Siren's Song (7 page)

“Really?” Carly's voice squeaks a bit.

Crap
–I don't want to make Carly like the bastard again. I shake my head. “He's no good, Carly, even if he comes onto you a second time. He's a hit it and quit it kind of guy.”

“I know.” She lets out a long sigh. A grin forms along the tight line of her mouth, as if the poison of jealousy blew out on her exhale. Her eyes narrow like a sneaky idea has formed under her cute curly hair. “You know, with all this insanity going on, we should have a code word,” she says. Carly's always loved Nancy Drew mysteries and likes to prepare for all types of evil-doings.

We walk down the emptying hall together. “Why?”

“Well, if one of us is in trouble but it's not obvious, like if you want to get away from Luke or if he's mentioned killing someone and then he tells you to get rid of me, you say the code word or phrase, and I leave like it's a natural thing, but then I run like hell for help.”

She's rambling, so I wait for her to finish. “Okay. A code word. In case we need help, but we don't want the bad guy to know we're asking for help.”

“Exactly.” Carly loops her arm through mine as we step out into the late summer heat.

“Got any suggestions?” We climb into her car. I don't see any sign of Luke or his strange family. Everything seems normal and I suddenly feel silly for worrying so much.

“How about, ‘Jule, can you go get me a snow cone?'” she suggests.

I raise one eyebrow. “That would sound suspicious in the middle of January.”

She laughs. “Let's hear your ideas.”

“How about, ‘Do you have any lip gloss?'” I say.

“What if you really need lip gloss?”

I shake my head but smile widely. “Okay…how about, ‘Carly, can you get my iced-strawberry lip gloss?'”

“Yeah! You could say it's in my car or in your locker or something. Then I could say I'll go get it, when I'm really calling the cops.”

I laugh. “Sounds good; tasty, even.”

“Iced-strawberry lip gloss,” Carly repeats to remember the phrase. “Hopefully, we'll never need it.”

* * *

The next day drags along without any spectacles. Luke barely talks to me, but I still feel his stare. It's like a constant burn on my back that radiates out along my arms and neck. And when I twist around, to show him I've caught him, he doesn't look away like a normal person would. He just continues to stare with those dark, brooding eyes, arms crossed over the tight T-shirt covering his chest. He gives me a lopsided grin. When I glance away, I feel like I've lost somehow, backed down, even though I don't know what the contest is about.

The house is so quiet. Even Mica seems low. I stroke her head while we sit on the porch by the lilac tree. It smells like what I imagine heaven must smell like, clean and sweet. I do homework mechanically, but my mind ping-pongs among Luke's bizarre friendships, Matt's and Eric's “options” and Mom's warnings.

It's almost dark when the lamp on the corner of the subdivision where Luke lives blinks on. Luke. Geesh, he really is the least of my worries compared to possibly being stalked by people I thought were my second family, or to my mother being completely crazy. And Eric acted so weird at dinner the other night, asking me out, making it sound like he'd follow me to college.

The worst part is that I can't download all this to Carly.
God, Carly
. I can't…I mean, I don't believe that she is in any way part of this. She is closer to me than a real blood sister could possibly be. We know everything about each other, silly secret dreams and crazy wants. Without Carly, I have no one.

I sit on the swing and let my legs dangle. My bare toes push against the polished wood to set the swing in motion. I scan the twilight behind me and my breath hitches. A tall figure leans against one of our old maple trees, watching me. Eric Ashe?
God! Shit!
Shadows mask him until he pushes away, and I inhale again. Not Eric. Luke. I stand up and Mica barks.

“Hey,” he says as he jumps easily onto the porch. He's wearing his usual black tee that shows off his arms, and longish athletic shorts. “I thought I'd stop by to say hi. You know, without my annoying sidekicks.”

I sniff out a little laugh. “Hi,” I say and cross my arms.

“Hi.”

Stilted silence except for the crazy, barking dog. “Shhh, Mica! I'd better take her in.” Mica stops and sniffs at Luke's huge athletic shoes and his muscled calves. God, hockey must really make a guy bulk up.

“Yeah, sure,” he hesitates. “You want me to go?”

