1986: Why Can't This Be Love (Love in the 80s #7) (2 page)

“You see a girl with brown, curly hair come through here?” Corey asked the little boy, rage literally oozing off of him.

“N-no,” the boy stuttered.

My opinion of the kid changed.

Using the distraction to my advantage, I dove into the photo booth, my body suddenly colliding with another body.

A muffled
oomph
filled the space.

A young man, not much older than me, fell against the bench, a screwdriver clattering to the floor. Dark hair, slightly long in the back, lifted, revealing hazel eyes, a strong face, and full lips pursed in irritation.

“This booth is out of order,” he informed me brusquely, sitting up. He wore an AC/DC T-shirt over a pair of acid washed jeans.

Outside, feet paused before the booth, and, in a panic, I yanked the AC/DC-wearing guy toward me, planting my lips on his, twisting so that his body shielded mine from the entrance.

The curtain on the photo booth was ripped aside, closing again just as swiftly, the feet moving on.

My fingers gripped the stranger’s shirt, my mouth smashed against his.

He went rigid, frozen in shock.

I kept kissing him despite the voice in my head telling me it was okay to stop now. His body relaxed, his lips suddenly slanting over mine, deepening the connection. His mouth was soft and tasted like TAB pop.

As quickly as it began, the kiss ended, the space between us miniscule when we drifted apart, our heaving breaths loud in the small booth.

I was getting more action in one night than I’d gotten in my seventeen years. Now would have been a good time for John Mellencamp. Maybe the fear in Jesus part, because I needed some holy right now to control the completely
un
holy feelings racing through me.

“What the hell was that?” the boy asked. He was tall, taller than Corey Sanders, and he was muscular, but in a leaner sort of way. His hazel eyes glinted, dangerous but not scary. “You always go around kissing strange men?”

I balked, pressing myself against the back of the booth, sarcasm dripping like venom from my mouth. “Yeah, cause I’m a total dweeb-o-rama with no social skills.”

He snorted, his dark gaze studying my face a little too intently. “You just kissed a total stranger in a photo booth. I think you’ve got the social thing all figured out, babe.” He touched his lips thoughtfully. “So, quick question, was that your first kiss?”

It so wasn’t. I’d kissed a guy before. Once. It was a quick peck at a cousin’s wedding, but it totally counted.

“Tori,” I insisted, irritated at the
babe.
“Victoria actually, but…” I shrugged. “You let me kiss you, so I guess you’ve earned the short version.”

Amused, his lips twitched. “Gee, thanks, babe. If I get the nickname for kissing you, what do I get if we get horizontal?”

I shoved him. Gently, because I could tell he was teasing despite the crass words. It was the way he held himself, aloof and cool. Besides, I’d kissed him, and he hadn’t tried to take advantage of me. He hadn’t even felt me up.

The curtain on the photo booth
swooshed,
yanked open abruptly, a fuming Corey Sanders standing on the other side.

He glared at me. “I thought I heard you in here. You move fast, don’t you, whore?”

A lump formed in my throat. How did what was supposed to be the night of my dreams turn into a tragedy so quickly? For a year, I’d crushed on Corey, had talked about what it would be like to be held and kissed by him, had sipped drinks at The Cube’s bar whenever my parents would let me go—a total of three times—while trying to figure out how to get to know him, and in less than an hour, I’d learned two harsh lessons: appearances were deceiving, and daydreams were for children.

The guy in the AC/DC shirt glanced between us, his gaze ending on Corey. “Why don’t you chill, dude?”

It was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Corey exploded with, “Chill? You want me to chill? You care to explain why you were making out with the girl I was just making out with?”

Disgust and horror filled me. “I was not making out with you!” I protested, voice shrill. “I danced with you! As for the other, I told you no!”

Corey lunged.

The stranger’s hand shot out, his placating palm against Corey’s chest, halting his progress. “Hey, now, she said she told you no, man,” he said reasonably. “I’d say that means you’re done for the night.”

Corey laughed, the sound harsh. “She’s been drooling over me for weeks. I was doing her a favor, making her dreams come true, buddy. Just taking that easy lay for a ride.”

An easy lay?
My entire body heated in shame. So, that’s all I was?

Tears burned the back of my eyes.

An easy lay.
The plain, unhip, star-struck girl he’d planned to use.

