Aria cleared her throat, resisting the urge to turn around, run back to her car, and drive away. “Maybe I’m making a fool out of myself, but I liked talking to you the other day. And…I wanted to know if we could hang out some time. But if not, that’s cool too.”
Jason grinned, looking impressed. He stepped out of the way of a crowd of businessmen. “You’re not making a fool out of yourself,” he said, meeting Aria’s eyes.
“I’m not?” Aria’s heart flipped over.
Jason checked his oversize watch. “Do you want to get a drink right now? I’ve got some time.”
“S-sure,” Aria stammered, her voice cracking.
“I know the perfect place in Hollis,” Jason said. “You can follow me there, okay?”
Aria nodded, grateful he hadn’t suggested the Yee-Haw Saloon down the street. Jason let her go first up the narrow stairs that led to the station. As they walked to their cars, something flickered in Aria’s peripheral vision. The figure she’d seen earlier was standing at the station window, looking out. Whoever it was wore big sunglasses and a puffy coat with the hood pulled tight, obscuring his or her facial features. Even so, Aria had the distinct sense that the person was staring right at her.
Aria followed Jason’s black BMW into Hollis. She made a point to check his back bumper for any big dents, remembering what Emily had said about her and Jason’s altercation the other day. But as far as she could tell, the bumper was flawless and dent-free.
After they both found parking spaces on the street, Jason led her down a narrow alley and up the stairs of an old Victorian house with the word BATES hanging on a sign over the front porch. There was a creaky black rocking chair off to the right, as spindly as a skeleton.
“This is a bar?” Aria looked around. The Hollis bars she knew, like Snooker’s and the Victory Brewery, were dark, foul-smelling places that had no decoration besides a few neon Guinness and Budweiser signs. Bates, on the other hand, had stained-glass windows, a brass knocker on the front door, and a bunch of long-dead hanging plants swinging from the porch ceiling. It reminded Aria of the creaky mansion her Reykjavík piano teacher, Brynja, lived in.
The door swung open, leading to an enormous parquet-floored parlor. Red velvet couches lined the sides of the room, and dramatic curtains billowed over the windows. “Supposedly the place is haunted,” Jason whispered to her. “That’s why they call it Bates, like the Bates Motel from Psycho.” He walked up to the bar and sat on a stool.
Aria looked away. Back before Ali’s body had been found, she’d thought A was Ali—or maybe her ghost. The blond flashes she’d seen had probably been Mona, who’d stalked each of them for their dirtiest secrets. But now that Mona was dead, Aria still sometimes swore she saw someone with blond hair just like Ali’s duck behind trees and appear at windows, watching her from beyond the grave.
A short-haired bartender dressed in black took their orders. Aria asked for pinot noir—she thought it seemed sophisticated—and Jason ordered a gimlet. When he noticed Aria’s confused expression, he said, “It’s vodka and lime juice. A girlfriend at Yale got me into it.”
“Oh.” Aria ducked her head at the word girlfriend.
“She’s not my girlfriend anymore,” Jason added, which made Aria blush more.
They got their drinks, and Jason slid his gimlet over to her. “Try it.” She took a dainty sip. “It’s good,” she said. It tasted like Sprite, except way more fun.
Jason folded his hands, a curious smile on his lips. “You seem awfully comfortable drinking in a bar.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You almost have me fooled that you’re twenty-one.”
Aria slid the gimlet back to him. “I spent the last three years in Iceland. They’re not as strict about drinking, and my parents were pretty lenient. Plus, I never had to drive home, either—my house was a couple of blocks away from the main drag. The worst thing that happened was I once tripped over the cobblestones after having too much Brennivín schnapps and skinned my knee.”
“Europe seemed to really change you.” Jason leaned back and appraised her. “I remember you as this awkward kid. Now, you’re…” He trailed off.
Aria’s heart pounded. She was…what? “I fit in better in Iceland,” she admitted when it was clear he wasn’t going to finish his sentence.
“How so?”
“Well…” Aria stared at the oil portraits around the room of old aristocratic women. Underneath each of their portraits were their birth and death dates. “Guys, for one. In Iceland, they didn’t care if I was popular. They cared about what music I listened to or what books I liked to read. In Rosewood, guys only like one kind of girl.”
