“Put the pants back on, dude, before I shank you.” I land on the tiny bed in the corner, and the mattress doesn’t bother to give. Great. Just what the team doctor ordered for my aching back, a slab of concrete to call my own.
“You what?” He winces with his thumbs hitched in his boxers as if they’re the next thing to go. “It’s hot. I’m taking it all off and getting under the covers. I suggest you close your eyes if it offends you.”
“Offends me? It’s going to give me nightmares for the rest of my fucking life.”
He freezes midway, and his blinding white moon forces me to turn away. “You kiss her mouth with those lips?”
“Kiss her mouth?” For a second, I’m disoriented, but before I can put the Scarlett pieces together, the door cracks open and Sabrina lands beside me on the twin-sized bed.
“Go on.” She smacks me over the leg until I’m standing. “Scar Scar’s waiting for you! We’re doing the old switcheroo,” she whispers, holding her finger to her lips for full effect.
Crap. I take off and enter the room to my left with a light foot in the event Scar Scar frightens easily and I find a knife planted in my neck, and with the way she feels about me, I might anyway.
Instead, I find Scarlett sitting in the middle of a double bed with nary a second mattress around.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?” I glance over to a round contraption that might work as a chair, but there’s no way my body could hope to balance on it—in a fetal position no less. That, right there, is the nightmare that benchwarmers are made of.
“You’re sleeping with me, sweetheart,” she drags it out slow—no sugar, just the way I did earlier, and I can’t help but smile.
“Is this the part where you tell me I brought this upon myself?”
“This is the part where I tell you a night on the walnut hardwood will really straighten you out.”
Shit. I glance to the floor and shake my head. “No way, Lady Godiva. I’m taking my pillow and hitting the couch downstairs. My back needs to be in top condition for next season. I’ve got practice all summer, and it’s going to end real quick the second I fall asleep on that petrified forest.”
No sooner does my hand hit the doorknob than a pillow lobs me from behind.
“You can’t leave!” she hisses in a panic. “She’ll know we’re just a lie!” I turn around to catch the whites of her eyes as they glint in the dimly lit room, and she squeezes them shut for a moment. “Please stay. I can sleep on the floor.” She tosses her pillow down with the enthusiasm reserved for the guillotine, and my stomach turns.
“Don’t move.” I head over and lie as close to the edge of the bed as possible.
“Are you sure?” Her voice fills the air like a nervous hummingbird.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” She crawls under the sheets and flops the comforter over me. “Thank you for staying—and for doing that thing you did. That was pretty nice.”
The air grows stale in the room for a moment as I wait for the dig, but it never comes.
“You’re welcome. I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”
“Not on your life, Sexy Rexy.” She kicks me from under the sheets, and my chest thumps with a laugh.
“At least you say it like you mean it.”
“Right. Keep dreaming and scheming to make me yours. It’s not happening. I’m a free agent, and that’s exactly the way I’m going to stay.”
“Suit yourself. It’s you who’s missing out in the end.” The sound of our breathing clogs up the silence, quickly replaced by the sound of a squeaky mattress from the other side of the wall. Thank God our parents are safely tucked downstairs, because so help me God, if I heard even the slightest rattle… I shake the thought out of my head. “Can I ask what happened?”
“What do you mean ‘what happened’? You were there. You made it happen. You scared off my plan A. Colin made good on his last name and baled.”
“Not that.” I roll over onto my back, staring blankly at the ceiling. An anemic stream of moonlight curves its way in through the curtains, adding just the right amount of midnight blue to make this feel even more like a mind fuck. “What happened with you and that nudist next door? Why is he dunking his toothpick into your sister when he could have had you?”
A hard swat comes over my chest. “First of all, eww. And second of all, double eww. I don’t care about Duncan. I don’t care if he runs around naked all weekend or how hard he and my sister are jumping on that bed. So help me God, you try to tell me different and I might vomit.”
A dull laugh strums through me, and the mattress gives a soft bounce. “Okay, if you say so, they’re jumping on the bed. You wouldn’t happen to feel like making some mattress music yourself, would you?”
