Читать книгу Waiting On You - Kristan Higgins - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE FIRST TIME she ever saw Lucas Damien Campbell, Colleen fell in love.
Not that she was a believer in that kind of thing.
Even at the tender age of eleven, when her mother had sobbed through yet another sappy romantic comedy, Colleen pointed out the fact that the characters had known each other for only six days, so it was a little hard to buy into the whole everlasting soul mate philosophy. In seventh grade, Tim Jansen sent her a letter full of hyperbolic compliments (“your eyes are shinier than a mirror,” which Colleen thought was creepy and hoped wasn’t true) and anguished love (“I feel like my heart will explode when you smile at me”). She patted his hand and said he probably should take up a sport to channel some of that energy.
High school was no different, though the boys abruptly grew taller...despite the abundance of hormones, despite her abiding love for Robert Downey, Jr., Colleen remained above the fray. No, she’d rather hang out with her brother, laugh at his friends, and watch Faith and Jeremy, the perfect couple, with fondness and a satisfying bit of melancholy. By the time she was a senior, virtually every boy in Manningsport had asked her out and received a kindly “no.” Love—especially the sloppy, frenching-in-the-halls type—was not meant for Colleen Margaret Mary O’Rourke.
“What do you mean, you’re not going to prom?” her mother asked one night around the family dinner table. Con was going with Sherry Wong, a mathlete like himself. “Hasn’t anyone asked you?”
“Nine guys have asked her, Ma,” Connor offered, taking another shovelful of mashed potatoes.
“It’s not for me,” Colleen said easily. “Drama, rayon dresses, crepe paper, the inevitable tears. I’ll pass.”
“That’s my girl,” Dad said with an approving nod. Connor sighed, and Colleen could feel his mood drop several degrees. It was no secret that Colleen was their father’s favorite.
People like them, Dad said once in a while, were too smart for that. Just what that was, Colleen wasn’t sure, but she was flattered to be included. Her father’s approval was everything. Connor was smart, too—smarter, at least according to his grades, but “we think alike,” Dad would say.
Pete O’Rourke was still handsome enough to get stares from women of all ages—black Irish, the same clear gray eyes Colleen had, unlike Connor’s blue. He was the youngest of his family, widely viewed to be the star of the family by his older sisters, who fussed over him at family gatherings, getting him plates of food as if he were an invalid, cooing over his latest real estate coup. In town, men shook his hand, laughed loudly at his jokes, came to him for advice—Dad owned six of the fifteen commercial buildings in town.
Mom was still sappily infatuated with him, which Colleen found both cute and annoying. When his car pulled into the driveway, she’d rush to ditch her slippers, shove her feet into heels and put on lipstick. If he commented on her appearance, “Jeanette, is that a new hairstyle?” She’d flush with pleasure. “Oh, thank you!” she’d say, not quite noticing that it wasn’t exactly a compliment. And Dad would give Colleen a little wink of collusion, which made her feel simultaneously guilty and clever.
Mom never finished college, knocked up in the great tradition of the O’Rourke family. She worked part-time for an interior designer and actually could’ve joined the firm; her boss quite liked her, but she always said no. “Your father is such a good provider,” she’d say.
Slightly overweight, she’d go on fad diets before the holidays or the annual Manningsport Black & White Ball, get her hair done, buy a new dress...but still, Mom always looked a little older, a little frumpier, a little less certain than Dad. Pete O’Rourke was, there was no mistaking it, one of those guys who got better with age, Manningsport’s version of Pierce Brosnan: the graying hair, the extreme good looks.
To Colleen, the best compliment she could get was that she was her father’s girl. Except when Mom said it, for some reason; there’d be a slight and rare tinge of bitterness in her voice. Then again, Mom loved Connor best. It was only fair.
So yeah, a high school romance, prom, and all that...leave that for the other girls: Theresa and Faith, who’d marry their high school honeys, no doubt. Let other girls worry over boys (or girls, in the case of Deirdre and Tiffy). Colleen would give advice to the girls, deflect advances from the boys, cheerful and observant and not at all lonely...not with a twin and a best friend and adoring father. It was exactly how she wanted things.
And then she met Lucas Campbell.
It was big news, of course. Manningsport had a tiny year-round population; just about any change was cause for excitement.
“Kids,” said Mrs. Wheaton, their beleaguered English teacher, adjusting her corduroy (ouch) jumper, “we have two new students joining our class shortly.” She consulted her paperwork. “Bryce and Lucas Campbell. Uh...cousins, it says here. Please be nice.”
“Is Bryce a boy’s name?” Tanya Cross asked. She wasn’t tremendously bright.
“Yes,” Mrs. Wheaton asked. “Now, getting back to Hamlet. Does anyone have an opinion on Ophelia?”
