Текст книги "Fall Into Forever"

Автор книги: Beth Hyland

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

His expression darkens, and I’m filled with a sense of unease again. It takes me a minute to realize he’s looking at the bloody jacket I’m holding and not me.

His female entourage has had enough of this interruption and tries to pull him away, but he shrugs them off. “Go inside,” he tells them without turning around. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

One of them protests, “But—”

“Go.”

None of them look too happy, but they do as they’re told. I’m struck by the fact that I was a lot like them just a short time ago—doing what a guy wanted me to do even if it wasn’t what I wanted. This break in focus snaps me out of la-la land and I regain some of my lost composure.

They file past us into the house, and each of them gives me the once-over. I want to tell them, “He’s all yours, ladies. Don’t know him. Don’t want to know him.” Instead, I straighten my spine and try to ignore my body’s insane physical reactions to this complete stranger. I can’t let a guy like him affect me this way. Not only does Jon Priestly sell drugs, he’s also got a violent temper. If I were in the market for a boyfriend right now, which I’m not, I’d pick a smart, sweet, law-abiding guy any day of the week.

“Your coat,” he says, frowning.

I shrug, pretending it’s no big deal. Part of me is afraid of him, but the rest of me is utterly fascinated. Who is this guy? He’s wild, almost primitive. And I’m too weak to resist. If he pushed me up against this pillar and kissed me right now, I might—just might—be stupid enough to kiss him back.

Geez, Ivy, you’re better than this. You’re not that stupid. Not anymore.

My inner voice is right. Why am I attracted to boys who aren’t good for me? I’m so disappointed in myself, I can hardly stand it. You’d think that after what I’ve been through, I’d be smarter than this. Obviously not. If I could slap my face right now, I totally would. No more guys with tempers. No more guys with cocky attitudes who think they’re the shit.

“Come inside. You can clean up there.” He makes a move toward the front door, assuming I’m going to follow him inside like an eager puppy.

Well, you know what? He’s wrong. I’m not interested in how he’s going to help me. I may be a fool, but I’m not stupid. Any hesitation on my part, any little opening, and bam, a guy like him will force his way in. And I don’t need that.

“No. That’s okay. I’ll wash it when I get home.”

Some girls may find a guy like Jon exciting and charming. Some are even naive enough to want to date them. But guys like him can harbor dark, dangerous secrets. Secrets you don’t want to know or be involved in. How do you think they got this way in the first place? It’s best to follow your head and stay as far away from them as possible.

Trust me when I say this: Guys like Jon Priestly are nothing but trouble.

chapter two

There was a dawn I remember when my soul heard something from your soul.

~ Rumi

Jon

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed when Tina comes out of my bathroom, wearing only her bra and underwear. A few minutes ago, she cornered me on the stairs as I was heading up to my room to chill out, and, well, I’m not a saint. The party is still rocking, but I’ve got to be at work in about an hour, so it’s not like I can hang around and drink, anyway. I don’t know about you, but being the only sober guy in a house full of drunk-ass college students isn’t my idea of fun.

Tina tosses her things on my desk chair. “I’m so glad I ran into you. It’s been waay too long since we hooked up. I need my JP fix.”

“I thought you were dating someone. Didn’t it work out?”

She shrugs and glances at her phone. “I was, but I got bored.”

“Boring can be good, you know.” I kick off my boots.

“Yeah…maybe when I’m thirty and I’ve popped out a kid or two.” She quickly types a text and starts to set the phone down, but it chimes and she picks it up again.

She and the other girls from her sorority were wearing those matching shirts when they came in. I make a mental note to tell Kelly at the station that neon pink was a good idea. It makes them easy to spot in a crowd…and easy to avoid if I don’t feel like being swamped. Most of the time, I like the attention. It feeds my inner narcissist, the part of me that craves people hanging on my every word and action. But I can only take so much of it. And for some reason, I’m not into it tonight.

I flex my hand. It’s still sore from hitting Chris. God, what an asshole. I fucking lost my shit when he started mouthing off, but I can’t say that I regret it. I’d do it again in a second. For him to say that three hundred bucks isn’t a big deal shows he’s never had to decide between eating lunch or putting a couple bucks’ worth of gas in the tank.

Besides, your word is your word. Doesn’t matter if you think the person you owe is loaded or not.

Tina sets down the phone. “Sorry about that.”