Another swat comes at me, this time striking a little too close to the face.
“I’ll take that as a no. And watch the moneymaker, would you?”
“Moneymaker,” she scoffs. “Let me guess who your biggest customers would be. The entire WB cheer squad?”
“The cheer squad and I get along. You got a problem with that?”
“Only if the fact that you get along with the cheer squad introduces bed bugs of the sexual variety to my childhood quilt.”
The room quiets down before the squeaky mattress next door starts up again.
“And round two is a go.” I wait for the assault to hit its crescendo, but Scarlett simply groans and pulls the pillow over her head.
I think back on all my girlfriends, the ones I was at least semi-serious with and think about how much it would suck, how much it would piss me off if Knox was next door making some mattress moves on my ex. My blood boils just thinking about it.
“Come on.” I give her a light tap on the knee and start bouncing up and down on the mattress by simply gyrating my body. A loud, dying shriek of a squeak ricochets throughout the room, and Scarlett lets out a gasp.
“They’re going to think we’re—” She freezes for a moment then pulls me abruptly up by the hand, and, before we know it, we’re jumping on the bed, aiming high for the vaulted ceiling, laughing our asses off. It takes less than thirty seconds for a series of solid thumps to come from the adjoining wall.
“Keep it down in there, would you?” a distinctly male voice roars from the other side.
“Sounds like Duncky doesn’t like to share his Scar Scar,” I muse.
Scarlett plunges her head back and lets out a wicked laugh as if it were the funniest thing in the world. She pulls us down to our knees, and it’s only then I note our hands are still conjoined, her warm fingers interlacing with mine. She jerks away as if pulling her hand out of a fire.
“Sorry about that.” She falls back onto her elbows, and I follow, the bed still rippling from our efforts.
“Not a problem.” It felt kind of nice, innocent, holding her hand, but I’ll be the last to mention it. “You hear that?” I hold up a finger to the silver light.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly.” I hold out my hand, and she slaps me five. “We’ve effectively duncked the Dunker.”
Scarlett gives a bubbling laugh at the thought. “Serves them right.”
“Serves them right indeed.”
“Why do you care if they’re having a good time?” She calls me out on the questionable camaraderie.
“Because I don’t like seeing annoying people that happy.” Sort of true. “Besides, I’m not sure if I believe in happiness anymore.” True as God.
“Yeah, well—me either.” Her hand flops in the dark until it covers mine, and this time I give her fingers a squeeze.
“Good night, Free Agent Scarlett.”
“Good night, Sexy Rexy.” She smothers it in the requisite amount of sarcasm.
“Say it like you mean it.” I offer her fingers another gentle squeeze.
“You wish.” She turns over and goes to sleep, and I try to do the same, but all night I wonder why this girl who’s vexed me for
months suddenly feels so good to touch, and what she would think if she knew who my mother really was.
One Big Unhappy Family
Scarlett
There are several highlights that I remember fondly about my childhood—the time a beautiful woman dressed as a mermaid came to my fifth birthday party. Her hair was as red as mine, and I loved her. The time my parents took us to a pricey resort in Hawaii, and my sister, brother, and I all swam with friendly bottlenose dolphins. There was an afternoon in fourth grade when both my father and my mother chaperoned a school field trip down to an apple orchard. All of my friends thought it was weird, and a part of me knew I should be embarrassed by this, but I loved it. My father lifted me through the branches, and I filled up a basket with blushing Pippins and dainty Pink Ladies. We bought a heaping apple pie from the orchard bakery. I can still smell the cinnamon if I try. Then, there was the night they sat us all down, my sister, brother, and I on the couch, the two of them positioned across from us, seated on the coffee table. We knew from their outward act of furniture-based defiance that something was drastically wrong. We were no more allowed to put our sock-feet up on the coffee table, let alone sit on the wooden beast, and here our parents were squatting over it as if it were the new normal. That was a bruised day in the history of us. They referred to it as simply “the end of their partnership” to lessen the blow. It didn’t, of course. It may have been the end to their partnership, but it was also the end to their marriage, and to the family as we knew it. We had entered unchartered territory. Divorce had been the norm for so many of our friends, but, now that we had joined their ranks, we wanted off that twisted partial custody merry-go-round. I hated it then, and I hate it now. I hate it. I hate that my parents openly defied the vows they took and then blew apart like drifters.