No one bothered answering. A ripple went through the class. Two new members of the senior class? Jeremy Lyon had transferred in last summer, and look how totally awesome he was! Could lightning strike twice? The girls began either whispering to or ignoring each other. Posture: improved. Hair: tossed. Legs: crossed. Lips: licked.
The guys in the class exchanged glances, aware that two new roosters in the henhouse would shift the dynamic. Well, not all the boys. Asswipe Jones was sleeping (hungover, probably), and Levi Cooper stared at Jessica with that hot look of his. Jeremy was running a hand through his own dark hair.
As for Colleen, she didn’t need to sit up or lick or cross. She already had it going on. (False modesty—not one of her flaws.) Still, she too glanced at the door. Just because she didn’t want to date anyone didn’t mean she didn’t want to be acknowledged as, yes, the prettiest girl in high school, the funniest and the most sought-after.
The door opened, and in came the newbies.
There was a stunned silence, then a collective murmur.
“Oh, my God,” Tanya breathed.
Yep, the first guy was a looker. Blue, blue eyes, sweet smile, dark brown hair that was styled but not too embarrassing. Dimple in his left cheek. Were Colleen the dating type, she’d probably be all over that. His eyes stopped on her, his smile widened, which was gratifying. Colleen allowed a faint smile back. The not-quite-catty thought came to her—she could have him if she wanted. Which she didn’t, but still.
Then she noticed the second guy. Her smile faltered.
Holy St. Patrick. Her face didn’t change (she hoped), but her body was...was doing things. Stomach tightened, mouth dried, knees (and other parts) tingled. She acknowledged the feelings from afar because her brain couldn’t quite function at the moment.
He looked a lot like the other boy, but he was darker. Not quite as good-looking...well, no. Not quite as perfect, but a lot more compelling. Black hair instead of brown, olive skin and deep, dark eyes.
He looked like a Spanish pirate. Like a Romany gypsy. Like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, and like Heathcliff, there was something about his expression that said he knew things, saw things, that he wasn’t as sweet or as easy or as simple as the boy who stood next to him.
“Now, which one of you is Bryce?” Mrs. Wheaton asked.
“I am,” said the blue-eyed guy. “This is my cousin Lucas. He lives with us.” And even though Bryce made the introduction, it was Lucas who shook hands with Mrs. W. first, causing his cousin to follow suit, and Colleen could sense the dynamic: Lucas, the cousin who lived with “us,” was in charge.
“Nice to meet you,” the gypsy boy said, and Colleen just about slid out of her chair in lust. Because that voice, good God, did eighteen-year-old boys really get to sound like that? It was deep and mellow and just a little rough and caused a reverberation in Colleen’s special places, and what the hell would happen if he actually spoke to her?
“Welcome, boys,” Mrs. Wheaton said. “Find a seat, if you’d be so kind.” There was a tremendous screech as the female half of the class pushed their chairs back to make room for the newcomers.
Lucas went past Colleen, and it was horrifying, embarrassing, thrilling to have her heart pound so hard. He smelled like soap and sunshine and wore faded jeans and black Converse, and that was all she saw because she didn’t dare look at him. Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me, her brain chanted. He didn’t, just went past to the back of the room, the longest four seconds of her life. Her cheeks burned—honestly, a boy making her cheeks burn? This never happened!—and she stared at the words in her book. I do not know, my lord, what I should think.
Preach it, Ophelia.
Where was he? Was he looking at her? Who was he sitting next to? A girl? Probably a girl. Jessica? She always sat in the back. She’d probably already given him her number. They were probably already planning a hookup, because everyone knew Jess just used Levi for sex. Would the Spanish pirate boy go for someone like that? Colleen would lose all respect, not that she had any just yet, but you know, she could already feel herself getting mad, boys were so stupid, and—
“How’s it going?” Bryce asked. He’d sat down next to her, and she hadn’t quite noticed.
“Great,” she said. “I’m Colleen. Welcome to Manningsport.”
“Nice meeting you,” he said with an easy grin.
Where was Lucas? What was he thinking? Would he like her, too? Because it was obvious that what’s-his-name, Bryce, already did, though he was now talking to Tanya, who was being super-duper helpful and sharing her copy of Hamlet with him, pressing her boob against his arm. Colleen hoped he liked the smell of Eternity perfume, because Tanya practically bathed in it.
She wanted very much to turn around and see the gypsy boy. Also, she should probably stop referring to him as pirate or gypsy. Even mentally.
She didn’t turn. She was too smart for that, as Dad pointed out.
She didn’t feel so smart now.
For the next thirty-one minutes, she tried to concentrate on Hamlet. Never before had she been quite so interested in the words coming out of Mrs. Wheaton’s mouth. Not that she could actually understand them, mind you, but Colleen assiduously took notes, keeping her handwriting tidy, mentally repeating phrases like “preoccupation with death,” “theme of decomposition.” And in the meantime, her entire body pulsed with hot, almost painful throbs and a vague sense of danger, the same as last summer, when they’d gone swimming on Cape Cod the day after a shark attack. Just because you couldn’t see it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Waiting.
