Wicked Grind Page 14

  "Well, I think you're a goddess. A responsible, overly organized--but in a good way--goddess."

  "OC Draper," I say, reciting Nia's name for me.

  "Give her a hug for me tomorrow."

  "Will do." For about five minutes when I was in college, I thought my brother and best friend might actually date. But they defied me by just becoming friends. Which is probably better, as I don't run the risk of weirdness if they were to break up.

  Still, it bothers me. Mostly because Griffin never dates. But when I point that out to him, he always points right back at me.

  "Different reasons," I always counter.

  "Bullshit," he says. "I don't like the way women look at me. You just don't want to be seen. Same issue, different sides. At least you can blame Dad and his fucked up version of morality and Karma or whatever the hell ridiculous philosophy he used to keep you and Mom in line. All I can blame is my mirror and my ego."

  And me, I think. You can blame me.

  Except he never does.

  But I blame myself enough for the both of us.

  15

  Twelve years ago

  Kelsey tapped the eraser of her pencil on the pad of paper by the kitchen phone. She'd scribbled the address down because Wyatt had told her to, but she knew she couldn't go to the party. How could she when her parents had told her she had to watch Griffin?

  Which was ridiculous, really, because she'd been watching him since she was eleven and he was nine. Now he was twelve--practically thirteen!--and old enough to watch himself. But she still had to watch him?

  It was unfair.

  But then again, she was starting to realize how many things about her life were unfair.

  "We're going to watch a movie later, right?" Griff shouted as he bounded down the stairs.

  "I guess."

  He skidded to a stop in front of her. The house had hardwood floors and his favorite thing when their parents were out was to skate on the floor in his socks. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." She forced a smile. Then she ripped off the paper with the address and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans. "I was just trying to remember if we have any popcorn in the house."

  He rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

  "Oh, come on, Griff."

  His eyes went wide. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Nothing. I'm just--nothing." She forced a smile. "If we're not having popcorn with the movie, then what are we having?"

  "Well, not with the movie, but the last time Mom and Dad went out, we talked about doing marshmallows over the fire pit and making s'mores."

  "Yeah, but not tonight." All she wanted was to watch one of his stupid action movies so that she could either stare mindlessly at the screen or fall asleep. Either way it would take her mind off the fact that she was trapped in this house, away from Wyatt, and that she was never in her whole life going to get to do anything she really wanted to do.

  "What's wrong with tonight?" Griffin demanded.

  "Oh, come on," she snapped. "I said no. Give it a rest. Now, do you want popcorn or not?"

  "Jeez. What bug crawled up your butt?"

  She aimed her most fierce scowl at him, and he held up his hands in surrender.

  "Sorry! But I mean, honestly, Kels. You never want to do anything fun."

  And that, she thought, was the absolute last straw. She always wanted to do something fun. She was just never allowed to.

  "You know what? You watch whatever you want, okay? I'm gonna go out for a little bit."

  "You're leaving me alone?"

  "For crying out loud, Griffin. You don't need a babysitter. You're just a few months away from thirteen. But Mom and Dad think you're a baby, and they don't want me to go out."

  "I'm not a baby."

  "That's what I'm saying. And I'm going out. You won't tell?"

  "What about the movie? And the s'mores?"

  "You can watch a movie without me. And we'll do the marshmallow and fire pit thing some other time. We don't have any chocolate or graham crackers anyway, so s'mores weren't really on the agenda."

  "When?"

  "When what?"

  "When is some other time?"

  "Some. Other. Time."

  He stared her down. "I'm going to tell Mom and Dad."

  "You are not."

  He deflated, all his bluster sliding out of him. "I'm not. You know I'd never tattle. But I really wanted to do the marshmallow thing."

  "How about I buy some chocolate and graham crackers tomorrow? We'll keep them in the pantry for the next time Mom and Dad go out."

  "Who knows when that will be," he said grumpily.

  "Come on, Griff. Please?"