“As long as it’s not your boyfriend, wondering where you are.”

“I told you, we broke up,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It was Ali and Hanna. I said I was busy, but that I’d meet them downstairs in about twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. I’ve become a twenty-minute rebound fuck for bored chicks. Great.

As she passes my desk, she runs a finger slowly along the edge and peers at me from under her lashes. Okay, so she’s trying to be seductive, I get that. But why? It’s pretty obvious we’re going to be fucking in a minute, so why bother?

She fans out a handful of condoms like a deck of cards. “What color? I’ve got red, blue, orange, purple, and green.”

“I don’t care. You pick.”

“Jesus, Jon.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You act like you’re not even into this.”

She’s right, but I’m not about to admit it. After all, I do want to get laid. I just don’t want to deal with all the bullshit leading up to it. “No, I am.”

“Really?” She comes closer, frowning. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.” But the instant I say it, I know it’s a lie. And I’m not just talking about the fight with Chris.

You know when you glance at the sun, then close your eyes and still see the image on the back of your eyelids? That’s what happened to me with that girl on the porch. Ever since I saw her staring at me, I can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe it’s the torment behind her eyes that calls to me, making me want to know more. It’s like she knew all of my secrets at a glance—what I’m feeling, what I keep hidden from everyone. Logically, I know that’s impossible. Only a handful of people know the truth about me, and one of them is dead.

And yet, I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at me…like she was seeing straight into my soul.

Normally I don’t let myself get distracted or derailed by a pretty face. When you’ve been around as many as I have, external beauty isn’t all that memorable or interesting.

Take Tina here, for instance. She’s got a great smile and a nice body. We’ve been hooking up off and on since we met last year. But if she told me she was dropping out of school and moving to Europe, I can’t say it would bother me all that much.

“Then why aren’t you undressed yet?” Tina says. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

The smell of Jack Daniels on her breath is strong. I hadn’t noticed it before. Either she just took a swig of a pint she’s got in her purse or she’s drunker than I thought.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Ignoring me, she grabs the buckle on my belt and gives it a tug.

I push her away. “Can you just answer the question?”

She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Enough, but not too much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to discern whether she’s BSing me or not. I may be my father’s son, but I’m not a total asshole. “How much?”

“Do you want me to recite the alphabet backward to prove it to you? Jesus. Did you change your mind and you’re looking for an excuse to get out of it? Because we can—”

Okay, she seems sober enough. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want to be with you. Got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” At least that much is true.

Don’t get me wrong. Tina’s hot, but sex isn’t an emotional thing for me. It’s fun, sure, but once it’s over, it’s over. Besides, I prefer hooking up with a girl at her place. That way, I can go home when I’m done and not worry about pretending I like to cuddle.

I pick the green condom from the deck. She lies back on the bed and tears open the packet. When we’re done, I’ll take a quick shower, then head back downstairs to see what the guys are up to. I’ll have just enough time to eat something, then jump on my motorcycle and head to the campus radio station. I usually don’t work Friday nights and definitely not White House party nights, but the station manager had a family emergency and I agreed to cover for her at the last minute.

As we have sex, my body goes into autopilot. It feels great, and like I said, Tina is hot, but my mind is focused elsewhere.

She moans against my neck and rolls her hips beneath me. Her hair itches my nose, so I turn my head aside without breaking my rhythm.

“Yes!” Her nails dig into my skin. “Oh my God, yes.”

I speed up my tempo. I’m almost there, too.

Just then, the door opens behind me. Damn. I thought I locked it when we came in.

“Occupied,” Tina calls out, laughing, as if we’re in a motel room and the maid is knocking.

The door slams shut before I can see who it is. It’s not the first time someone’s barged in on me having sex. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.

* * *

Ivy

I’m not sure what planet I thought I lived on when I decided to climb out the second story bathroom window—certainly not one with a strong gravitational pull—because the ground is waaaay further down than I imagined it’d be. It’s obvious now that the guys I saw last month got on and off the roof by going back through a window.

I’ve been up here for a half hour, maybe longer, trying to find a way down. I crawl crablike across the wet surface. My theory is that if one limb slips, three others are still making contact. You know that flat part I remember seeing? It turns out to be not very flat after all. Whoever said desperate times call for desperate measures knew what they were talking about, because I’m bordering on sheer desperation right now.

At least it’s not still raining.