“Come on, idiot,” her brother said, nudging her head with his backpack. “Physics lab. Snap out of it.”
Ah. Class had ended, then. Lucas and Bryce were talking to Mrs. Wheaton. Colleen stood up and gave her brother a look. “I was taking notes. Thank me later when I save you from flunking the test.”
“I don’t need notes,” Connor said, going on ahead.
She carefully didn’t look at Lucas...well, not directly. Wouldn’t want to give the impression that she couldn’t look at Lucas, so she did the drive-by glance...gaze just skimming the face, looking away the instant before his eyes could meet hers, a faint smile on her face, so very pleasant. “Bye, Mrs. Wheaton,” she said. “Bye, boys.” Because Colleen O’Rourke wasn’t bothered by the male species. She was too smart for that.
For the next three weeks, Colleen managed not to speak to Lucas Campbell. Bryce, she found, was as friendly as Smiley, the Holland family’s Golden retriever, and about as smart. Bryce was quite beautiful and fun to look at, and she found herself flirting with him harmlessly, same as she did with all the other boys. He could volley it back pretty well, though most of her jokes went over his head. Still, he had long eyelashes and beautiful blue eyes and always seemed happy.
His cousin...well, Colleen didn’t know what he was like. She gave him the occasional drive-by, not wanting to ignore him outright because of what that might reveal.
Tanya Cross who was as determined as she was irritating, asked Bryce to the prom. Bryce then sealed Tanya’s bitchery by asking Colleen if she’d go with him, and could she give an answer because “that Tanya chick wants to go with me.”
“Sorry, pal,” she said, patting him on the arm like a fond auntie. “It’s not really my thing. You go with Tanya. She’s sweet.” Which Tanya wasn’t, but it wouldn’t be nice to say so...plus, it would irritate Tanya all the more to know that Colleen had been totally classy.
Had Lucas asked her to go, her answer might’ve been a lot different.
He didn’t.
Lucas wasn’t going and had turned down four girls before it had been ascertained that no, he wasn’t waiting for someone else to ask him; he just wasn’t going. This, of course, was widely and voraciously analyzed every time two or more girls gathered in a classroom, hall, cafeteria, gym, bakery, school bus or mall and via phone, text, email, sign language and smoke signals.
Oh, the delicious and frustrating mystery of it! No one knew why Lucas lived with Bryce. Their fathers were brothers, and Bryce said only that “it worked out best.” Bryce’s mother worked for an insurance company that had a branch in Corning, a half hour away; hence the senior-year move from Illinois.
Bryce’s dad was the one who showed up at Bryce’s soccer games, sitting with his nephew, talking easily. The fondness between them was reassuring to Colleen. Lucas Campbell was no Heathcliff (thank heavens, because she knew how irresistible those types were).
Still, Lucas had a tinge of tragedy about him: his own mother dead; details of the father unknown, though speculated upon greatly—mafioso, movie star, eccentric billionaire, prison, gay, defrocked priest. Coll pretended not to listen but ate up every word.
The week before prom was consumed with talk of dresses, hairstyles, shoes and how to stop a guy from going too far. Despite her own utter lack of experience, Colleen was asked for advice and doled it out, sounding quite expert to her own ears—tell him beforehand how far you’re comfortable going, or just say, “that’s far enough,” no, don’t french on the dance floor, it’s so tacky, and whatever you do, don’t have unprotected sex.
On prom night, she took pictures of Connor, helped Sherry pin on his corsage because Sherry had it bad for Con and couldn’t quite manage it as her hands were shaking. Colleen wished them a merry prom and waved with her parents as the limo pulled away, filled with the other four couples as well as Con and Sherry. “Kids today. They grow so fast,” she sighed happily. “What are we doing tonight, parents?”
“I thought we’d watch movies,” Mom said hopefully. “I made Rice Krispies treats.”
“Oh, hooray,” Colleen said. “Dad? You in?”
“I have to go to check on some properties,” he said a bit tersely.
“Okay. I’ll come and help,” Colleen offered, a twinge of guilt at instantly changing plans. “We can watch movies a little later, Mom.”
“Sure!” Mom said with forced good cheer. “I’ll tag along, too.” She frowned, her sweet face soft.
“No. I’ll go alone. You girls stay here,” he said in that voice he used when he was irritated.
“Roger that,” Colleen said, keeping her voice light. Experience had shown that when Dad was in a bad mood, there was no point in arguing.
“Don’t be silly. We’ll go with you, and we can all get some dinner afterward, and it’ll be really fun?” Mom suggested, her voice ending in a question mark. Colleen wished she wouldn’t be like that.