  "Okay. Fine. Where are you going, anyway?"

  "There's a party. And I got invited."

  "Oooh." He made kissing noises. "What's his name?"

  "Wyatt, and shut up."

  "Wyatt kissy-face. Smooch, smooch."

  Her cheeks positively burned. "You are such a turd."

  He smiled, showing off his newly straightened teeth, just two weeks out of braces. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. Go on. I'll be good."

  She hesitated, because now that everything seemed to be working out and she was really facing the prospect of going out, she was having second thoughts.

  "What?" her brother demanded, going to the fridge, opening it, and then staring inside while all the cold air escaped.

  She walked over and shut the door. "Maybe I shouldn't go."

  "Oh, please. I'm not a baby. You said so yourself. And you'll be home before Mom and Dad, right?"

  "Well, duh. Otherwise they'll know I went out."

  "Then what's the big deal?"

  "You're right." That wasn't something she said often. She loved her brother, but he could be a real pain in the butt. "Okay, but here." She scribbled another number on the pad, ripped the page off, and handed it to him.

  "Should I memorize it and then eat it?"

  She rolled her eyes. "I don't know the number at the party. So that's Wyatt's cell phone." She wished she had a cell, but her parents thought they were too expensive to get for the kids.

  "Is he picking you up?"

  "I'm walking. It's only a few blocks away." Just a few more months and she could get her driver's license, but tonight she was hoofing it.

  She hurried upstairs to change into a sundress and sandals, then rushed back downstairs, told Griff goodbye, and headed out the door. She realized after a block that she'd forgotten to pull the address out of her jeans, but it didn't matter. She knew where Patrick lived. She'd gone with her dad once when he'd met with Patrick's dad to talk about doing some residential landscaping work.

  As she walked, she let her mind wander. Or, more accurately, she let fantasies fill her head. That Wyatt would kiss her again. That they'd find a quiet corner where she could curl up next to him and get lost in those wonderful kisses--and maybe even more.

  Except she didn't really want more.

  Or maybe she did. He'd kissed her in the back of the car when they'd returned from the concert, and she'd definitely wanted more then. And, honestly, kissing didn't really describe it. It was more like making out.

  Actually, it was making out. She bit the tip of her thumb as she remembered, glad that she still had a few more blocks to walk so that hopefully she'd stop blushing by the time she got to the party.

  She'd been embarrassed at first, but then Wyatt had pressed a button, and an opaque glass barrier suddenly appeared, blocking their view of the driver. And, she assumed, vice-versa.

  She'd almost asked Wyatt about that, just to be sure, but then he was kissing her and she realized she didn't care anymore, especially when he'd pulled her onto his lap and his arms had gone around her. That was when she'd stopped caring about anything except the way his body felt against hers and the wonderful things his hands were doing, and the way his mouth felt against hers.

  Her blood had pounded through her that night. In her ears. In her chest. Between her legs.

  S
he'd felt lost. Needy. And at the same time, she hadn't felt lost at all, because Wyatt was there. And the only thing she'd needed was him.

  Now, all she knew was that she wanted more.

  She quickened her step, anxious to get to the party--and to him.

  Of course, when she did arrive, she was a total nervous wreck. Which was why when someone handed her a glass in the kitchen with an inch of golden liquid, she drank it down without hesitation, even though her mouth tingled from both the taste and the burn.

  But she liked the way it made her feel. A little buzzed. A little more confident. And so when the guy asked her if she wanted another, she said yes. It made her head spin, but it also gave her courage. And, thus armed, she went out into the house to find the boy she was looking for.

  It didn't take her long. She was standing by a giant flat screen TV when something inside her seemed to shift and she knew that he must be watching her. She looked around and realized she was right. And after a sip for courage--then the rest of the glass for good luck--she marched across the room, said hi, and kissed him. Long and hard and deep.