Someone shouts from the front yard. I’m pretty sure it’s too dark for anyone to see me back here, but I’m not about to turn around and find out. I just want to get down. If I live, which I’m seriously starting to wonder about, I’ll go sit in my car and wait for Cassidy.

I reach for the branches of an overhanging tree. If I can grab it, maybe I can spider-monkey down the trunk.

“Hey.”

I freeze. Someone has spotted me. Crap, crap, crap. How in the hell am I going to explain this? Glancing around, I see no way out of the situation. But now there’s laughter coming from the same direction. Good. It’s just random people partying. No one’s seen me after all.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Okay, I can’t let myself get distracted like that again. I need to get off this roof ASAP before anyone does see me. Stretching out my arm, I reach a little further until my fingers brush against one of the thinner branches. I’ve…almost…got…it...

“What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me?” It’s the same voice. And, oh my God, it’s eerily familiar.

I jerk my head around and almost lose my balance. Throwing my weight backward so my center of gravity is away from the edge, I end up flat on my ass. My hands, feet, and knees are covered in dirt and moss from the roof. Might as well make it my butt, too.

A guy with a messenger bag crisscrossed over his chest is standing on the ground below me. It’s too dark to see his face, but at least I know it’s not Aaron. This guy is much taller.

“What the hell are you doing?” he repeats. “Are you crazy?”

I bristle. What’s it look like I’m doing? Reading? Tanning?

I rub my hands together, brushing off the dirt. “Getting some fresh air,” I reply flippantly.

He must think I’m a legit crazy person. Which, if I’m being honest with myself, I pretty much am. No sane person would be doing what I’m doing right now.

“You’re going to kill yourself.” He glances behind me, probably looking for an open window, but he’s not going to find one. The one I climbed through is on the other side of the house, beyond where I almost broke my neck trying to get past the two dormers. “How did you get up there, anyway?”

“Just go away and leave me alone.” The last thing I need is to answer a bunch of questions. The roof appears lower at the next corner, so I shift my shoes to my other hand and start to make my way over there.

“Wait! Wait!” In one swift motion, he ditches the messenger bag, only it turns out it’s not a messenger bag. It’s a guitar case. “You need to slowly turn around and go back up there. Think you can do that for me? I’ll go inside and open up one of those windows.”

He sounds like a psychiatrist trying to talk a jumper away from the ledge. “What are you? Some kind of wannabe fireman?”

“I’m just trying to help you,” he says slowly, enunciating each word carefully, as though he wants to make sure I understand him.

“Then lean on that tree so I can reach the branch.”

He makes a sound of disgust. “And then what? Watch you fall and break your neck? ’Fraid not.” Holding up his hands like an invisible force field that will make me stay put, he calls over his shoulder toward the street. “Hey, I need some help back here.”

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, dropping to my belly, trying to ignore the fact that the front of me is getting wet. The last thing I need is for anyone else to see me up here. Especially Chase’s brother.

Somewhere around the front of the house, a car door slams and an engine starts up. I lift my head in time to see the red glow of taillights heading down the driveway.

Cursing under his breath, he turns his attention back to me. “I don’t trust you not to try to get down on your own if I go for help.”

Does this guy have a Clark Kent complex or what? “I can take care of myself.”

He takes a few steps toward the house, disappearing from my line of sight, and I hear rattling under the eaves beneath me. I don’t dare lean over the gutter to see what he’s doing.

“Can you kneel down and swing your legs over?”

Hope leaps in my chest. “Did you find a ladder?”

“No, a trellis, but I think it’ll hold you.”

I crawl to the edge and peer over. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s right under the eaves here,” he says, pointing.

Great. It is Jon Priestly. The guy from the front porch. The second-to-last guy I want to see.

“If you dangle your legs over, I can reach up and help you get a toehold.”

I consider it. I really do. But twelve to fifteen feet seems much farther up when you’re looking down. “I can’t.”

“Why not? I’m right here. I’ll make sure that—”

“I’m afraid of heights,” I blurt. I’m sure he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing on a roof if I don’t like heights. Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder that myself.

“Are you kidding me?” I can hear the frustration in his tone. “Wait here.”

It sounds just like the order he gave the pink T-shirt chicks when he told them to wait for him in the house. Just my luck that he’d be the one to see me up here. I guess the only thing worse would be if he were Aaron.

“You’re not going inside, are you? I mean, I kind of don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

“I’m just going to look for a ladder. Don’t move till I get back.”