I raise my bow and aim high at the heart carved into a lone pine that sits in the clearing. I’ve spent the last ten minutes piercing that heart my mother carved out many ironic years ago.
The scent of oven-ripe soil penetrates my nostrils, sticks to my skin as the sweat under my neck quickly turns to grime. I’m not afraid of getting dirty. I’m certainly not afraid of letting anyone see me in this less than hygienic way.
“Hold your fire,” a male voice calls from behind, and I let go of my arrow, watching as it splices past the others tucked neatly in that cupid-shaped fantasy, landing dead in the middle.
“Bullseye.” Rex comes up and stands beside me, staring out at my handy work, looking impressed and perhaps a bit shaken. His warm cologne circles me and makes me long for a shower and some mouthwash.
“I’m a good shot,” I pant, pulling another arrow from the pouch slung over my back.
“Oh, I’m aware.” He tweaks his brows, bobbing his head with a touch too much amusement. It infuriates me enough to want to use his bobblehead as my next target. “You clocked me twice on the chin in the middle of the night.”
“Just wanted to make sure you were staying on your side of the bed.” My lips twist with disdain as a look of revulsion takes over. “I think tonight you should sleep on the couch.”
His eyes widen into twin circles of baby blue in an ocean of white. “What happened to our budding relationship?”
“I’m over it. I suggest you get over it, too. I’m thinking we should have a dramatic breakup. You know, something that involves kitchen knives launched at your head.” I glance down at his crotch a moment. Rex is forever in blue jeans, all the same well-worn versions at that. I’d hate to think he’s the kind of guy who wears the same pair of jeans over and over, but since his family is swimming in green, I’m sure he can afford more than one pair of mechanically altered Levi’s. “I’ll be sure to aim for both the big head and the little.” My lips cinch into a smirk.
His eyes latch on to mine, and the air charges around us. I’ve never in my life felt so much dislike toward one person.
“There’s not a little head on my body.” He’s daring me to go there one more time with those marbled eyes.
“Be sure to stand next to Duncan while you’re at it. Of course, I’ll have to nick you as well. Everyone in my family knows I’m a damn good shot.” I offer up a little wink.
“All right, Agent Orange—your dad asked me to bring you back alive. There’s some big announcement brewing up there.” He glances back to the cabin with a clear look of regret. If anything, we’re a united front on not wanting our parents to remain united.
“Wait, did you say announcement?” My ears pique at the horrible idea. “What kind of announcement?” People announce things that lead to big life shifts like babies and sex changes, and seeing that neither one of our parents is of a socially acceptable child-bearing age nor are their gender-related parts in any suspected danger, that only leaves…
“That’s right.” Those sides of beef he calls arms fold over his chest. “I don’t know what the hell’s brewing, but your sister was tap dancing like she had to go to the bathroom so she might have a part in it.”
“Bleh.” Just the thought of listening to a thing Sabrina has to say makes me want to vomit all over those bed sheets she and Duncan defiled last night. Speaking of bed sheets… “I’ll go with you under two circumstances. One, you resolve to take us off this mountain tonight after our monster breakup—which, of course, neither my father nor your mother will ever be made aware of, lest I skewer your balls together with one of these bad boys.” I give the arrows slung over my shoulder a slight tap. “And two, never and I mean never—for the safety of your balls—do not and I repeat do not call me Agent Orange again.”
That cocky grin rides low on his lips. “I just thought—”
“That’s where you got into trouble,” I say, bypassing him on the way back to the cabin. “Do us both a favor and don’t do any more thinking.” Good thing for Briggs, chasing after pigskin doesn’t require much cerebral activity.