  It was a blur, but he led her to a room with a bed. And even though she was terrified, she knew the moment she sat on that mattress that she wanted everything. Whatever he was willing to give, she would take like a beggar.

  She hadn't thought he would start with a gift, but when she opened the box and saw the stunning silver bracelet in the shape of infinity, she thought her heart would burst. That she couldn't cram any more feelings inside her.

  But then she was in his arms, and she knew how wrong she was. There was room for more. So much room.

  And when he said he loved her, she believed him completely. More than that, she knew that she loved him too.

  He wanted more than just kisses--that much she also knew. But the truth was, so did she.

  Except she shouldn't want it. She knew that. She needed to say no and walk away. Heck, she needed to run. And all the way home, too, before she did something stupid.

  She needed to rescue herself because her dad wasn't there and she was on the verge of doing something she shouldn't.

  Something forbidden.

  Something she wanted so very, very much.

  She stood, and for a moment she was torn between staying and bolting. Then she looked at Wyatt, and all her fears fizzled away. Wyatt. How could she run from him?

  She had no idea how she worked up the courage, but she stood. And once she was on her feet, and she was looking at where he still sat on the bed, there was no question anymore. Of course she was staying. How could she not when she was his?

  With trembling hands, she unbuttoned her dress, becoming bolder when she saw the way he was looking at her.

  And then he touched her, and it was all a sweet blur. His hands on her. Touching her. Murmuring sweet words to her. She wanted it to last forever . . . and at the same time, she wanted more, too.

  She was scared, yeah. But she wanted it, too. And the want increased the more he touched her, until she knew for sure that this was it, and Wyatt was the one.

  It hurt, but she'd expected it to. But he was sweet and gentle and the hurt faded soon enough. And then it was nice. Really, really nice. She didn't have an orgasm, but she'd read enough in books to know that was normal. And she also realized that it didn't much matter. Because she felt amazing without one. Just being beside him was incredible.

  So incredible, actually, that they did it again.

  She hugged the pillow close, sighing deeply as Wyatt stroked her hair. He'd made her feel so special. Like she was a princess. Like she was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen.

  For a while, they just looked at each other. So long, in fact, that she finally started to laugh. Which made him laugh, too.

  "We should probably get up and go back to the party."

  "Do we have to?" She didn't care about the party. All she wanted was to stay curled up next to him.

  His lips curved down as he considered. "Actually, no. This is my room for the night. We can stay as long as you want."

  "Really?" According to the clock on the bedside table, it was just past nine. Her parents had gone all the way into Los Angeles, and weren't due back until after midnight. "That sounds like heaven."

  "Yeah?" He grinned. "But what on earth are we going to do?"

  He kissed her again, and she was pretty sure that her toes caught on fire. When he broke the kiss, she rolled over, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed. "Wow."

  "The only bad thing about staying in here is that there's nothing to drink except water." He nodded toward the bathroom. "Are you thirsty? I can get us something."

  "My hero." She sat up, holding the sheet up over her chest. "I could drink a gallon of soda."

  "Anything you want." He slid off the bed and pulled his clothes back on. It was probably rude to watch, but he was just so perfect. And he really liked her. Her. Honestly, it was more than perfect.

  "Back in a few," he said, then winked at her before he slipped out the door. She fell back against the pillows, then pulled one over her face so that she could scream with joy and no one could hear.

  She heard the door open and she tossed the pillow aside, surprised he'd made it back so quickly.

  Except it wasn't Wyatt. It was her father.

  She sat up, the sheet held tight against her as she scurried back until she hit the wall and couldn't go any further.

  He stood in the doorway, the paper on which she'd written the address clutched tight in his hand. His eyes wide. His face red with anger.

  "You little whore." He didn't shout. Didn't raise his voice at all. And somehow, that made it all the worse. "Get your clothes on and get outside. Now."

  "Daddy, I--"

  "Shut your filthy mouth. And get to the car. Your brother's in the hospital. And it's all your fault."

  All her fault.

