by Tijan
“That’s a lie,” I told our newfound audience. “I don’t even like ice cream. It’s a complete lie. She’s making things up.”
Erica rolled her eyes but quieted her voice. “Don’t go with him—” She stopped and latched on to my arm. “Wait. Did you say they’re going to Sids tonight?” She squeezed my hand.
I winced under her hold. “Sids, I think. Yeah, Sids.”
Abruptly, she let go and turned for the doorway. “We’re going there, too, then.”
“Huh? I was never going to go with him.” I moved my hand around just to make sure I could. “Where are you going?”
She was through the first set of doors and crossing to the last set as she called over her shoulder, “Let’s go. We’re going shopping, and then we’re going to Sids tonight. I have to call Wanker.”
“Shopping?” I muttered under my breath.
Erica’s form of shopping was looking for new pens and notepads, not clothes. I shrugged.
I liked Sids. It was a popular nightclub in town. The other two colleges in town went there, too, but it would mostly be Hillcrest University students tonight since we were done with finals a week earlier than other campuses.
I hoped to convince Erica and Wanker into going to Sids anyway. This was the icing on the cake. My last exam was done, and I was officially a junior. I wouldn’t have to spend my night at the winery down a block from our apartment. That was Erica and Wanker’s favorite spot. It was small, quiet, and way too conservative for a night of celebrating—or a night of spying, in Erica’s case.
Either way, if she wanted to go shopping, then I’d go along.
I was heading behind her, knowing she’d be impatiently waiting, when someone yelled behind me, “Hey! Turn the TV up. I want to hear this.”
I dodged around a group of students, another step closer to the doors, when I heard the reporter’s voice. I couldn’t ignore it this time.
“Kian Maston, the son of billionaire investor and entrepreneur Carl Maston, has been released early after serving two years for the murder of Edmund Solario, the foster father of missing Jordan Emory.”
Kian Maston was the definition of bad boy to me. He wasn’t the type who was arrogant or would throw his money around, like he was God’s gift to women. He wasn’t that kind of bad boy, but he was dangerous. A quiet type who ruled from the shadows—that was him.
A shiver went through my spine, charging my body with a jolt of electricity, as memories flared in my mind.
We both grew up in Fosston. Compared to the city, Fosston was small potatoes with a population of six thousand, but it was big enough where people knew who the populars were, and Kian had definitely been in that crowd. He was rich and gorgeous, and he was respected. He also had the whole dark, mysterious, and brooding thing down pat, too.
I hadn’t thought much of Kian back then. I knew who he was, but I didn’t really know him, to be honest. I didn’t socialize much with anyone back then, except for a few nights when I snuck out to see my boyfriend, though he had been a bust. After a disastrous end with him, I never broke my Edmund’s strict rules again. They weren’t worth it. School, home—those were the two places I had been allowed to go. When I was at school, I heard the other girls talk about Kian a lot. In the restrooms, in the hallways, and in the locker room when we were changing for gym class, Kian was at the top of most girls’ wish lists.
That was then, and this was now.
He graduated to national stardom.
Most killers wouldn’t be idolized, but that was what had happened to him—with his face, penetrating dark eyes, black hair, chiseled high cheekbones, and lean body. When Kian killed my foster father, the news outlets all over the nation swept up the story. Add in his last name, knowing who his father was, and we had a phenomenon right there in Fosston.
And he was being released.
On the way home, I was in a daze. Erica was babbling about finding the right dress for Sids, but once we got to the apartment, I went straight for the shower. It had been my sanctuary during the trial, and I needed that privacy once more. I don’t know how long I stood in there, with my head down and letting the water pound down on me, but when someone knocked on my bathroom door, I jerked backward. I would’ve fallen and hit my head on the toilet, but I grabbed ahold of the door.
“Jo!” Erica’s shadow was under the door. “What are you doing? I thought we were going shopping.”
I was naked and wet, and there’d be a bruise on my hand in an hour.
“If you were to take a guess?” I called out, sharper than I intended, as I turned the water off and reached for a towel. Shit. This was my friend. I didn’t have to be a bitch to her. “Sorry. I was showering.”
“This whole time?” She hiccupped. “Okay. Change of plans. Instead of shopping, I’m drinking. Wanker got here a little bit ago. Actually,” I could hear the laughter from her, “I might be a little intoxicated already.” Her shadow swerved to the side. “Make that, slightly wasted.”
Wrapping myself with the towel, I sat down on the toilet and closed my eyes. Even sitting here, the old Jordan was coming back to me. I felt my spine leaving me, and all the old insecurities moving back in. I drew in a deep breath. I wasn’t back there where I couldn’t trust anyone, couldn’t even hope to believe someone. No. That was Jordan. I was Jo, and this was Erica on the other side of the door. I could trust her.
