by Linda Kage
“So, what’s up?” I asked before motioning vaguely toward his guitar. “Oh, and hey, congratulations.”
My compliment threw him. He glanced suspiciously at his guitar before returning his attention to me and blurted, “Did you throw the competition on purpose?”
“What?” I backed away from him, my heart pounding over the question because I definitely didn’t want him to learn the truth. “Why in the world would I throw the competition? I wanted that win. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Then what the hell happened out there?” he demanded, frowning as if irritated that I hadn’t performed better. “That was the absolute worst I’ve ever seen you play.”
My mouth dropped open at the bald statement. “Wow, thanks. And it’s called stage fright, asshole. Sometimes people lock up in front of crowds, and that’s what happened. But you know, your sensitivity warms my heart. I so appreciate it.”
“Yeah, but…” He shook a finger at me, his head moving back and forth as his eyes seemed to look straight inside me. “I know you, Hartley. You don’t choke under pressure. In fact, I’d say pressure spurs you on. Every time you’ve ever gotten up in front during class, you dominate the room. You don’t get stage fright.”
I opened my mouth to argue that point, but he lifted a finger to stop me.
“And it was like every wrong chord you played, every off note you sang was on purpose. You never once lost your place. And whenever you were done botching things up, you just returned right back to where you were in the song, never disoriented or flustered. Every mistake you made was fucking calculated.”
My eyebrows lifted and a feeling of disoriented fluster filled me as I realized how closely he’d watched me, how well he knew me. My mouth opened once but words didn’t take on the first try. So I blinked and shook my head before licking my lips and murmuring, “Am I supposed to be insulted by such a ridiculous accusation or feel flattered that you’re obviously so obsessed with me you watch me enough to think you know me that well?”
Without giving him a chance to answer, I turned and started to walk off, but he caught my arm.
Ticked off that he dared to touch me—especially when his touch made me feel tingles of excitement—I whirled to him scowling, ready to read him the riot act for getting so handsy.
But the jerk leaned down and kissed me. He freaking kissed me. And it was...everything.
It was so not what I was expecting, though, that I just stood there in stunned shock as his soft lips caressed mine. He did it with such intensity and purpose it seemed like it should’ve been hard and brutal, but the gentleness and utter sweetness of it caught me totally off guard until I leaned into him and kissed him back.
When he finally stepped away, his gaze locked on mine, gauging my reaction. I blinked at him before swerving my attention toward my dad, who was completely ignoring the screen of his phone and was watching us, his eyebrows raised in questioning surprise.
Tucker glanced over as well. “Is he going to kill me for that?”
I turned to look up at him, blinked once, then scowled harshly. “I think you should be more concerned if I’m going to kill you for that.”
His expression bloomed into an immediate smile—a stunning, breath-stealing masterpiece that had me gaping at it in awe—before he reached out and caught a long feather earring dangling from my ear. “Nah,” he murmured. “You won’t.”
Gah, I really wasn’t comfortable with how well he knew me. Me. Not my mom or dad or my overall family. This guy’s central focus was me.
“But if you were going to hurt me,” he added, his grin turning playful, “you probably shouldn’t have kissed me back.”
I blinked at him, completely unsure how to react. I kind of wanted to lift up on my toes and kiss him again. But he irritated the hell out of me.
Didn’t he?
This was so confusing. Why was he changing the game like this? I wasn’t sure if I could keep up. And I’d always been able to keep up with everything. Heck, I was used to running things. But I definitely wasn’t running this show.
“You threw that contest on purpose,” he said softly, not asking this time but stating, as he let my earring fall from his fingers where it drifted back down to tickle the tops of my shoulders.
“You sound pretty confident about that,” I returned, talking just as quietly as he was.
His smile was slow and cocky. “Oh, I am.”