Jason propped his elbows on the bar. “A girl like my sister, you mean.”
Aria shrugged, looking away. That was what she meant, but she hadn’t wanted to say Ali’s name out loud.
An expression Aria couldn’t parse floated over Jason’s face. She wondered if Jason knew the effect Ali had had on guys—even older ones. Had Jason known about Ali’s secret relationship with Ian at the time, or had that come as a surprise after he was arrested? How did Jason feel about it?
Jason sipped his gimlet, his serious look gone. “So did you fall in love a lot in Iceland?”
Aria shook her head. “I had some boyfriends, but I’ve only been in love once.” She clumsily took another swig of wine. She’d hardly eaten anything today, and the wine was taking hold fast. “It was with my AP English teacher. Maybe you heard about it.”
A crease formed between Jason’s eyes. Maybe he hadn’t.
“It’s over now,” she said. “Honestly, it was a disaster. He was asked to leave his teaching position…because of me. He left town a couple of months ago and said he’d keep in touch, but I haven’t heard from him.”
Jason nodded sympathetically. Aria was surprised how comfortable it felt to tell him this. Something about him made her feel safe, like he wasn’t going to judge her.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked.
“Only once.” Jason tipped his head back and swallowed the rest of his drink. The ice rattled against the empty glass. “She broke my heart.”
“Who was it?”
Jason shrugged. “No one important. Not now, at least.”
The bartender brought Jason another gimlet. Then Jason poked Aria’s arm. “You know, I thought you were going to say the person you were in love with was me.”
Aria’s mouth fell open. Jason…knew? “I guess it was really obvious.”
Jason smiled. “Nah. I’m just really perceptive.”
Aria signaled the bartender to refill her wine, too, her cheeks blazing. She’d always taken extra precaution to hide her crush from Jason, certain she’d die if he ever found out. Now she kind of wanted to crawl under the bar.
“I remember this one time when you were waiting outside the journalism barn at Rosewood Day,” Jason explained gently. “I noticed you right away. You were looking around…and when you saw me, your eyes lit up.”
Aria gripped the bulky wooden lip of the bar. For a second, she’d almost thought Jason was going to bring up the time he gave her Ali’s Time Capsule flag. But he was referencing the day she’d waited outside his journalism class, wanting to show him her dad’s signed copy of Slaughterhouse-Five. That had happened the Friday before they all sneaked into Ali’s backyard.
Then again, maybe Jason didn’t want to bring up stealing Ali’s flag. Maybe he felt guilty about it.
“Sure, I remember that day,” Aria mustered. “I really wanted to talk to you. Except the school secretary got to you first. She said you had a phone call from a girl.”
Jason squinted, as if trying to see the memory. “Really?”
Aria nodded. The secretary had taken Jason’s arm and guided him toward the office. And now that Aria thought about it, the secretary had also said, She says she’s your sister. But hadn’t Aria seen Ali earlier that day, heading into the gym locker room? Maybe it was Jason’s secret girlfriend calling, kno
wing that the only way the Rosewood Day staff would page him was if she said she was a family member. “I figured it was a beautiful and mature girl you actually wanted to speak to, not a crazy sixth grader,” Aria added, blushing.
Jason nodded slowly, recognition flickering over his face. He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded a lot like, Not exactly.
“Pardon?” Aria asked.
“Nothing.” Jason downed the rest of his second gimlet. Then he eyed her coyly. “Well. I’m glad you’re making your crush a little more obvious now.”
A ripple cascaded down Aria’s back. “Maybe it’s more than a crush,” she whispered.
“I hope so,” Jason said. They smiled shyly at each other. Aria’s heart thudded in her ears.
The front door whooshed open, and a bunch of Hollis students paraded in. Someone in the corner lit a cigarette, blowing filmy smoke into the air. Jason checked his watch and reached into his pocket. “I’m really late.” He pulled out his wallet and fished out a twenty, enough to cover both their drinks. Then he looked at Aria. “So,” he started.