She had no reason to hurt me.
A muffled giggle and then a snort sounded. “How long until you’re ready? Wanker’s ready for some dancing and kicking butt tonight.”
My eyebrows pinched together. It was hard to think of a six feet three Wanker—constantly shoving his glasses back on and pinching the top of his nose—as a disco-fighting machine. But Erica was raring to go.
She had spewed the entire subway ride home about Susan: how she always got what she wanted, how she slept with the supervisor for the job, how she must’ve given him a blowjob if she hadn’t spread her legs. Erica kept going, but I’d been in my own Kian daze.
I wasn’t surprised that she was drinking already or that she got Wanker worked up with her. What she did, he did. He was there to support her, no matter what, just like she was with me.
Okay. Time to let go of the past. I was Jo now. Not Jordan. “Ten minutes,” I answered, hugging the towel tighter around myself. I needed that long to shake all the old baggage off me.
“Okay.” She began edging backward, away from my door. “I called a cab. I say, screw it, let’s go all out and pay for our own transportation. Forget public transportation for the night. Susan’s celebrating, so I’m going to celebrate tonight, too. The cab will be here in twenty.” She stopped a little bit away. Her voice was a little quieter. “Hey, I know I was raging, but you were quieter than normal on the way home. Is everything okay?”
“No, no,” I called out. “I’m fine. Honestly. My exam was harder than I had studied for, that’s all. I don’t think I’ll get an A on it.”
“Really?” She coughed, and the slight slur she’d had two seconds earlier was gone. “Oh, Jo, I’m so sorry. I’ll have a glass ready for you. It’s a perfect night for both of us to drown our sorrows, huh?” A wry chuckle left her. “Not for Wanker. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s getting laid tonight, but it’s not going to be by me, so once he figures that out, he’ll be joining in with the depressed boozing tonight.”
Her voice trailed off as she left my bedroom, and once I heard that door close, a deep breath left me. I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the door.
“Get your shit together, Jo,” I whispered to myself.
That was enough. No more Kian. No more thoughts about him or that night. No more thoughts about Edmund either. I never wanted thoughts about my foster father, even on a good day.
A slight panic buzzed in me as I knew what kind of media storm could be coming my way, but I pushed all of that down, way down, in me.
I changed into jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t want attention.
> I never did, but tonight was less than normal for me. Going to the mirror, I brushed my hair back so it grazed the tops of my shoulders. My hands lingered as I tucked the strands behind my ears.
I was the same girl as then but different. I used so much makeup back then, dressing up for my boyfriend. That was another rule, and the only one I continued to break from my foster father. Edmund said, “No makeup.” My teenage hormones replied, “Screw that,” so I scrubbed my face before going home every day. I liked makeup back then. I liked how it made me look older, not so pathetic. I was prettier. I was more sophisticated.
I barely used any now.
I applied just a little bit of soft pink lipstick and reapplied my mascara. That was it, some mascara and lipstick. I was good to go. Same girl but different.
Erica shoved open the door and stood there with her hands on her hips. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were glazed over. “Cab’s here, Jo Mama.”
Definitely drunk.
I nodded and straightened my shirt, then grabbed some cash and my ID. “I’m ready.”
She didn’t move. Instead, she smiled and waved her hand up and down. “You look nice.”
I looked plain and forgettable, how I preferred it, but I reared back and looked at her. Erica didn’t dress up, not for anything, but she had a dress on.
“Damn, Erica. Is Wanker still alive?” I pretended to rub my eyes.
“What?”
I gestured to her, doing a Vanna White flourish with my wrist. “Do I need to call the ambulance? Did the sight of you stop his heart?”
“Shut up.”
I fought against my grin. “You’re hot, woman. You’re wearing a dress.”
And it was one that hugged her form. She was close to five feet four and usually dressed in shirts with sarcastic quotes over tattered jeans. All of that was gone, and Erica was transformed. Her boobs showed. She had an ass. Her stomach was flat, and she even had hips.
“Oh, this?” Her nose wrinkled, and she smoothed her hand down the front, picking at some lint on the bottom. “Ugh. Whatever. I’m sinking to Susan’s level. Don’t hate me. She’s going to be dressed to the nines, so I have to, too. So, yeah.” She waved a hand at herself. “Sexiness ensued for the night. I already can’t wait till we get back, and I can put my pajamas on. Looking good sucks major balls.”
She flounced from my room and called over her shoulder as I followed her, “We’re going, Wanker.” She grabbed her purse on the way out.
He stood from the couch, and his hand checked his zipper when he chugged the rest of his wine. His entire face and neck were beet-red. That meant one thing. Sexiness ensued had indeed ensued him.