“Then why even bother confronting me with it?” I charged, shaking my head. “You got what you wanted. What’s the purpose of—”
“Because I can’t figure out why. You’re incredibly competitive. You don’t just concede defeat. And there was no way I would’ve beaten you out there if we’d both played our best. So, why did you let me win?”
With a nervous laugh, I started to back away from him. “Well,” I said, shaking my head, “as nice as it is to hear you confess I’m better than you, this conversation feels like it’s going nowhere real quick, so I’m just going to…”
He stepped toward me, his gaze intent. “Rory?” he said softly, his eyes full of confusion and question. “Just tell me why. Please.”
“Look,” I started, shuffling uncomfortably. Then I glanced away. “It was just your night, okay. You needed the money. I didn’t, so…”
His mouth fell open. Then he shook his head slightly. “How did you know about the money?”
I lifted one shoulder before mumbling, “I might’ve, I don’t know, overheard you and your mom talking in your changing room earlier.”
“Dammit, Rory,” he swore under his breath before ripping off his hat, running his hand through his hair, and then stuffing the Stetson back onto his head. “I didn’t want you to do that. I didn’t…”
His eyes went a little moist, and he stopped talking, too choked up to continue. Wiping his hand slowly over his mouth, he watched me as I silently watched him. Then he shook his head. “That still doesn't answer why. So what if I needed something more than you did? You hate me. Why should you care what I do or don’t get?”
“I don’t hate you,” I blurted, glaring at him for even suggesting that. No one put words into my mouth, especially untrue words.
He stepped close, towering over me, making me gulp because of his overwhelming presence. “Then what do you think of me?”
His voice was so quiet and compelling, I floundered. “I…” Choking in the spotlight—for real this time—I didn’t know what to say. The sarcastic instinct in me wanted to lash out with something scathing and mean, and yet, I kind of wanted to tell him the truth more.
“Don’t be a coward,” he coaxed softly, his eyes begging for honesty. “You’re the bravest spitfire I know. Just say it.”
Dammit, he’d turned this into a dare. I could never resist a dare.
So I growled, “I like you. A lot. Okay?”
His chest heaved as he drew in a long breath. Then he exhaled before admitting, “Well, I like you a lot too.” Eyebrows furrowing in question he asked, “So then, why are we mortal enemies?”
I sent him a small smile. “Because I’m rock and roll and you’re country.”
His lips twitched into its own smile. “I still think that’s the stupidest reason for us to fight. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Seriously, it’s driving me crazy.”
With a sigh, I shook my head. “Then I guess there’s only one way to take care of this problem.”
And I curled my fingers around the back of his neck before drawing him down to my mouth, where I kissed him this time. His lips moved against mine. We shifted closer, our hands gripping each other. His tongue had just touched mine when a commotion began over where my dad was sitting.
Tucker and I broke apart to glance that way as two people walking by finally recognized him.
“Oh my God. You’re Asher Hart. Oh my God, I love you. Look! It’s Asher Hart.”
Within moments, he was surrounded.
My dad rose to graciously take autographs and greet people,
his gaze moving my way so he could cringe out his apology.
I shook my head and waved, letting him know I was fine.
In front of me, Tucker was still holding both my hands as he frowned in confusion at the crowd. Then he turned slowly to blink at me as he pointed toward the horde. “Your dad…” he started slowly.
I sighed. “Maybe this would be a good time to tell you my last name’s not really Hartley. It’s just Hart. And I’m Aurora Jane Hart. But everyone calls me Rory.”
His mouth fell open. “Hart? As in Asher and Remy Hart, lead singer and drummer for the band Non-Castrato? Oh, holy shit.” He slapped his palm to his forehead. “No wonder why you were so pissed at me that first day when I made fun of your Non-Castrato poster. I wasn’t just disagreeing with your taste in music; I was bashing your parents.”
“Yeah, well…” I shrugged and smiled. “I’ve gotten over it.”
“Holy shit,” he uttered, glancing toward my dad and then back to me. “I can’t…this is…whoa.”