Do I? I should. I mean, he could be a murderer or a gang member. I swallow. I should want him to go, but I realize that no, I don't. In fact, his presence makes me feel…safe, actually. Crazy, I know. But all this thinking about stalkers has me edgy, and the house is very dark. And I'm pretty sure I forgot to lock the back door. “No. You want to come in?” I ask, and wonder if my dad would freak. But he won't be home for a while. Now that Mom is eating, he eats with her every night.

“Sure.”

I flip on lights as we walk in, my eyes scanning the familiar shadows. I suppress a small shiver. I'm suddenly really glad Luke is here. I hear his quiet steps behind me, so light for such large shoes. “You want something to eat?” I ask and head toward the kitchen.

“No, thanks. Already ate.” I notice it's 8:30. “But you go ahead,” he says and leans against the counter next to me.

I pop a frozen dinner into the microwave and pour myself some milk, all the while very aware that he's watching me. I almost drop my glass and set it carefully on the counter. “Do Taylin and Matt know you're here?” I ask and look up.

“No, else they'd probably be swinging in here ninja style.” He smiles.

“What do they care?” I wonder out loud.

“They're a little over-the-top protective.” He shakes his head, making his gorgeous hair flop haphazardly around his strong chin. “‘Territorial' is a better word.”

“Okay,” I say as I stir my nuked rigatoni, even though I don't get that at all. I blow on a noodle and pop it in my mouth. It goes down without me even tasting it. “I can see Taylin liking you, even if she is your cousin. But Matt…” I let the unspoken question hang there with my eyebrows raised.

Luke grins. “I guess they're afraid I'll get into trouble here.”

“Trouble? Here in Summit? There's not much trouble here,” I downplay the idea, unwilling to divulge the possibility of secret stalkers in the neighborhood. “Do they think I'm going to get you into trouble?”

Luke leans in a bit to sniff my dinner. Would he notice if I ran my fingers through his hair?

“Is that good?” he asks, and I take a little step back.

“Uh, yeah, it's not bad.” Hey, he totally didn't answer my question. And then it hits me. “They think
I'm
going to get you into trouble?” I'd only been kidding before. “Do you get into trouble easily?”

“Mind if I get some water?” He heads to the cupboard where I'd pulled a glass down. “Fridge or tap?”

“Fridge,” I say and wait for him to fill his glass from the water dispenser. He tosses an ice cube to the eagerly panting Mica. “So?”

He shrugs. “No, I haven't been in trouble before, at least not anything terrible. No grand theft auto, no drugs or murders,” he kids.

“But somehow, they think I'm going to be a bad influence on you?” It suddenly strikes me that this is the reason Matt wants me to go out with him. To protect his brother, or friend or whatever intense relationship they seem to have. I shove more rigatoni in my mouth and fight the blush burning up my cheeks. Hopefully the light is low enough to hide it.

Luke steps closer. I inhale the perfect scent of him. “They've never seen me interested in someone before. It's sort of freaking them out.”

Interested?
My heart shudders at the word and I have to remind myself to chew, so when my jaw drops open food doesn't fall out on his shoes. He's interested in me? Big, dark, gorgeous mystery guy is interested in me. His word, not mine. I swallow. “Are they your keepers, then?” I whisper past the hitch in my throat. Better to stick to a subject that doesn't make me choke.

He laughs and backs away. “They think they are.” The spell seems broken with the space he created between us. “Actually, we've always looked out for one another. I'd probably behave similarly if it was one of them.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but Matt's been
interested
in nearly every girl in the surrounding three counties.”

“Yeah, Taylin's been filling me in. He's a jerk, isn't he?”

Other words besides “jerk” play through my mind, but I just nod. Silence ensues, filled only by Mica's loud crunching at her food dish. She glances between us, but then shoves her muzzle back into the kibble.

“So, you're home alone a lot,” he comments. Has he been looking out for me? Instead of creeping me out, though, it makes me feel sort of warm inside.

I dump my empty rigatoni dish into the trash and drop my fork in the dishwasher. Do I tell the truth, or fabricate a lie he'd probably see through immediately? “My mom is in the hospital, and my dad visits with her a lot.”