“Promise?” Wow. I sound like such a baby.

“I promise.”

The sound of laughter interrupts us, and I freeze. Three girls stumble through the gate, then stop to lean over a low hedge. Their arms are around each other’s waists, making it hard to tell who is holding up whom, but it doesn’t look like they see us. Good. I hope Jon has the sense to keep his mouth shut.

“Hold Tina’s hair back,” one of them commands.

“I can’t. If I see it or hear it, I’ll get sick, too.” This one hiccups.

A low rumbling moan comes from the one I’m assuming is Tina. Without any more warning than that, she pukes her guts out into the bushes.

I did not just see that.

“Eeeew!” The hiccupping one gags and then she loses it, too.

Oh my God, this is so disgusting.

One of them curses. Another one laughs. “Water. I need water.”

“I saw some bottled water on the porch,” the non-barfing friend says. “Come on.”

The three of them stumble arm in arm back the way they came.

“You’re not going to sympathy vomit too, are you?” Jon’s taken a few steps back from where he was standing a moment ago. Did he think I was going to blow my cookies on top of him?

I drop my hand, which was clamped over my mouth to keep me from laughing during the puke-fest. I can see why he’d say that, but no, I’m not going to get sick. “Wow. That was really gross.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. At least you were farther away. I pretty much had a front row seat.”

“I’m sure my bird’s eye view wasn’t much better.”

“Listen.” His tone is impatient. “I can’t be late for work, but I’m not leaving until you’re off the roof.”

What kind of job starts this late at night? Given what I know about him already, do I even want to know?

He moves in the direction of the gate. “I’m going to go get—”

“Do not go inside!”

He pauses before responding, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me, but thankfully, he doesn’t ask why. “Okay, but will you stay put if I go look for that ladder?”

As if I have anywhere else I can go. “Yes.” I glance toward the front of the house for the umpteenth time. “Hurry.”

Less than five minutes later, he’s propping a ladder against the eave. That first step, when I swing my legs over the edge and blindly try to find the top rung with my bare foot, is the hardest. My heart is racing, my hands are sweaty, and I seriously think I’m going to fall to my death.

“I’ve got you.” He grips my ankle and guides my foot to the metal rung.

As I inch myself down, strong hands grip my calves, then my thighs, then my waist. If I slip, I’m pretty sure he’ll catch me. It’s amazing what having a safety net will do for your confidence.

“That’s it. Keep coming.”

When I step from the bottom rung and onto the grass, I breathe a huge sigh of relief that I’m not dead or seriously maimed. But now I need to face my embarrassment.

“You made it,” he says from behind me. “Good job.”

I take a deep breath, steel myself, and turn around. And for the second time tonight, I’m looking straight into the eyes of Jon Priestly. The tattooed guy from the fight. The guy with the female entourage. The guy I’m pretty sure was banging some chick in an upstairs bedroom when I was looking for the bathroom. I’m not sure I could be any more embarrassed right now.

Underneath his unzipped black and gray snowboard jacket is a faded concert T-shirt. He must’ve just taken a shower because his dark hair is damp and he smells like herbal body wash.

A million butterflies flit around in my stomach and my mouth goes bone dry. Forget what I said earlier about facial hair and clean-cut guys. The guy standing inches away from me is hot.

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” My voice is thin and reedy.

In the dim light, his pale blue eyes are sparkling with amusement, like it’s an everyday occurrence for him to rescue girls stranded on rooftops. Either that or he can read minds and knows exactly what I’m thinking.

But there’s something else. Sure, he’s dangerous and nothing but trouble. Anyone can see that.

The problem is that I am finding myself way too attracted to Jon Priestly, and I can’t afford to make any more stupid mistakes in my life.

That’s when I realize I am anything but safe.

chapter three

Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.

~ Oscar Wilde

Jon

When something inconvenient happens, you don’t expect it to change your life. An empty gas tank. An expired carton of milk (which is a real bitch when you forget to check the date and you take a swig directly from the container). You do what you need to do and move on. But sometimes a minor inconvenience kicks events into motion so that everything in your life changes, leaving nothing the same.

If I hadn’t agreed to fill in for a co-worker at the station tonight, I wouldn’t have been going to work. And if I hadn’t been going to work, I’d never have been on this side of the house where my motorcycle is parked. And if I hadn’t been on this side of the house, I wouldn’t have seen the girl on the goddamn roof.