I felt a flicker of pride for my roommate, but then Wanker was out the door, and they were halfway down the hallway, so I didn’t have time to savor the proud moment. I hurried to catch up, and the cab took off the second I shut the car door behind me.
When we got to Sids, I asked Erica, “You sure you want to go in there?” The line to get in was around the corner.
Erica shoved up her glasses. “I did an article for them. Time to call in a favor.”
Wanker mirrored her action, pushing up his glasses.
The favor worked. The bouncer waved her in, and when we went through, he said, “Go have fun.”
Erica pulled me behind her, moving into the bar. Sids was packed. It was standing-room only. Hip-hop music blared from a deejay on the second floor. As Erica dragged me, I recognized other students from our college. I was right. Most of the people here were Hillcrest students.
Kian was supposed to go to Hillcrest, but then he’d gone to prison instead.
No. No thoughts of him.
I shook my head to clear it and ran into Erica.
“Hey.” I frowned at her, but she wasn’t paying attention.
She was enraptured by something on the opposite side of the bar. I didn’t need to take a guess. It must’ve been Susan. I started to look, figuring I should get this over with. Jake had said he and Tara had broken up, but I knew Tara would still be all over him. Every time he said they were broken up, I would see them cuddling on a couch at a party a day later.
Erica clutched at my arm and pointed. “You see him?”
Him.
My heart lurched for a second. She couldn’t mean…that would make no sense.
I looked…and saw someone else. It wasn’t Kian.
“Oh. Jake. Yeah.” I frowned, feeling a flutter in the bottom of my throat. I was being ridiculous, thinking she’d meant him.
“I don’t get it.” She shook her head and shoved her glasses back up her nose. “They broke up, but he’s here, celebrating with Susan? I didn’t even think Susan liked him. At the paper, she’s always complaining about Tara’s relationship with him. I’m surprised that hasn’t gotten back to Tara yet.”
Her eyes got big then, and I could see the ideas filling her head.
“No, Erica. Don’t say a word. You don’t want to step into that. Trust me.”
“Not Jake and Tara. Susan and Tara,” she clarified. “Susan talks so much crap about Tara’s relationship with Jake. If Tara knew—”
I took her shoulders and turned her in the other direction. “That wouldn’t end well either. Susan can spin it, say she was distraught as a friend, et cetera, and Tara will forgive her.” I gritted my teeth.
As much as I had been jealous of Tara seven months ago, I couldn’t find any rumors where she was mean. Everyone had tended to say the same thing. She was beautiful and nice. It would make me gag, so I’d stopped asking.
“I know,” she clipped out, sounding distressed. “But…” Her hand abruptly fell back to her side. “I just can’t stand Susan. She already thinks she’s above everyone. With this promotion, she’ll think she’s on a totally different level.”
Everyone meant Erica, Wanker, and me.
Erica’s features tightened in frustration. “Susan is not better than us. Tara is not better than us. And Jake’s an asshole so he’s really not better than us.” She added, her lips pressed tight, “Even if he is kinda dreamy to look at.”
I mused, “I doubt Wanker would enjoy hearing that.”
She flushed and rolled her eyes. “Not funny, Jo. You’re”—her hand gestured up and down at me—“you. You don’t even notice that half the guys in here are checking you out, and I know that’s why Susan hates you, but…” She stopped, and her shoulders drooped.
I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” I murmured. “I can tell you one thing. Susan’s not anywhere as tough as you are. If I had to back someone in a fight—whether it were verbal, physical, or academic—I’d back you any day.”
“Really?”
“You’re tough as nails. If Susan thinks she’s on a higher level than us”—I snorted—“let her think that. You’ll be more successful than her within five years. I know it.”
One side of her mouth lifted up as the other remained down. She patted my hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, Jo.”
I shrugged. “Besides, Susan’s a bitch, and no one really likes her. We all know that.”
Erica started laughing.
I needed a drink. The restlessness was stirring inside me again. My past was a headache knocking at my head, trying to get back in. I wouldn’t let it. No way, no how. Time to head for the bar. Speaking of drinks, I spied Wanker. He was behind us, bobbing back and forth to the music, with a drink in his hand.
I pointed to it. “Hey, where did you get that?”
He leaned closer to us, still doing the shimmy shoo. “What?”
Erica yelled for me, “Where did you get your drink?”
He held it up with a bright smile plastered on his face. “You want one?”
“Yeah.”
“What?” Another yell from him.
I stood up on my tiptoes and yelled in his ear, “Yes, please!”
“Oh, okay!” he shouted before turning for the bar.
He hadn’t gone two steps before I heard from behind me, �
��Here. You can have mine.”
And I froze.
Kian?