“I said, I’ll go alone. Okay? I have some business to take care of.”
“Sure!” Mom said, and Colleen had to stifle an eye roll. She loved her mom, of course, but...well. “Of course, Pete! We’ll keep the home fires warm.”
Dad forced a smile, then kissed Colleen’s cheek. “I’m sure the other girls are glad you’re not going tonight, honey. All their dates would be after you.”
“Hmm,” Colleen said. It was a slightly insulting insinuation—she’d never steal someone else’s guy, and she liked to think that most other girls quite adored her—but she knew Dad meant it as a compliment.
And so she and Mom ate the sticky treats and admired Matthew McConaughey’s abs, Mom sitting with the house phone and her cell on the arm of her chair, just in case Dad changed his mind.
He didn’t, but around eleven, the phone rang. It was Faith, urging her to come to the after party at her boyfriend’s lovely house.
“Okay if I go up to the Lyons’, Ma?” she asked her dozing mother.
“Oh, sure,” Mom said. “Did your father call?”
“Nope. Why don’t you go to bed? Con and I will be home later.”
“Want to take the car?” Mom asked.
“Nah. I’ll walk.” Jeremy only lived a half mile away from the O’Rourke house, and she could get a ride home.
“Okay. Make sure you’re smart, sweetheart.” Her code for “don’t drink, don’t do drugs, don’t have unprotected sex, don’t get kidnapped, don’t eat tuna fish” (she had a strange fear of tuna, for some reason).
“I was born smart.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “See you later.”
The Lyon parents were exceptional hosts; nothing was more fun than one of their parties because they were the cool parents—the kind who knew how to be welcoming and funny and also how to disappear and let the kids do their thing.
The entire senior class was there, it seemed, and gourmet pizzas were being served, in addition to three kinds of green salad, ciabatta sandwiches and designer pop, and yards and yards of organic snack food and desserts. “Hi, Mrs. Lyon,” Colleen said. “Thanks for having us!”
“Colleen, why on earth didn’t you go to your prom?” she asked.
“I have an old soul,” Colleen answered, getting a fond chuckle as a reply.
Most of her classmates were in the huge finished basement. ’N Sync played from the hidden speakers, and a fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Colleen saw Connor, who was nodding as Sherry talked. He shot her a look that she read perfectly, courtesy of their psychic twin connection—I’m dying here, curse of the nice guy, please save me. She blinked at him. You should’ve listened to me, shmuck-o. Suffer on. He responded with a subtle middle finger. But hey! She’d warned him. Sherry had had a crush on Connor since preschool, something Connor had refuted until a few weeks ago.
Faith and Jeremy were snuggled on the couch, the golden couple, prom king and queen, of course, as if anyone else had a chance. Some guys were playing pool while their dates gossiped or sulked in a gaggle nearby. Funny thing about prom; no one ever had as much fun as they were supposed to. Except Faith and Jeremy, of course.
Bryce Campbell, looking pretty beautiful in his tux, gave her a sloppy wave. Colleen instantly pegged him as being a bit drunk. Must’ve snuck in some booze, because the Lyon elders would’ve called his parents if they’d noticed he’d been drinking. Tanya added a sharp look and put her arm around Bryce’s waist. Please. Colleen was so not the type to swoop in and ruin someone’s night. She drifted over to them. “You look gorgeous, Tanya!” she said, getting a fake smile from the girl. “And you, pal, very handsome.” She leaned in. “No more drinking here, got it?” she whispered. “And no driving.”
“Got it, Coll,” he said with a smile.
She got a bottle of Virgil’s root beer, made the rounds, admired the gowns of the girls, winked at the boys and generally schmoozed, comfortable as the grand dame of the senior class. Part of things, but above them. A modern-day Emma, her favorite Jane Austen heroine. She ascertained that her brother was still trapped as Sherry moved in to try to kiss him, and once again smilingly rejected his silent plea for help. Revenge for the time he locked her in the cedar closet for six hours when they were ten.
At about midnight, it was decided by half the group that a visit to the lake was in order; for one, it was a gorgeous May night, the sky gleaming with stars, the air soft and gentle and just cool enough for cuddling; and two, those who wanted to have sex or drink could drift off to wherever without getting busted by Mr. and Mrs. Lyon. The good kids stayed put, and Colleen figured she would, too.
Until she saw Bryce Campbell fumbling for his keys.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, earning yet another glare from Tanya. “You’re not driving, are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine, don’t even worry about me,” he slurred. So much for her warning. Was there a creature on earth more stupid than an eighteen-year-old boy? “I’m totally fine, Colleen. You’re pretty, you know that?”
“You’re not driving. Let Tanya... Oh, right.” Tanya had flunked her driver’s test three times already.
