Never (The Ever Series Book 2) (21 page)

“Given you were pursued by a pair of miscreant scum in a city with one of the highest rates of police officers per capita, I would say you have the worst luck possible, Ms. …?”

“Sullivan. And thanks,” I mumble.

“For what?” he asks pleasantly.

“For saving me. There, I said it. Happy?”

“No, not yet.”

The way he says
yet
makes me squirm. When we stop in front of Mrs. Dewan’s room, I smile awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Then I walk into Chemistry and join Kayla, who looks a little pale and out of it, too.

“Did you have the chicken salad?” I ask wryly.

“Yuck. No. But I am feeling kinda funny, though.”

“Me, too.”

“Are you still going to the dance?” she asks quickly.

I nod, and I can tell, even without reading her thoughts, that she’d prefer to have Alex all to herself. On the bright side, I never expected that we’d be best friends forever. When Mrs. Dewan hands back our lab write-ups, Kayla looks elated by the
A-
, and I’m afraid she thinks I’m some kind of Chemistry genius who’s going to carry her weight the rest of the semester. I
should
tell her that I already did this lab at Springview, but I don’t bother. When class ends, she makes sure that I know where to meet up with her group at the dance, which makes it feel like I’m participating in hostage negotiations. If I produce Alex, I will gain peripheral inclusion into her little clique.

As soon as I reach my car, I stare down at the rear passenger-side tire and groan. It’s completely flat. Walking around, I see that the other rear tire is flat, too. Even if I knew how to replace a tire—which I don’t—that would still leave me one tire short of a functioning vehicle. Now I’m going to have to call my dad … who’s going to call Jessica … who’s going to take three hours to come get me. Finally, I decide it’s best just to walk.

Nice way to end my first week in So Cal, though. Chased by psychos, a flat tire, food poisoning, and dancing in public for the first time since elementary school. I must have done something really wrong in a previous life.

“Can’t leave you alone, now can I?”

Looking up, I half-laugh, half-growl at Alex.

“Are you a bad luck charm or something?”

“You’ll have to acquaint me with your concept of bad luck if it’s having someone drive by just in time to make sure you’re not stranded.”

Looking over, I see his enormous car idling several feet away. He reaches and picks up my backpack before gesturing toward the trunk of my car. When I unlock it, he pulls out the dress and shoebox and carries them over to his car. Placing everything in the backseat, he walks around and opens the car door for me, bowing slightly as he does it. When he gets behind the wheel, I feel my face go pale as soon as I notice the emblem of a winged
B
on the steering wheel. I know this isn’t a Buick, so I quickly sort through other possibilities in my head.

“This isn’t a Bentley, is it? Please just tell me this isn’t a Bentley,” I mutter.

“Wren Sullivan, are you a car enthusiast?” he asks as he starts driving.

It jars me for a second that he knows my last name. Then, feeling extra-super paranoid and crazy, I remember that we exchanged last names earlier.

“Enough to know that this is the type of car some hundred-year-old billionaire is supposed to drive!”

“Perhaps you’re describing my grandfather,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“Right. And Gramps is gonna let you take the Bentley out, because … ?”

He looks over at me and then accelerates out of the parking lot at a speed that presses me into the back of my seat. When we pull up in front of my dad’s house a few minutes later, I wonder briefly how he found the house if he just moved here. Then I notice the navigational system and really try to get a handle on my paranoia.

“You know, you never told me where you grew up …”

He laughs like I just told him a joke.

“Why is that funny?” I demand.

“I’ll tell you another time.”

“Right. Well, you only get to play that card once more, and then that’s it. After that, we have to exchange our deepest, darkest secrets …”

I regret saying this the instant the words are out of my mouth, because Alex is staring at me in a way that tells me he might just take me up on that offer. He reaches out, and when his thumb begins to trace my index finger, I stop breathing. Pulling away, I grasp for the door handle and stumble onto the curb a second later. Alex has already collected the dress and shoes and is waiting for me like nothing happened. And maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was the only one who could feel the electricity buzzing between us, and I’m just totally overreacting. When we get to the front door, he stops and hands everything to me, including the glass slippers—as he called them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says evenly. “Oh, and that dinged up beast you call a vehicle will be here shortly.”

“What?”

“I’m having it towed,” he says simply. “Just try not to get into any more trouble.”

I choose to ignore his comment about staying out of trouble.

“Well, I’ll pay you back.”

“I would prefer you didn’t.”

As I watch him walk back toward his car, I try hard not to feel excited about tomorrow night, because whatever this parallel universe is that I’ve stepped into—it’s going to come crashing down around me. I can just feel it.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m staring into the mirror in the bathroom at my new borrowed dress. Something about this moment—trying on the dress for my first formal dance—feels tragic without my mom here to see it. I haven’t gotten around to telling my dad about tomorrow night, and I doubt Jessica will even care.

I slip out of the dress and change back into my regular clothes. What I’m really surprised about is the fact that the shoes Alex gave me are the right size. Of course, whether I can walk in them—and not kill myself—is an entirely different issue. Walking out of the bathroom, I go to the desk, where I spend the next half hour reading a chapter for Chemistry. Otherwise, I’m mostly caught up on assignments. Fidgety, I get up and walk down the hall to the kitchen and out through the French doors.

After curling up on a deck chair, I begin to wonder what life would have been like if my parents hadn’t waged war before getting divorced, if I couldn’t read minds—and generally if I felt the least bit normal. Would I be giggling and gossiping over Alex? Would I have fallen head over heels in love with him rather than distrusting him at every step?