He nods. “She okay?”

“Actually, yes. I think. She seems better.”

“Assuming the gossip is not accurate, if you don't mind me asking, what's wrong with her?”

I have to give him credit for asking instead of relying on hearsay. “She had a nervous breakdown two months ago.” Although, if what Mom told me is true, wouldn't a lot of people have had a similar reaction? “She's resting at a psychiatric hospital over in Selma.”

I expect the natural “I'm sorry,” but he just stares at me. No pity, no worried frown. He studies my face. “You said she seems better?”

“Yeah.” I smile. “She's been losing a lot of weight. The doctor said he would release her, except that she needs to gain back the weight and her strength. When I left the other day, she was hungry.”

His forehead wrinkles as if he is trying to solve a difficult calc problem. “You care a lot for her?”

“Of course. She's my mom.”

“You,” his head tilts slightly off-center, “love her?”

“Yeah,” I answer; my face pinches, and I give him an “of course” look. “It's sort of a mandatory thing, isn't it? Or do you think parents just brainwash us when we're little kids into loving them, no matter what?” I let out a muted laugh and lean back against the opposite counter a few feet away from him.

He looks past my shoulder at the reflection in the black window over the sink. For a brief moment our conversation gets lost somewhere in my brain as I take in the perfect cut of his lean forearms crossed over his chest. The T-shirt spreads against his trim waist where the hint of rippling muscles shows. His voice pulls me back to his face. “I've never…been close to my parents.” It takes me several seconds to kick my brain into gear enough to remember what we were talking about.

“I mean, when you were little, like, a toddler.” I've babysat enough to have seen a toddler's nearly superhuman strength when clinging onto an escaping parent.

His gaze returns to me. It looks…haunted. “I wasn't an affectionate child. It worried my mother.” Something in what he says makes the hairs on my arms stand up. As if the words mean a whole lot more than the basic interpretation. But right now, I have too much deep stuff going on to want to excavate Luke's messed-up childhood.

“Well,” I say, “I love my mom. A lot. She's actually pretty cool.”
When she's not hysterical
. “I miss her.”

“She sings,” he says and takes a sip of water. “I Googled her.”

“Oh.” Awkward. It feels…invasive. Or is that just because I'm worried that, two miles away, there could be a secret room in my best friend's house, covered in pictures of me and my family?

“You sing, too.”

“You searched for me?” I snap.

He smiles wryly. “No. Taylin told me. She says you're…” he looks at the ceiling as if remembering Taylin's exact word, “…mesmerizing.”

Wow. Taylin Banes said I was mesmerizing. “Yeah, I inherited my mother's vocal cords.”

“I heard a little the day I moved in.”

“I remember,” I say dryly.

He's still smiling. “I believe I apologized for being rude.”

Does he think I hold grudges? Do I? I shrug. “You did.” Mica whines at the back door, giving me something to do. I let her out.

“I'd better go,” he says, setting the glass on the counter. “My mom's kind of a nut about getting to bed on time on a school night. It's crazy how early we have to get up for school here. The bell in Boston didn't ring until 8:30.”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo,” I say with a little roll of my eyes.

A real smile replaces the haunted look in his eyes. I smile back. It's impossible not to when Luke turns on his full grin, the type that reaches his deep-water eyes. Like an ocean under a storm. He walks to my front door and I follow.

“So…” I hesitate. I don't often go out on a limb, and I feel my blush ignite. “Interested, huh?”

We're standing on the dark porch. I inhale his clean, soapy scent, with maybe a tinge of some sexy body spray. Or is that just his pheromones? Can you smell pheromones?

I feel the fabric of his shorts brush my thighs. His chest presses against mine and I suddenly feel just how tall he is. He must be six foot. I look up, feeling wobbly. His strong hand goes around my back to steady me, keeping me close. He brushes hair back from my ear and breathes slowly along the waves there. My heart pounds. I feel twinges running through me like an electric current. His fingers comb all the way down through my long hair, gently untangling the few snarls along the way.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and goose bumps run along that side of my body. “Definitely interested.”