The cabin is lit up inside with a happy, peachy glow. Lawson and Knox are back at the pool table having a good time. Secretly, I hate how easily my brother has struck up a friendship with both Knox and Rex. Why can’t he be like Sabrina and me and give everyone who bears the Toberman moniker the cold shoulder? I spot Trixy and Sabrina huddled in the corner, staring solemnly down at something in my sister’s hand, and my stomach turns. I guess I’m the only one interested in staving off the Toberman virus. I can see it’s spreading quickly, catching like wildfire as one by one my family falls prey to them.
“Batter Bits!” Dad beams as I step inside, and beckons me over with a nod toward the balcony.
“Batter Bits?” Rex mouths, and I turn an icy shoulder to him.
Yes, Batter Bits. One day out of the blue my father called Sabrina Pumpkin, and I mistakenly thought a permanent, yet clever, name change had taken place. Naturally, I wanted a far better tasting name myself, so I asked him to call me Cake Batter, not the slimy batter on the side of the bowl, but the yummy batter bits. He and my mother got quite the laugh. He didn’t think Cake Batter quite fit, so it eventually morphed to Batter Bits, and that’s how I’ve affectionately been known to my father all these years.
He offers that well-worn smile of his. Dad is tan year round, not pink in the cheeks, but deep sable brown, a glow he’s toiled for by way of spending the last solid decade on the golf greens. He owns and operates one of the biggest private shipping industries on the East Coast and does most of his best corporate maneuvers while holding a nine iron in his hands. Dad grimaces, and his teeth glow in the defused late afternoon light. Rex’s mother, Lynette, has insisted they go on “bleaching” dates. They’ve gone on so many of these illuminating expeditions their teeth have a slight bluish cast to them. I’d bet ten bucks they glow neon under a black light.
“What’s going on?” I pull him further out into the baking afternoon sun as it roasts us one last time for punishment before sinking behind the tree line. For the past two weeks, my father has hinted at some big revelation, one which I’m assuming is about to fall right into our unassuming laps. Ever s
ince that fateful day he and my mother sat us down to let us know they were driving a stake through the heart of our family, I haven’t really been too keen on surprises. “Does this have to do with Kent?” Kent Shipping has been in the family longer than I have.
“No.” He twists his lips as if he’s enjoying this on some level, those pale green eyes of his glint with delight at the deception. “If I tell you, it won’t be much of a surprise, now, will it?”
A horrible groan expels from me at the sound of that word, and I spot Rex spying on us from inside. I’ve never met a more annoying gnat of a person—with the exception of Duncan, and perhaps Sabrina.
“It is Kent,” I whimper mostly to myself. “You want to retire, and you’re going to sell it. You want someone knowledgeable to run it, but you don’t have faith in your children to do so.”
“Whoa!” He laughs, pulling me into a warm embrace, and my body conforms to his wide girth. I’ve always felt most protected from this cruel world when I’m in my father’s arms. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I promise you, this is the best possible means to an end.”
“Snookums!” Lynette’s witch-like cackle of a voice demands we come inside. “Oh, Bradley Poo! It’s time to gather ’round the sofa!”
“Bradley Poo?” The bile rises to the back of my throat, and I desperately want to vomit.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Dad drops a sweet kiss to the top of my head. “Give me a chance to spill the beans. Once we’re through, you’ll be walking on sunshine, I promise.”
We head inside, and Lynette snatches my father from me, dragging him to the front of the television where most every eye is glued. She snaps up the remote and kills the TV, filling the room with a lethal brand of silence.
Sabrina rocks on her heels, her mouth frozen in some fake square smile that’s giving me the creeps. Trixy looks back at me, most likely because I’m the only sane person in the room—and I am, at least up until the point I start throwing sharp objects at her brother. Trixy, Knox, and Rex—Triple X as I’ve come to collectively call them, all have the same dark thicket of hair, same strange alien-like glowing eyes and comely features. I wish they were from another planet, and that Lynette here was about to announce their need for an abrupt departure. With my luck, she’d snatch my father right along with her, and I’d never see him again.
Forbidden Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book 9) Page 4