Colleen could tell the Lyons, of course. But then they’d call Bryce’s parents, and who wanted to be the kid who turned in a friend?
“How about if I drive, then?” she offered.
“No thanks, Colleen,” Tanya said. She really was quite dim.
“Your date’s not sober, sweets. Besides, it’ll be fun. You guys can sit in the back and cuddle, and I’ll be your chauffeur.”
“All right,” Bryce said. “That does sound fun.” He smiled affably. Goofball.
Jeremy and Faith walked everyone to the door, already acting like a married couple, and Mr. and Mrs. Lyon waved good-night and told everyone to drive safely.
Colleen got into Bryce’s car (a red Mustang convertible, really, did his parents want him to die in a fiery crash?), and Tanya and Bryce got in back. Bryce took a brown paper bag from under the seat, unscrewed the cap of the bottle inside and took a pull, then offered some to Tanya, who accepted.
“Underage drinking, children,” she said mildly. “Illegal.”
“Lighten up,” Tanya said.
Kids today. No respect. Good thing they had her to watch over them and get them home. And sure, it was fun to drive the Mustang.
The gathering at the lake was on a private beach; the owner was a summer person who surely wouldn’t mind if the Manningsport youth used her property. Colleen parked the Stang on the street and followed the path down to the lake, the sound of peepers shrill and sweet.
The party was already in progress; Asswipe Jones lit a fire on the small beach, and a radio was playing. Two or three couples were out on the dock, smooching. There was laughter and a shriek as Angela Mitchum’s date, a kid from Corning, picked her up and threatened to throw her in the water.
Bryce and Tanya weren’t the only ones drinking. Colleen made the rounds and ensured that those who were had a ride with a sober driver; most of the kids had come via limo; Colleen had seen one parked on the street, the driver smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone.
After a while, most of the couples left. It had gotten colder, and the night was winding down. There were still a few couples left—the drinkers, naturally.
Sigh. The curse of the designated driver. She’d volunteered, after all. She checked her phone, hoping to call Con to alleviate her boredom. No cell service down here, though.
Stifling a yawn, she sat down on the sand, which was a little chilly. The stars stretched and blazed above, and a comet streaked across the eastern sky, and then her eyes were closed.
She awoke to the sound of angry voices.
“Fuck you, pretty boy,” someone was saying. Great. It was Jake Green, one of the too-privileged lacrosse players. He’d been the first of the nine who’d asked Colleen to the prom and was now talking to Bryce out on the dock.
Colleen got up. Tanya was sitting with her head in her hands, crying. “What happened?” Colleen said, putting an arm around her. “Honey? You okay?”
“My shoe broke,” Tanya sobbed. “See?” She held it up for inspection. “The heel just snapped. And they’re so pretty!”
Colleen sighed. People who couldn’t hold their liquor really shouldn’t drink. “What’s going on out there?” She pointed to the dock.
“I dunno,” Tanya mumbled, tears falling on the wounded shoe. “I’m tired.”
“I’ll get Bryce and we can go.”
“Good.” With that, she lay down on the sand, her wounded shoe cradled against her chest, and closed her eyes.
The voices were louder now. The moon had risen higher, fat and full, shining across the lake in a wide path of white light, allowing Colleen to see who was out there with Bryce. In addition to Jake were his minions (because all irritating rich boys had to have minions)—Jase Ross and Chris Eckbert—Crabbe and Goyle to Jake’s Draco Malfoy. Their three dates appeared to have left.
“I don’t know why you’re mad. I meant it as a compliment,” Bryce said.
“Hey, guys,” Colleen said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, you’re here?” Jake sneered. “I thought you were too good for the prom.”
“No, no, not too good, Jake. I’m only here as a designated driver. Speaking of that, Bryce, can we go? I’m tired, and Tanya is, too.”
“Fuck you, O’Rourke,” Jake said. “Mind your own business.”
“He’s mad at me,” Bryce whispered (loudly). “I told him I thought he looked like Cameron Diaz.”
Colleen bit down on a smile. Jake was indeed blond and blue-eyed.
“You’re gonna be sorry you said that, idiot,” Jake said.
“Oh, come on,” Colleen said. “He’s drunk, Jake. And you do look like Cameron Diaz, right, Crabbe? Right, Goyle?” She smiled at Jase and Chris, who, uncertain of how to respond, glanced at Jake.
“Bryce, let’s get going,” she said, starting toward him. He answered with a crooked smile.
“Hold on,” Jake said, and then put his hand on Bryce’s chest and shoved, almost gently.
“Dude,” Bryce murmured. His legs buckled, and Colleen realized that at some point, Bryce had gone from sloppy to shit-faced. This was confirmed when he lay back on the dock. “I don’t feel so good,” he muttered.
