Around here, yes,” she answered honestly. “Even I’ve been to some, and I’m what most around here would consider uncool.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I felt…strangely nervous about tonight, although I probably shouldn’t be. Didn’t tell Bobbi who’d asked me, who was driving me, and who I’d texted last night after getting home from the meeting with Jacob—but that was probably for the best. I didn’t want her to think I had a crush on the guy.
Even if, you know, I did.
But as it stood, I had a crush on Vaughn too, which was just stupid. So in reality, a crush meant nothing.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, losing myself in the racing thoughts in my head. The rest of the class had broken up in groups, all chatting away happily. I wondered if any of them were going to the party tonight. It sounded like Bobbi hadn’t been invited.
Everyone seemed to like Archer. He was probably popular, whatever the hell that meant around here. To me, everyone at Midpark was the in crowd. Even the choir people who, at my old school, would’ve been considered geeks, seemed to fit in with everyone else. I could hardly get my bearings at Midpark High.
“Have you decided what you’re going to wear?” Bobbi asked. “Sounds like you have a date, so you should dress for a date.”
Dressing for a date. It was not something I’d ever had to do, so I felt clueless, utterly lost. I wasn’t sure I had anything in my closet that would count as date clothes. Nothing fancy, that’s for sure. I’d probably look like a loser next to Archer at this party.
The look on my face must’ve said it all, because Bobbi started to laugh—although her laughter was interrupted by a coughing fit. Once she had her lungs under control, she said, “You look lost.”
“I am lost,” I muttered, frowning. “What do people wear on dates?” God, that sounded like a ridiculous question, but I spoke it seriously. I might’ve snuck around with guys here and there before, but that was different than an official date. When you were running around between classes and during assemblies, you didn’t care what you looked like, only that you succeeded in hooking up.
Bobbi laughed again. “Oh, you need a lot of help. If I wasn’t feeling so shitty, I’d offer to come over and help you pick out an outfit.”
For a moment, I just stared at her, wondering if our friendship was at that level. I didn’t even know we had a friendship to begin with—was this how you started one, unofficially? Dressing the other?
Don’t get me wrong, I had friends at my old school, but…I never really clicked with them. There was something always holding me back, as if I’d had a sense of premonition and knew Mom would drag me states away during the middle of my senior year.
The bell rang, and we said our goodbyes. By the time I got to the cafeteria, Vaughn was already sitting and picking through his food. Today’s choice was a cheeseburger, along with some questionable-looking mac and cheese. He wore a short-sleeved shirt today, his black hair spikey.
He stopped fiddling with his food the moment I sat down, bringing that dark gaze to me. His tattooed hands seemed to tense, and I tried not to stare at them as I opened my lunch bag. That black stare made my heart do funny things, and even though I shouldn’t, I remembered that encounter in the restroom.
That kiss…how badly I’d wanted to do more, kiss him more, never have that moment end.
It was weird, having two crushes at once. I didn’t think I’d ever had feelings for more than one guy at a time. Sure, there was always the passing oh, he’s cute that popped in my head about certain boys, but never any of the heart-skipping, thigh-clenching variety.
Still, for someone who wanted to kiss him again—and do more—it was kind of funny how I was acting as if the kiss had never happened. Probably because it was official: I was getting Jacob to look into the Scott family. I didn’t want him to be pissed at me, which he definitely would be. But maybe he’d never find out. He probably thought I didn’t have the money to hire a PI, and technically he’d be right.
That money had come from somewhere, but I had too much on my mind right now to worry about that, too.
Vaughn, on the other hand, stared at me harder. I caught his eyes constantly dropping to my mouth, and the attention on certain body parts of mine made me hot in a way it shouldn’t. He hadn’t always been so blatant in his staring, but after the moment we shared in the restroom, it was almost like…well, almost like he thought I was his. His to stare at, his to kiss, his to do whatever with.
Some girls might like that, but I…I didn’t.
Not entirely, and that was mostly because I had a crush on someone else, too.
My heart was currently being pulled in two different directions, and I had no idea what to do. A part of me hoped Jacob would find something terrible out about his family, and I could use that to distance myself from him.
I mean, the whole school didn’t shun him for no reason, right? Just because he had hand tattoos? There had to be something else.
Or maybe he was an outsider because he wanted to be. Maybe he didn’t care enough to try to fit in and be friends with everyone else. Just because he came from money didn’t mean he had to get along with everyone else at Midpark; he was obviously unlike anyone else here—which was probably why I was so drawn to him.
Oh, fuck. Either way, I was in trouble. I was in so much trouble.
Vaughn said nothing, which was his usual preference, I’d noticed. I coughed as I reached for my tiny water bottle and unscrewed the cap. “You have any plans for this weekend?” I asked, nearly choking when I realized that could be taken as a sign of interest, that I wanted to know if he had plans so I could ask him out or something.
Probably too lost in my own head. I needed to snap myself out of this funk. I mean, so what if I liked two guys? So what if I was going to a party with Archer tonight? Yes, we’d hooked up; yes, we might hook up again, but that didn’t mean I was dating him exclusively. I could have crushes. Crushes were no big deal.
“Family stuff,” Vaughn said, giving me a slow smirk, and I immediately caught myself wondering if he smirked at anyone else like that, or just me. “You going to be peeping through the windows?”
It was a good thing I didn’t have anything in my mouth right then, because I would’ve been too startled to swallow properly. “What?” I couldn’t sound surprised enough.
“You know, since you want to investigate my family,” he whispered, his expression unreadable. That was the thing about Vaughn, I never knew if he was joking or not. He didn’t do sarcasm well, but he had serious and grim down pat.
“I wouldn’t want to investigate if you’d just tell me what they did,” I muttered, hoping to get through to him. Of course, nothing I said now would change how he felt. We might’ve made out a bit in the restroom, but he was still miffed about me wanting to know more.
Feisty: A High School Bully Romance (Midpark High Book 1) Page 14