“What’s your damage, man?” The photo booth guy glanced at me, anger saturating his gaze before turning back to Corey. “I don’t see an easy lay. You want to be an asshole, go be an asshole somewhere else.”

Corey reared back, his fist flying.

AC/DC boy threw his hands up, deflecting the blow, his face contorted with annoyance. He sprung forward, shoving Corey onto the floor beyond the booth.

Corey hit hard, face first. Picking himself up, Corey swiped at his now bleeding nose, fists clenching. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

They circled each other.

“Dylan Black,” AC/DC boy introduced, flashing his teeth, no fear on his face. “My uncle owns the bowling alley. He’s out, which means I decide who’s allowed to stay.”

Considering he wasn’t as broad as Corey, I was impressed by his bravado. Appearances were
definitely
deceiving.

Corey swung at Dylan, and again, he deflected the blow, stepping aside smoothly.

The way he moved, it was obvious Dylan was a tough opponent. But rather than attack, he avoided further bloodshed, and I found myself studying the way he defended himself without throwing a punch. Dylan really knew how to fight. He was good in an “I’ve done this too many times before” kind of way, like he was used to getting in scraps with other people.

The fight was drawing an audience.

Dylan’s gaze fell, his eyes on the club name slashed across Corey’s T-shirt. “You really want to risk your job by getting in a public brawl?”

Corey stiffened, his gaze darting from his shirt to Dylan. He spat—literally—the spittle hitting the floor. “Go to hell, dipshit.” Despite the angry words, he backed off, his hand groping for the door, his gaze finding my face. “You don’t know what you’re missing, darling.”

I didn’t care to know.

Embarrassment and shame washed over me, the crushing emotions gluing me to the wall. I wanted the sheetrock to open up and swallow me.

Corey left, a string of curses chasing him out the door.

Back straight and jaw tense, Dylan eyed the room. “Show’s over,” he announced. “Everything’s fine.”

“This is a family establishment!” a man hollered. “If this becomes a regular occurrence, we’ll quit coming.”

“Come on, Harry. It’s fine,” the woman next to him soothed, tugging on his arm.

The crowd dispersed.

Dylan glanced at me, his gaze dropping to my lips. “For the record, I think that guy’s a jerk, and I don’t believe anything he said.”

My heart hurt, damaged by words I knew weren’t true, a fantasy I’d seen all but shattered, and a night I’d lost any hope of salvaging.

“Doesn’t matter,” I mumbled, shrugging. “You don’t know me.”

Keeping his distance, he said, “No, but you don’t kiss like an experienced woman.”

Did he really just say that?
Mortification replaced embarrassment, the sentiment a degraded, hungry beast. “That sounded like an insult.”

Dylan smiled, the changing expression brightening his eyes. “No insult. Practice makes perfect, you know?” He nodded at the broken photo booth, the statement slash question hanging in the air, teasing me. “I’m willing to offer my services.”

I stared, flabbergasted. “You’re offering to teach me how to kiss? God, can this night get any worse?”

His smile grew. “A simple no would have sufficed.”

My lips twitched, betraying me. Dylan Black was certainly working the whole bad boy persona, but beyond the guise, he had kind eyes.

Lashes lowering, I peered up at him through the fringe. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

He leaned against the wall. “I’m from Cleveland. I’m here for spring break working for my uncle. Anything to help raise money for college.”

Awkwardly, I shifted, my hands clasping my middle. “Oh … inner city boy, huh?”

“You could say that.”

Silence fell between us.

“So.” I glanced at him. “You’re a senior?”

“Yeah.” Avoiding my face, he scanned the bowling alley, throat clearing. “What that guy said … you’re not bad to look at. You’re very pretty.”

A funny feeling stole over me, a
good
feeling that chased away the horrid, sick sensation Corey had left me with.

I studied Dylan. He was handsome, and from the way he’d stood up to Corey, he was chivalrous, too. It was a devastating combination.

“Thank you,” I muttered, easing away. As tame as he seemed, I didn’t need a repeat of the alley scene. “Um … I came with a friend. I guess maybe I should go find her.”

My feet felt heavy when I left him, reluctant. “Thank you again,” I repeated, my eyes locking with his, “for what you did for me.”

“Sure.”