“I don’t feel so good,” Jake echoed in a high-pitched voice. “I bet you don’t, pussy.” His minions laughed, and Jake gave a tentative kick to Bryce’s ribs.
“Knock it off!” Colleen said.
“Hey,” Bryce said faintly, sounding more surprised than hurt.
She took a step toward them, stopping as Jake turned and looked at her, a speculative expression drifting over his face.
The cold lance of fear that slid through her stomach was almost alarming.
Jake was in front of her. Jase and Chris were behind her.
Oh, shit.
That was the thing about life in a small town. Once, they’d all been friends, more or less—all forty-nine kids in the senior class, back in the day of Halloween parties and field trips to the local cemetery. But somewhere in high school, things changed. Cliques formed, circles closed, and before you knew it, you could lose track of a person.
And Colleen had definitely lost track of Jake. She’d rebuffed him a few times, starting in seventh grade, not liking his rich-boy superiority, his casual dismissal of the girls who liked him. Chris and Jase, too, had never been her favorites. Chris wasn’t that bad, just kind of a jerk. But Jase had a mean streak, too.
Suddenly, they seemed...dangerous.
Without looking away from her, Jake gave Bryce another oddly gentle kick, as if trying to see if he enjoyed it. Bryce appeared to have passed out.
“You think he’d drown if we rolled him in the lake?” Jake asked.
The minions snickered
This night was heading south. Fast.
“Okay, that’s enough, boys,” she said briskly. “Help me get him to the car.” Yes. Give them the chance to be on her side, to change the dynamic.
Chris and Jase didn’t move, waiting for instructions from their leader.
“You think you’re better than everyone, don’t you, Colleen?” Jake said softly, looking her up and down.
And all of a sudden, Colleen was—there was no more denying it—genuinely scared. Her knees buzzed, and her heart kicked in her chest.
“Jake, come on,” she said, and she hated the fact that her voice shook. “Let’s call it a night.”
“I don’t think so. This prom sucked, and I want some fun.” Another kick to Bryce, resulting in a soft grunt and nothing else.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said, her voice breaking.
“What will you do for us if we don’t?” Jake asked.
Colleen swallowed.
There was no cell service down here.
Tanya was sleeping on the shore.
And no one else was around.
If only Connor had come, because she always felt stronger and smarter when her twin was around. Connor would die before letting anyone hurt her. If only Jeremy was here, because he was tall and strong and honorable. Or Levi Cooper, who was badass and had a protective streak. Or Big Frankie, or any number of nicer, more decent boys.
But they hadn’t. She was on her own.
“I’m glad you came down here, O’Rourke,” Jake said. “Guys, aren’t you glad? Coll, so nice of you to come! Yeah, I think we can all use a little fun, sure. And everyone knows how much fun you are.” His eyes drifted down her body, then up again, stopping on her breasts.
Jesus God in Heaven.
You read about stuff like this. Saw those awful reports on CNN. Stuff like this happened all the time, and it was beyond belief. But Jake wouldn’t—and Jase and Chris, they wouldn’t—
She could run...except Jase and Chris were blocking the way. Even if she managed to get past them, which was unlikely, she’d have to leave Bryce to their mercy. She could jump in the lake and swim, but the water would be cold, maybe cold enough to stop her from thinking clearly. What if she drowned, and even if she didn’t, where would she swim? How far? Could she make it somewhere safe? What if they just waited for her wherever she came to shore?
This wasn’t really happening. She knew these boys. She’d gone to kindergarten with them. They wouldn’t actually—
Jake took off his tuxedo jacket.
Oh, God.
The word she hadn’t wanted to think now reared up in searing color.
Raped. She could end up raped. The image throbbed in her brain like a tumor, blotting out everything else. Three against one.
She turned around to face the minions. Jase weighed upward of two hundred and fifty pounds; he’d been a tackle on the football team. The regional division championship football team. Chris was smaller, but still had a good forty or fifty pounds on her. “Chris, remember that field trip to the glass museum? When we sat together?” For a second, he looked uncertain.
Oh, please, please help me, Chris, you weren’t always a bad kid—
“Come on, Colleen, let’s have a little fun,” Jake said from behind her, and then he had her by the arms, jerking them behind her, and bile surged up in her throat, yes, yes, let her puke, maybe it would stop them.
“Bet you wish you’d been nicer to me now,” Jake whispered, and he licked her cheek, and icy terror convulsed in Colleen’s chest. “Let’s get this party started, boys.”
But then all of a sudden, Chris was down on his knees, looking stunned, and oh, thank you, thank you, God, someone had come to help her, was it Connor, had he somehow sensed she was in—
It wasn’t Connor.
It was Lucas Campbell.
Chris tried to get to his feet, but Lucas simply put one foot against his shoulder and pushed him into the water. There was a splash, then some sputtering and yelping.
“This is not your business, man,” Jake said.