“So,” Aria echoed. And then she leaned forward, grabbed his hand, and kissed him the way she’d wanted him to kiss her years ago outside the journalism barn. His lips tasted like lime juice and vodka. Jason pulled her close, kneading his hands in her hair. After a moment, they broke apart, grinning. Aria thought she might faint.
“So I’ll see you later,” Jason said.
“Definitely,” Aria breathed. Jason strode across the room, opened the door, and was gone.
“Oh my God,” Aria whispered, turning back to the bar. A huge part of her wanted to climb up on the bar stool and scream to the whole room what just happened. She had to tell someone. But Ella was busy with Xavier. Mike wouldn’t care. There was Emily, but Emily might be a buzzkill, determined to believe that Ali was truly good at heart and Jason wasn’t.
Her phone began to bleat. Aria jumped and stared at it. One new text message, the little window said. The sender was Caller Unknown.
Aria’s excitement instantly dimmed. She looked around the packed bar. People sat on couches, deep in conversation. A college-age guy with dreadlocks whispered to the bartender, every so often gazing in Aria’s direction. A draft wafted from the back of the room, making the candle flames bow to the right. It was as if an unseen back door had just open and shut.
One new text message. Aria ran her hands through her hair. Slowly, she pressed read.
Enjoy your gimlets? Well, sorry, darling, but the fantasy’s over. Big Brother is hiding something from you. And trust me…you don’t want to know what it is.—A
Killer
15
EN GARDE, KATE
An hour later that same night, Hanna idled outside the Montgomerys’ freaky modernist house, waiting for Mike to emerge. Earlier this afternoon, she’d called her dad at work and asked if she could please go to the library tonight to study for a French test…without Kate. She needed to be alone to sufficiently memorize the long list of irregular verbs, she explained.
“Fine,” her father agreed gruffly. Thankfully, he was loosening up on his go-everywhere-Kate-goes rule—yesterday, he’d let Hanna shop for Meredith’s baby shower present alone too. It appeared that he’d also allowed Kate to do some private baby gift shopping…at the very same store. Immediately after Hanna had received her get-out-of-Kate-jail-free pass from her dad, she’d texted Mike and told him she wanted him to take her on a date…one-on-one. What her dad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
She stared out the window at the small cubic lights over the Montgomerys’ front porch. It had been ages since she’d been to Aria’s house, and she’d forgotten how strange it was. The front of the house had just one window, positioned off-kilter above the stairwell. The back of the house, on the other hand, was nothing but windows, stretching from the first floor to the third. Once, when Hanna and the others were in Aria’s den watching a family of deer traipse through her backyard, Ali gazed at the huge windows and clucked her tongue. “Don’t you guys worry about people spying on you?” She gave Aria a nudge. “But then, I guess your parents don’t have any secrets they don’t want anyone to know about, huh?” Aria had blushed and left the room. Hanna hadn’t known why Aria had gotten so upset, but now she did—Ali had discovered that Aria’s dad was having an affair, and she was torturing Aria with the information, the same way she used to torture Hanna about binging and purging.
Such a bitch.
Mike appeared on the front porch. He wore dark jeans, a long wool coat with the collar turned up, and carried an enormous bouquet of roses. Hanna felt tingles in her stomach. Not that she was excited for this date or anything. It was simply nice to get flowers on such a gray winter day.
“Those are gorgeous,” she said as Mike opened the door. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Okay.” Mike pulled the flowers back to his chest, the cellophane crinkling. “I’ll give them to my other girlfriend.”
Hanna caught his arm. “Don’t you dare.” That definitely wasn’t funny, not after the stunt he’d pulled with Hanna and Kate at the baby shower yesterday. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of her Prius. “So. Where are we going?”
“The King James,” Mike quipped.
Hanna glanced at him warily. “No Rive Gauche.” With her luck, Lucas would be their waiter. Très awkward.
“I know,” Mike said. “We’re going shopping.”
Hanna wrinkled her nose. “Ha.”
“I’m serious.” Mike held up his hands. “I want you to shop all night. I know that’s what girls love to do, and I’m all about making you happy.”
His earnest expression didn’t waver. Hanna thrust the car into gear. “We’d better get there, then, before you change your mind.”