At first I assumed someone else was with her. I mean, these parties can get pretty crazy and it’s not the first time I’ve seen people up there. But when she almost fell and no one came to help, I knew she was alone.

She either didn’t hear me yelling at her or was too drunk to care, because when I burst through the half-open gate into the back yard, she was reaching for the branch of an overhanging tree.

And now I’m looking straight at the girl I’ve been trying to find all night. Only this time, we’re alone, and she’s got mascara running down her cheeks. Her reddish-brown hair, which looked soft and wavy earlier, is tangled with bits of leaves and twigs.

What the fuck happened to her between the porch and now? Too many beers? Is she high? I hadn’t pegged her as a party girl when I first saw her, but this chick’s a mess. I’m not exactly sure why this bothers me, but it does. I thought– Fuck. I don’t know what I was thinking.

She turns slightly, and the light from a window falls across her face. I’m mesmerized by the color of her eyes, which instantly reminds me of the pictures of Ireland’s rolling hills in a book I got for Mom when she was sick. The thing was too heavy, so I held it for her and read aloud about various cities, castles, and places of interest. Like the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge joining a tiny scrap of a vivid green island to the mainland. She always wanted to go there.

I try to swallow, but my throat has just gone tight.

Even though this girl isn’t smiling, her eyes tilt up as if she’s about to. That’s got to be frustrating when you really want to convey to people that you’re pissed off. No one would ever believe you.

“What were you doing up there?” I don’t smell much alcohol on her breath, but then she’s probably a lightweight, unable to have more than a drink or two.

“I was just leaving.” She puts a hand on the tree trunk to steady herself and brushes off the bottoms of her feet.

“And you couldn’t use the front door?” I don’t wait for her to answer. “Careful. Those are crushed oyster shells in the flowerbed. They’re sharp.”

She jumps back like she just saw a snake.

“You’re not driving, I hope, because I can find you a ride home.” Didn’t she come with friends? Maybe I should bring her to the station. Depending on where she lives, Kelly can give her a ride when she leaves.

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She looks at her phone. “My roommate will be out here in a minute.”

Why the hell would she be up on the roof if she’s not wasted? And why the makeup running down her face? It’s true that she’s not slurring her words or acting confused, so I’m not sure what’s going on.

“Where’s your coat?” I ask, remembering the bloodstains.

“Good call.” She fires off another text. “I’ll have her grab it on the way out.”

“Tell her to leave it here. I’ll have it cleaned.” I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Even though I’ve never taken clothes to the cleaners in my life, Mom used to take her designer shit there, gifts from the guys she dated, so I know they can clean just about anything.

“That’s okay,” she says, trying to give my jacket back to me. “I was going to—”

“Take it. I feel terrible about the blood and everything. It’s the least I can do.” As I situate my jacket back on her shoulders, I catch a whiff of fragrance. Not perfumey, but simple and uncomplicated. Vanilla, I think. From her hair. It’s…nice.

I grab my phone from my back pocket and hand it to her. “Put in your number and I’ll call you when it’s clean.”

She stares at the screen, then darts a glance nervously toward the house.

The realization hits me upside the head. She was on the roof to get away from someone at the party. Someone she’s afraid of. The makeup running down her face isn’t because she’s drunk. It’s because she’s been crying.

I flex my hands, trying to ignore the pain in my knuckles from the fight earlier. I’m going to pound the holy living shit out of the guy who did this to her. If there’s one thing that makes me lose my shit faster than anything else, it’s when a guy mistreats his girlfriend. There’s no fucking excuse for that. Having seen it way too many times with my mom and her messed-up love life, I have zero tolerance for it.

Like I said before, I’m no angel. Maybe that’s why I can easily spot an asshole.

“Where the fuck is he?”

Her eyes widen. “What? Who?”

“Your dickwad boyfriend. I’m going beat the shit out of him.”

She looks confused. “I…I don’t understand.”

“That’s why you were out on the roof, isn’t it? To get away from him?” I have an overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms and protect her from the jackass who did this to her. No one should be allowed to make this girl feel as if her only option is to climb out on a roof to get away. She could’ve fucking fallen.

Her expression softens as she looks at me. “No dickwad boyfriend,” she says quietly, taking my phone. Her fingers inadvertently brush against the palm of my hand, sending electricity shooting up my arm. “But thank you for…for wanting to beat the shit out of someone for me. That’s really…sweet of you.”