“Let go of her,” Lucas said, and his voice was almost friendly.
Then Jase lunged at him, but Lucas made two very small moves, one punch to the throat and one to Jase’s meaty face, and Jase, too, dropped to his knees, blood spurting from his nose. “Jesus!” he wheezed, his voice thick and wet. With that, he ran heavily down the dock, causing it to bob beneath his fleeing bulk.
Jake’s grip loosened, and before Colleen could formulate the thought, she elbowed him as hard as she could. He reacted by grabbing her hair, yanking so hard she saw a flash, and there was a blur of movement. Then Colleen was free, and Lucas was holding Jake by the throat.
Jake’s eyes bulged as he clawed at Lucas’s arm, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the rough wood of the dock. Lucas, on the other hand, looked calm as a June day.
“You okay, Colleen?” he asked without looking at her.
It was the first time she’d ever heard him say her name, and if there was a whisper of doubt that she’d been affected by him before, it was gone now.
“I’m fine,” she said, and her voice sounded strange.
Chris had made it to shore, she saw. He half staggered, half ran up the path.
“Is Bryce hurt?” Lucas asked, his voice low and calm even as Jake continued to struggle.
“He passed out,” she said. “He’s drunk.”
It seemed as if Jake was about to strangle there; he was breathing, but he wasn’t fighting anymore. “You should probably let him go. You don’t want to kill him.”
He glanced at her. “That’s debatable.” But he did let go, and Jake dropped right on his ass, hard, and sucked in air.
“My parents will fucking sue you,” he gasped.
“They can try,” Lucas said.
“You’re going to sue him?” Colleen blurted in outrage. “Think about what my parents will do to you, you little shit.”
“For what?” Jake said, his voice shaking with tears. “For horsing around?”
“You were going to rape me!”
“Are you kidding? You wanted it, Colleen,” Jake said, and even while on his knees, there was a smug look of entitlement on his face. “Why else did you come on to me? To all three of us?”
Her hands turned into fists, and she took a furious step forward, fully intending to kick him in his Cameron Diaz face, but Lucas stepped between them.
Jake’s voice took on more confidence and the nasty edge returned. “Are your clothes torn? Did I even kiss you!” He stood up. “This asshole, though...he has a violent streak.”
“Yeah,” Lucas said. “I do. I’m from the South Side of Chicago, and don’t you forget it.” He stepped forward, forcing Jake to step back. “If I see you within fifty feet of her, you’ll see just how violent a Southie can get. Me and a hammer. You and a new orifice. You understand?”
Granted, being protected wasn’t really Colleen’s thing, as she’d never needed it before, but damn. Jake’s eyes grew comically round with terror.
“I asked you a question, you little shit.”
“I understand,” Jake said, his voice shaking.
“Is there a problem here?” It was the limo driver, followed by Chris.
“This asshole grabbed me by the throat!” Jake said, his tone immediately sullen.
“Sounds like you deserved it,” the driver said. “At least, according to him.” He gestured to Chris, who gave her an ashamed nod. “Now get in the limo, rich boy. Party’s over.” The driver looked at Colleen. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“If you ever touch her again, Jake,” Lucas said, his voice soft and matter-of-fact, “you’ll be eating through a straw for weeks.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jake said. “Just because you snuck up on me—”
Lucas made a small movement toward him, and Jake screamed and jerked back.
“Come on,” the driver said.
“Oh, Jake?” Colleen said sweetly.
He gave her a lethal look.
“You wet yourself.”
Jake looked down at his crotch, froze a second, then shuffled off the dock. He yelled at Jase, shoving him as he walked past.
“Stupid little dick,” the driver muttered. He turned to them. “You guys all set?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” Lucas said.
“Sorry, Colleen,” Chris muttered, following the driver down the dock.
It was only when they were gone that Colleen looked at Lucas. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Sure.” He took a few steps down the dock to his cousin. “Bryce, you okay?”
“Hey, dude,” Bryce said. “What was that yelling all about?”
“What did I say about drinking tonight, huh? Someone almost got hurt, and you’re shit-faced.”
“Sorry, man. I had a little too much, I think.”
“Get up, buddy.” He helped his cousin to his feet.
“Remember when I saved you?” Bryce said.
“Yep.”
Bryce took a weaving step toward her. “Oh, hey, Coll. How you doing?”
“Hey, idiot,” she said gently. She put her arm around him, steering him down to the shore.
Delayed terror kicked in then, and she started shaking. “You cold?” Bryce asked.
“Little bit,” she said.
Tanya was sleeping on the sand, and without bothering to try to rouse her, Lucas simply picked her up.
“I’m tired,” she whined. No one bothered to answer.
A mountain bike was parked behind the Mustang. Lucas dumped Tanya in the backseat, then popped the trunk and loaded the bike in. “You rode here on your bike?” Colleen asked, though the answer was obvious.