I’ve only known him a week, but it really does feel like I’ve known him longer than that. Then again, he’s still a complete mystery. The palm trees at the edge of the yard are swaying in the breeze, and I wrap my arms around my chest. It’s not as warm as I first thought when I came outside. Pulling my sweater over my head, I close my eyes.

I wake up with a start, haunted by the image of someone grabbing my hand and taking me down into unending blackness. Looking around at the empty back yard, I’m annoyed that every time I try to get some sleep, I have a disturbing dream. What ever happened to
normal
bad dreams, like the ones where I show up at school after forgetting to write some huge paper? I try to shake off the feeling of falling as I walk into the house. When I get to the couch in the living room, I stop and stare out the window. My car is sitting at the curb with all four tires intact.
Wow
. I smile. Alex is like a genie. And suddenly I decide that his strange persistence deserves some enthusiasm on my part, even though I still think it’s a horrible idea for us to be anything more than friends.

Going back inside, I find my duffle bag and the stash of emergency money I saved from my short time having a part-time job. Next I write a quick note that I’m out running errands just in case my dad or Jessica gets home. Then, getting on the computer, I find a cosmetics superstore about twenty minutes inland. The driving directions are straightforward at least, and I manage not to get lost on the way, which is good—because it turns out that buying makeup is more complicated than I thought.

After combing the aisles for twenty minutes, I decide to keep it simple. I pick out a starter pack with lipstick, eye shadow, blush, and powder—all labeled for someone with no tan. At least my eyelashes, which are black as coal and thick like my hair, don’t need help. I also pick out the appropriate makeup brushes and a nail polish. When the woman at the counter rings up my purchase, I try to hide my despair when I see the total. Now that I have my car again, a job is a must if I’m going to pay Alex back, whether he likes it or not. Taking my tiny bag of purchases, I walk into the parking lot.

As I go to unlock my car, I see a black motorcycle across the lot. Its parked facing me, and the rider is sitting there like he’s about to take off. On a whim, I walk along the sidewalk and duck into the next shop. I wander past the bins distractedly before looking up at a mannequin in a black lace nightie. I pretend to look at the bargain racks before creeping back over to the window and peering outside.

The motorcycle is still there, and so is the person on it—helmet on, arms crossed, and looking straight at me … or at the shop in general. I look around the store, wondering if he’s with one of the customers—which would also mean that I’m being completely paranoid. When someone taps me on the shoulder, I jump nearly a foot in the air. Turning, I look at the saleswoman. I catch her last thought. Great. She thinks I’m a shoplifter.

“Can I help you?” she asks dully.

“Thanks. I was just looking.”

My cheeks burn as I rush out of the store. Going straight to my car, I get in and lock the doors, like someone is going to sneak up on me in a crowded parking lot. As I start the engine, I glance in my rearview mirror and see the motorcycle with its rider still waiting. Shifting into reverse, I wince at the horrible grinding noise the clutch makes and back out slowly, my eyes fixed on the motorcycle. When the bike doesn’t move, I continue toward the exit and take a left, feeling silly.

I’m okay for about ten minutes—until I look in the mirror again. There’s a black motorcycle three cars back. Refusing to panic, I keep driving until I reach Crown Valley. Turning, I drive another couple of minutes before pulling off on a side street and parking. It’s nearly dark, but I sit and wait before pulling away from the curb and then turning back onto the main road.

Suddenly I see a single headlight appear behind me again, and my hands grip the steering wheel. Shaking with fear, I manage to stay at the speed limit until I get to the street before my dad’s. When the motorcycle continues straight, I exhale.

You are seriously losing it, Wren
, I think.

When I get into the house, my dad and Jessica are both home, and Sylvie, who seems to be more Jessica’s keeper than Ben’s, is getting ready to leave. I smile and say goodbye, unintentionally picking up a brief flash of her thoughts, which I think might be in Portuguese or Italian. All I know is it isn’t Spanish. Even though I can’t understand the words, I’m pretty sure I get the general idea: she thinks Jessica is a spoiled brat who cares more about shopping than raising an infant.

Well, no newsflash there.

Continuing down the hall to the guest bedroom, I walk to the desk, where I drop off my makeup purchase. Then I see the garment bag with the dress Alex gave me open and lying haphazardly on the bed. My blood boils, and if I weren’t staying in her house, I’d have some choice words for Jessica, that nosy—

“Sorry, Wrennie. I thought it was one of mine,” Jessica says from the doorway.

I force a smile into place. Yeah, right. I think she actually would have tried it on
if
only she could have squeezed her copious top half into it.

“Are you going somewhere?” she presses.

Smoothing out the bag and re-zipping it, I take it back to the closet.

“School dance,” I mutter.

“By yourself?” she clucks slyly.

“No. With a friend.”

“Aww, good for you,” she beams, clearly thrilled by the prospect of me being dateless. “Well, that’s an expensive dress. You must have done a lot of babysitting in Portland. Speaking of which, are you staying in tonight? ’Cause Tom and I wanted to get a little alone time. You mind watching Ben for a few hours?”

I suppress a sigh. I’m surprised she didn’t leave a note taped to his crib. I barely get the chance to say
sure
before she’s on her way back down the hall. Well,
now
I feel like Cinderella, but not because I’ve found Prince Charming. More like because Jessica is the So Cal version of the wicked stepmother.

“I had Sylvie write up instructions in case he wakes up. They’re on the counter,” she calls.

A few minutes later, when I walk my dad and Jessica to the door with the baby monitor in hand, my dad pats me on the head. I figure I can always tell him about the dance tomorrow. Or Jessica will, which would be even better, because she’ll tell him I’m going with a friend, and I won’t feel obligated to mention that I’m going to a dance with an insanely hot guy I’ve known for less than a week.

“We won’t be too late,” my dad calls. “You have my cell in case you need anything.”