No boyfriend at all or just not a dickwad boyfriend?

“Then why were you up there?” Despite what I originally thought, it not like she got wasted and ended up on the roof in a drunken stupor.

She drops her gaze, turning her attention to my phone. “I’d rather forget about it, if you don’t mind.”

In other words, none of your business.

But...I want to make it my business. All those years looking after my mom have taken their toll. She had supremely bad judgment when it came to men and made a shit-ton of excuses for them—whether it was a current boyfriend or an ex-boyfriend. Including my father. She never went after him for child support or had anything bad to say about him. When one of his songs would come on the radio, she’d get all teary-eyed, but she’d never change the station. I was the one who had to do it.

So I’m telling you, this situation has asshole boyfriend written all over it. “An ex?” I ask, probing for an answer.

She glances away and blinks a few times, and for a moment I’m thinking she’s going to say yes. I’m prepared to go back into the party, find out who he is, and introduce his face to my fist.

“No,” she says, surprising me. “My ex isn’t in there, either.”

I could’ve sworn… I study her for a moment. She sounds truthful enough. “Okay, but why—”

“Do you think we can just drop it?”

Her words jolt through me. End of subject. No more questions because she’s not going to give me any answers. “Yeah, fine. No problem.”

“Good.” She hands my phone back.

I shift my weight to the other foot and check to see what she entered. I can’t help but smile. “Ivy. How perfect for a girl I found on the roof of an old house. No last name?”

She stares at me for a moment before answering. “Does it matter?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, how many Ivys do you know, anyway?”

“None. You’re my first. But am I supposed to remember you as Ivy, the girl on the roof? Or just Ivy on the Roof? Or are you like Bono or Slash and only go by your first name?”

There’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “It’s Ivy McAllister.”

“Is that M-A-C?” I ask, spelling out the letters on my phone. “Or M-C?”

“Wow, all these questions. Are you always this inquisitive?”

“Only with things that matter to me.”

Her eyes meet mine for a half-second before she quickly glances away. “It’s just M-C,” she says quietly.

Just? I can tell already that there’s nothing remotely insignificant about Ivy McAllister.

I enter her last name into my contacts and confirm the spelling. “Since we’re introducing ourselves, I’m Jon Priestly.”

She makes no move to grab her phone and enter my info. “Yeah, I know.”

My chest swells with pride. While it doesn’t surprise me that she knows who I am, I love it just the same…until I realize she doesn’t ask for my number in return. Why? Is she too shy?

As I mull over other possible reasons, I notice that her scarf doesn’t cover her chest. It draws my eyes like a magnet and I exhale slowly. Her teal shirt dips low in the front, revealing a hint of a teal lace bra. Must be her favorite color. It just may be my new favorite—

Damn.

I try not to let my gaze wander lower, I really do, but perky nipples are pointing straight at me through her thin shirt. And like I said earlier, I’m not a saint. Not even close.

* * *

Ivy

Just because Jon helped me off the roof and loaned me his jacket doesn’t mean he has free rein to be a douche. He lifts his gaze and his eyes meet mine. Busted. He doesn’t even look the least bit guilty that he got caught, either. I glare, hoping to shame some manners into him, but he doesn’t act embarrassed. In fact, is that a smile?

But if I’m being perfectly honest, Jon Priestly isn’t exactly knight-in-shining-armor material, so the fact that he was blatantly staring at my chest shouldn’t surprise me. I watched him beat the crap out of a dude, learned that he sells weed, and if I’m not mistaken, I accidentally barged in on him having sex with some chick upstairs when I was looking for the bathroom. He’s no hero. Not even close. He’s more like a villain with a few redeeming qualities.

It reminds me of a family trip to Disney World where we took a picture under the sign pointing to the parking lots named Heroes and Villains. My sister Rose stood under Heroes and I was under Villains. When given a choice, I’ve always been attracted to guys who aren’t good for me.

“So you think you’ll be okay?” Jon’s acting like he’s not in a rush to leave, even though he said he’s got to get to work soon.

His jacket starts to slip off my shoulder. I hoist it back up with an awkward shrug. “Yep. I’m fine. Thanks.”

Someone rattles the gate, and my heart jumps. Instinctively, I take a half step toward Jon. I didn’t make all these sacrifices just to have Chase’s brother catch me here now. The gate swings open on creaky hinges.