“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “Where’s your car?”
“I was playing chauffeur. Tanya can’t drive, and Bryce was already pretty sloppy.”
He nodded once, then opened the car door for her.
No boy had ever held a car door for her before.
She gave him directions to Tanya’s house, then walked Tanya to the door. Mrs. Cross was waiting up, her mouth falling open when she saw her daughter’s less-than-sober state, then thanked Colleen for seeing her home and began laying into Tanya for her stupidity. Colleen waved and went back to the car.
Bryce was sound asleep in the backseat, his snoring soft and rhythmic.
“Does he drink this much all the time?” she asked.
“Once in a while.”
Colleen nodded. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked, because Lucas seemed tense. Then again, this had been a tense night, hadn’t it? Holy Mary. There’d be fallout—Jake was not the forgive-and-forget type. She might have to make sure everyone heard about his pants-wetting. Then again, that could make matters worse. Don’t poke a wounded snake and all that.
“You’re gonna have to watch your back,” she said, stealing a look at her driver’s profile.
“Yeah.”
She cleared her throat, uncharacteristically nervous. “You were really brave. Three against one.”
He glanced at her. “Three against two,” he corrected.
“Yeah, well, Bryce wasn’t much help.”
“I was talking about you.”
The words brought a nearly painful heat to her cheeks. “I am pretty good in a fight,” she said, forcing some bravado into her voice.
But she hadn’t been good. She would’ve lost that one without Lucas, and the thought made her legs start shaking again. “Take this left, and we’re the third house on the right,” she said.
He pulled into her driveway, then turned off the engine and got out. She got out as well, all too aware of his presence behind her.
The house was quiet, but Mom had left the light on over the sink, her code for everyone’s in bed. Colleen turned to Lucas. His eyes were steady on her, dark and mysterious in the moonlight.
“Thank you again,” she said briskly.
He looked at her for a long minute. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Perfect,” she said, forcing a smile.
His dark pirate eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie.”
Well, hell. Men—especially boys—didn’t usually call her on her bullshit. “All right, then. I’m still shaking, and I probably won’t sleep tonight, but I’m not hurt, and I’m really, really glad you came looking for Bryce.” She wiped her eyes, which appeared to be tearing up. “I could say I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along, but I’m afraid I know exactly what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along. So thank you, Lucas Campbell, for coming along.” She smiled, and it felt normal again. “And for being all badass and scary when you did. It was very hot.”
He laughed.
She hadn’t expected that.
It was a smoky, ashen sound, just a low scrape in his chest, and it filled her with lightness, somehow. But at the same time, she felt a little terrified, too, because she knew, somehow, that Lucas Campbell was different. He was dangerous to her, in ways that had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with the soft, hot feelings that pulsed and burned in her chest.
“Good night,” he said. But he didn’t move.
“Good night,” she whispered.
And then he kissed her, so gently at first, as if he’d never kissed a girl before, and please, looking like that, like Heathcliff, like a pirate or a gypsy or a member of the Sharks or the Jets...please, he’d kissed plenty of girls before.
The kiss was soft and sure at the same time, and she felt his welcome heat against her cool skin, felt his hand go to the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. His mouth moved against hers, testing and waiting to see if she’d respond, and she did, hoping she was doing it right, because it sure felt right. It was all instinct—all those tips and comments and methods she’d given lectures on to her classmates these past five or six years, hell, she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing. All she knew was that Lucas Campbell was kissing her, and it felt so, so good.
It took her a second to realize he’d stopped, and that his forehead was resting against hers. Her hands were on his wrists, clinging to him.
“You’re with me now,” he said softly. Then he pulled back to look at her. “Okay?”
She was too smart for all this. She had an old soul. She couldn’t picture having a boyfriend.
But his eyes were steady, and his lashes were thick and dark. “Okay,” she whispered. So much for her legendary comebacks.
“I wasn’t sure you liked me,” he said after a minute.
“It’s the whole white-knight thing.”
There was that laugh again, and just the sound of it had her stomach tightening in a warm spiral.
“I’ll see you around, hotshot,” he said, stepping away from her, and the cold and emptiness he left was a little shocking.
He seemed to read her mind, because he was back, and this time his kiss was more insistent. She grabbed his hair and answered, her mouth opening under his, and God, this was better than food, better than breathing, and a lot more important than either, the hard press of him against her, the silkiness of his hair, the taste of his mouth—
“Go inside,” he ordered finally.
“You’re not the boss of me,” she said, hoping her legs still worked. He grinned, and hell, she nearly came.
They’d be sleeping together. Soon. It was as inevitable as morning.
A long time later, she lay in bed, her fingers tracing her lips.
This night might’ve turned out horribly, horribly wrong.
Instead, she was in love.