  He only said it once, but she heard it over and over as she threw on her clothes. As she raced out of the house to the front door, tears streaming down her face. As she sat curled up on the back of the car as they raced to the LA area burn center where her brother had been admitted after being airlifted all the way from Santa Barbara.

  She stood there, her hands pressed against the glass as she looked at him, deep in a drugged sleep, his body mangled, his skin raw or completely burned off. She couldn't even go in the room. Couldn't tell him she was sorry. No visitors were allowed behind the glass. Not with the fourth-degree burns on his back and the side of his face. Not with the risk of infection.

  Hour after hour, day after day, she watched him, wishing that she'd never left the house. That she'd never taken Wyatt's call.

  Because her father was right. She'd done something very bad, and her baby brother was being punished for it.

  She knew that. Deep down in her gut, she knew it was true.

  Most of all, she knew that she'd never forgive herself.

  16

  "She walked out?" Lyle asked. "Right in the middle of the shoot?" He glanced sideways at Wyatt, breathing hard.

  "Pretty much." They'd been jogging along the beach for almost half an hour, and at first the morning air had been invigorating. Now, though, Wyatt was starting to drag. He'd been up all night, and his lack of sleep was slowing him down.

  That and the fact that he was worried about the project. Siobhan had called that morning to tell him that Roger Jensen, an arts and leisure columnist with the Pacific Shore Examiner, a glossy magazine that mixed legitimate news with tabloid gossip, was hounding her for an advance image from the show. "I told him no, but you might want to consider it. His column in the Examiner blog goes viral all the time. And the extra publicity would be nice."

  "Forget it," he'd said. "No advance images. You know my rules."

  "I do. But it's my job to run these things by you. It's also my job to check on you," she added, then asked for an update on his hunt for the perfect girl. Wyatt considered dodging the question, but Siobhan was a friend, and she was in this s
how as deep as he was.

  "Found her," he admitted. "And then I lost her."

  "Well, that's not good," Siobhan said. And when Wyatt agreed with that insightful assessment, she'd suggested that Cass could be the It Girl.

  "Cass is stunning," Wyatt agreed. "But she's not the girl."

  "Like I said, this close to the show, you can't be picky about the girl. You just need a girl. Pretty. Sexy. Photogenic. And one who doesn't bolt."

  "Maybe," he'd said, knowing that he was running out of options. But also knowing that Cass was his last option. And Kelsey was his first.

  And there weren't any other options in between.

  Lyle had been jogging a few feet ahead, but now he slowed until they were pacing each other. "I thought you said this girl needed the money. Why'd she up and leave?"

  "There's a slight possibility it had something to do with me being a complete and total prick."

  "You?" He turned and jogged backwards so he was facing Wyatt. "I'm shocked."

  "Fuck you. And if you trip and fall on your ass, I'm going to take a picture and send that shit to Instagram."

  Lyle flipped him the bird, but turned back around. "If I ask how you were a prick are you going to kick sand in my face?"

  "Let's just say I gave her a rough time. I convinced myself she had an agenda. Or that she was playing some kind of head game with me. Or that she figured the job would earn her some sort of golden key to open the door to Hollywood."

  "Seriously? You thought she was messing with you because of who you are?"

  "Don't act surprised. I know you get that shit, too," he added. "More than me, I'd think. The non-Hollywood grandson isn't nearly as interesting as an actual movie star."

  Lyle grimaced. "Yeah, lately I've got a wide range of options for female companionship. More than I want, that's for damn sure."

  "You don't say." Wyatt's voice dripped with irony. After several years on a hit sitcom, Lyle Tarpin's star had gone supernova when he starred in two movies that turned out to be box office sensations. That's one of the reasons they were out for a jog--because Lyle had just signed onto an established action franchise, and the director wanted him in prime shape.

  "I'm living on kale and hard boiled eggs," Lyle had complained the other day. "And people think Hollywood is all about the glamour."