Quickly, before I could overthink it, I rushed him, planted a kiss on his stubble-roughened jaw, and then stepped back. Too quickly, stumbling.

Spinning, I left the bowling alley, winding my way through the parking lot. Shoes thudded after me, but oddly, I didn’t fear the guy who shadowed me.

“You following me?” I asked, not looking back.

“Just making sure you make it to your friend okay,” Dylan answered, keeping his distance.

“And I should trust you? When it comes to men, my instincts are obviously terrible.”

“We’re all guilty of crushing on someone, and then finding out they’re not what we expected.”

“Really?” I kept walking. “Who disappointed you?”

“Mary Ellen Rayburn,” he answered, without missing a beat. “Total thug wannabe.”

His quick response surprised me, startling me into pausing. “Thug?”

“Where I’m from, that’s what I am, babe, or what people assume I am anyway. Mary Ellen attends a private school and wanted a walk on the wild side.”

His words struck too close to home.

Sighing, I faced him. “Yeah, well … I guess I was looking for wild, too,” I admitted. “I just thought wild would feel better. Not scare me.”

Neon lights washed out our faces, casting them in odd colors. We breathed in wet cement and exhaust fumes from the cars passing on the highway.

Dylan’s eyes met mine, but I didn’t hold his gaze. I searched the parking lot, my heart sinking. “What the …?” I stumbled forward, past Dylan, to step inside an empty parking space.

He followed me, so close his arm brushed mine. “Your friend?”

I groaned, the sound dismal. “We were parked right here.”

“You rode together?”

“Yeah.” I covered my face with my hands. “Maybe she thought I left with Corey?”

We stood for a long time not saying anything.

“You can use the phone in the bowling alley,” Dylan offered, gently taking my elbow. “To call your parents.”

Oh God, my parents!

Shaking him loose, I headed for the bowling alley.

He watched me, his gaze heavy on my back, before jogging to catch up.

At the door, he opened it for me. “You know, you don’t have to call home if you don’t want to.” Eyes darting away, he glanced into the night. The breeze lifted his hair, the harsh lighting accentuating the rough angles of his face. “You could chill here for a while.”

Stunned, I froze, every nerve in my body on high alert. “You’re asking me to stay?”

It’s not that I thought I was unattractive or anything. It’s just, on any given
normal
day, I wasn’t the girl boys looked at first. Those were girls like Lisa, girls with a wicked fashion sense, less strict parents, and a later curfew. Girls who didn’t have the monchhichi doll their mothers gave them when they were twelve still sitting on their bed.

Dylan’s hand slid up the door to grip the frame, his body leaning toward mine. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

His eyes mesmerized me, the interest in their depths holding me prisoner. I heard music, the kind of music that should play right before a boy kissed a girl, her toes curling in response.

“Dylan!” a voice hollered, shattering the moment. A burly man with dark hair and an even darker scowl stomped toward us. He was tall and broad, the sleeves rolled up on the shirt he wore, revealing hairy forearms. “What’s this I hear about a fight? I leave you alone for a few minutes, and everything goes to hell? This isn’t Cleveland. Did you get the photo booth fixed at least?”

Dylan tensed.

I slipped past him, edging into the bowling alley, my wide eyes taking them in.

“You need this job,” the man pointed out. “Unless you want to end up a loser like the dickhead your mother’s dating.”

“Uncle Philip ...” Dylan warned, lips thinning.

“She never had much sense, your mother,” Philip continued, head shaking. “Just get back to work. You’ve got a couple hours left, and then you can go out.” Philip glanced at me, giving me a quick once over, brows rising. “You’re out of his league, miss. Trust me when I say girls like you don’t want to get tangled up with guys like him.” With that, he trudged away, his words ringing in my ears.

Dylan scowled, and even though he turned his face away, he wasn’t quick enough to hide the flash of hurt and simmering anger in his eyes.

Pride was a terrible thing. It was a funny thing, too. Corey Sanders, the bouncer and man of my dreams I believed to be an angel, had damaged my pride. It was the devil, the boy I was being warned to stay away from, who’d handed my pride back to me. Maybe not intact, but a lot less battered.

Hesitating, I reached for Dylan, chickening out before I could touch him, my hands falling back to my sides. “Are you okay?”

He glared at me. “You heard him. For your own good, stay away from me.” Fists clenched, he brushed past me.