I cringed. “Does this change your mind about me, now?”
“What?” His eyebrows furrowed immediately. “Of course not. I still think you’re amazing, but—”
“Good,” I said, grabbing a fistful of the front of his shirt. “That’s all I need to hear. The rest, we’ll work out as we go.”
Then I pulled him in for yet another kiss.
* * *
The End
Part Five
The Revenge Plan
And here is a first chapter sneak peek
of the upcoming standalone novel about
Haven Gamble, daughter to Sarah and Brandt.
1
Haven
My eyes!
Oh, God, my eyes had lost their ability to see correctly, because I had to be seeing things. A mirage, or hallucination…or something. That’s all there was to it.
Because I absolutely refused to believe what my brain was trying to tell me that my eyes seriously thought they saw.
No other way could my boyfriend of three years be inside my dorm, naked, with my roommate—also naked—as he gripped her hair hard enough from behind to cant her head back at an awkward angle while he pounded into her ass on, yes, my fucking couch that he’d helped me pick out this summer and haul up two flights of stairs to move into this very apartment.
But why would my eyes play those kinds of evil tricks on me? That was just cruel and unusual punishment. Did they hate me for some reason? Had I pissed them off for staying up late one night too many, straining them to exhaustion as I’d squinted at my laptop and furiously tried to finish papers I had due the next day? They thought they’d get their revenge on me and play this kind of horrible game, telling me I was seeing things that in no way could actually be real.
The couple on the couch startled in surprise when I accidentally alerted them to my presence by losing my grip on the two grocery sacks I was holding, as they loudly crashed to the floor by my feet.
Annabeth glanced over her shoulder and screamed when she saw my silhouette in the doorway. Grabbing a throw pillow—also mine—she desperately tried to cover her bouncing breasts, while Topher yanked himself from her body to spin my way and flash me with a disturbing view of his dick that was still hard and wet from dipping itself inside Annabeth.
“Oh, fuck! Haven!” he cried in guilty despair, covering his junk with both hands as if to prove no misdeeds had been going on here. Nothing to see, just two people hanging out on a couch, all chill and relaxed. It was just total happenstance they both happened to be naked and their privates had been connecting…repeatedly. No biggie.
“Baby, I can explain.”
Well, hell. Now my ears were in on the conspiracy, because that sure sounded like my boyfriend’s voice as he flew off the couch, away from Annabeth.
But what had I done to piss off my ears into making me hear things that weren’t real? I didn’t play music too loudly or attend eardrum-bursting concerts. I swear I even kept the volume in my earbuds at a nice, moderate level. Why would my ears betray me like this, too?
It must be my eyes, going behind my back and tempting my ears over to the dark side. Yeah. Let’s fuck up Haven’s life and make her see and hear things that aren’t real. It’ll be fun.
Bastards.
Topher stepped toward me, stretching out a hand, his eyes filled with concern and apology. I jerked a step back, freaking out, because what if he touched me and I actually felt him? Two senses turning on me and playing tricks on my mind I could buy, but if a third joined the game…? I don’t know. That would make this feel a little too real. And if this was real, then…then my boyfriend of three fucking years was cheating on me. In my apartment. With my roommate. On my goddamn couch!
That’s when it happened. Sensory receptor number three kicked in, and my nose perked to attention, sniffing out the scent of sex.
“Oh, God,” I uttered, backing away and shaking my head in denial.
I saw it, I heard it, I smelled it. That was empirical evidence right there; this was very much happening.
I’d just become a miserable cliché, one of those poor girls who’d just walked in on her boyfriend in the actual act of having sex with someone close to her.
So not cool.
“Haven, just…wait!”
Of course, I didn’t wait. Like I’d do anything that cheating bastard ordered me to do. Yeah, think again, pal.