They took the back roads to the mall, Hanna slowing every time she saw a DEER CROSSING sign—they were relentless this time of year. Mike slipped a CD into the Prius’s stereo. A throbbing bass filled the car, then a singer’s screechy voice. Mike immediately started singing. Hanna recognized the song, and sang along quietly, too. Mike stared at her. “You know who this is?”
“It’s Led Zeppelin,” Hanna said matter-of-factly. Sean Ackard, Hanna’s ex-ex-boyfriend, had tried to get into the band last summer—it seemed to be a Rosewood Day soccer and lax boy thing—but he’d decided they were too dark and moody for his pure, virginal ears. Mike’s brow was furrowed with disbelief. “What, did you think I listened to Miley Cyrus?” she snapped. “The Jonas Brothers?” Actually, Kate listened to the Jonas Brothers. That and Broadway show tunes.
By the time they were pulling into the King James Mall, both were belting out the lyrics to “Dazed and Confused.” Mike knew every verse by heart and even did a dramatic air guitar solo, which made Hanna buckle over in laughter.
The mall parking lot was packed. A Home Depot was off to their left, the Bloomingdale’s doors in the middle, and the haute section—with stores like Louis Vuitton and Jimmy Choo—was on the right. As they stepped out into the crisp night air, Hanna heard someone grunt. A man stood next to a white car in the Home Depot lot, struggling to lift a heavy barrel of what looked like propane into the trunk of his car. When he moved out of the way, she noticed the writing on the car doors. Rosewood Police Department. The guy had an angular chin and a pointy nose. A shock of dark hair stuck out from the bottom of his black wool hat.
Wilden?
Hanna watched as he lifted the second tub of propane, struggling to fit it in the trunk next to the other one. Did his house not have a normal heater? She considered waving, but then turned away. Wilden had told the press that they’d made up seeing Ian’s body in the woods. He’d turned all of Rosewood against them. Asshole.
“Come on,” she said to Mike, giving Wilden one last look. He had shut the trunk and was now holding his cell phone to his ear, his posture rigid, his shoulders square. It reminded Hanna of a time a few months ago, back when Wilden and her mom had been dating. He’d spen
t the night, and early in the morning, Hanna had heard whispers in the hall. When she peeked out, she saw Wilden standing in front of the hall window, looking out into the yard, his body rigid and his voice hoarse and harsh. Who the hell was he talking to? Was he sleepwalking? Hanna had slunk back to bed before Wilden noticed her.
Really, what did Hanna’s mom ever see in that guy, anyway? Wilden was cute, but not that cute. When Hanna caught him getting out of the shower all those months ago, he didn’t even look that fabulous half-naked. Not that she was into him or anything, but Hanna had a feeling lacrosse-obsessed Mike would look way hotter.
Otter, Hanna’s favorite boutique, was tucked next to Cartier and Louis Vuitton. She strode in, inhaling the Ceylon-scented Diptyque candles. Fergie was on the stereo, and racks of Catherine Malandrino, Nanette Lepore, and Moschino spread out before her. She sighed, blissful. The leather jackets were glossy and lush. The silk dresses and diaphanous, oversize scarves looked spun from gold. Sasha, one of the salesgirls, noticed Hanna and waved. Hanna was one of Otter’s best customers.
Hanna immediately selected a few dresses, enjoying the noise the wooden hangers made when they clonked together. “Would you like me to put those in your dressing room?” said a fake high-pitched voice. Hanna turned. Mike was standing next to her. “I’ve already started a room for you with some of my favorite selections,” he added.
Hanna stepped back. “You picked things out for me?” This she had to see. She marched to the only dressing room that had its velvet curtain tied to the side. A few things hung on the knob next to the mirror. First was a pair of high-waisted, tight black leather pants. Then there was a slinky silver tunic with a deep V in the front and big, gaping side vents. Behind that were three string bikinis with Wonderbra tops and thong bottoms.
Hanna turned to Mike and rolled her eyes. “Nice try, but hell has to freeze over before you get me into any of that stuff.” She eyed the leather pants again. Interestingly, Mike thought she was a size zero.
Sara Shepard - [Pretty Little Liar 06] - Killer (mobi).mobi Page 12