Spinning away, I took off in a blind panic. I swear, my brain literally shut down on me and I reacted on pure instinct. Flight-or-fight time, baby, and I was flying from this joint because the idea of fighting didn’t appeal. I mean, what if I tried to kick him in the nads and accidentally experienced some skin-on-skin contact and felt squishy, dangling body parts, or parts he’d just been putting inside someone else? Nope, couldn’t do that. So, running was in and fighting, out.
Just until I regrouped, processed, and figured out what I was going to do about this, though. Because, holy shit, what the hell was I going to do about this? My entire life had just altered in the space of two seconds. Like flipped onto its freaking axis, a one-hundred-eighty-degree polar altercation of everything I knew, and everything I was.
Topher hadn’t just been my boyfriend; he’d been my future. I’d been making plans to move in with him after graduation, pay all my bills with him, eat all my meals with him, eventually marry and start a family with him, share my entire freaking life with him. And he’d just ruined that.
All of it.
Blindsided by the betrayal and mortified for being a sucker who’d actually trusted such a liar, I shook my head as my breathing went scattered and chest heaved, feeling as if it’d just been hit by a Mack truck.
But seriously, how could he do this to me? Oh my God, it hurt. I’d put all my confidences, and faith, and loyalties into this guy. I knew he wasn’t perfect, but I had still loved him for everything he tried to be. Except this…this…
Black dots danced in my vision and vertigo assailed me as I shoved open the door to the stairwell and the steps going down seemed to sway unsteadily. I had bypassed the elevator because elevators meant standing and waiting, and who the fuck could stand there and just wait in the midst of a full-on, panic-mode crisis?
Yes, running was really the thing to do right now. No idea where I was running to, but I was trying to get there as fast as was humanly possible. Clutching the railing for dear life, I managed to drunkenly wobble my way down the stairs at warp speed. It’d be a miracle if I made it out of the building alive. There was another flight of steps after this one.
Above me, Topher crashed through the doorway, yelling my name. I glanced back, my hair flying into my face. Between brown tangled strands, I noticed he’d put on pants and was in the process of tugging a shirt over his head. Dammit. In the state I was in, he’d catch me soon.
Being caught would be bad. I’d probably claw his face off. And, while there was some appeal to that idea—and I mean a lot of appeal—something in me said it was still
probably a bad plan, something to do with legalities and jail time. Though, if he caught me and it came to that, I’d gladly spend the night behind bars because the claws would come out. And it’d be so worth it to sink them into his stupid, lying face.
But then, I also worried I’d start crying if he caught me, and there was just no way I was going to let that cheater see one drop of my precious heartbreak. It was hard for me to share my tears with anyone. So he definitely wouldn’t be getting them.
Changing tactics, because I really didn’t want to trip and fall headlong down the steps, and the flip-flops I wore were hampering my flight considerably, I pushed through the doorway that led to the second floor dorms—full of freshmen and sophomores who had to share a single room, unlike the nicer apartments we seniors had up on the third floor.
Once I entered the hall, it was about an eighty-foot race to the other end where I could hopefully escape through another door into the stairwell on the opposite side of the building and hurry down before Topher caught up. That was the wish and the hope flooding my veins, and I ran for all I was worth toward the door in front of me to attain that very goal. I was about halfway there when one of the dorm room doors opened, and some guy stepped into the hall, directly into my path.
I didn’t have time to slow down or even warn him I was there before I struck, pounding into him with a force that would’ve knocked pretty much anyone off their feet and sent us both crashing to the floor. But not this guy.
Felt like I collided into a steel wall.
Dazed by the impact, I started to crumble.
“Shit.” In the middle of stumbling backward, he caught me with one arm and steadied us both by reaching out to brace himself against the wall with his other. “Sorry about that. I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”
“No!” I hollered ungracefully, glancing behind me in a panic, even though I hadn’t regained my balance yet. The handle to the door I’d just escaped through started to turn. Topher would enter this very hall in a matter of moments.
