Boy Next Door (Parkside Avenue Book #2) (9 page)

“Of course, I can.” She paused
for a second and her brow furrowed. “Or I could … thirty years ago.”

“You haven’t been on a bike since
you were nine?”

She shook her head. “I outgrew my
old one, and my parents couldn’t afford a replacement. I haven’t had cause to cycle
since.”

“Well, it was either these or the
sledge. Although, if you fancy trying that, I might be able to rustle up a
couple of Huskies …”

Her nose wrinkled. “Scary eyes.”

“That settles it, then. Don’t
worry. It’s like riding a bike.” I laughed.

Cora wobbled, at first, but I
rode alongside her, grabbing the saddle on occasion to prevent an unwanted
familiarity with the road, and by the time we arrived at the park, she was much
steadier.

The sultry afternoon had brought
life to the rolling grasslands. Mothers congregated in groups, watching their
small children run in circles; joggers paced in time with the music filling
their ears, and clusters of teenagers, enjoying their first days of academic
freedom, kicked around balls or slurped from cans which most likely held liquid
far more potent than the outer artwork illustrated. It reminded me of my own
schooldays, when illicit drinking with my mates was the highlight of any day.

I shouted over to Cora, “Need a
rest?”

She nodded.

We pulled up under an old oak
tree. I propped the bikes against it and reached into my backpack for a
specially prepared package.

“I hope you like red,” I said, as
I unrolled the picnic blanket. “I gathered from the contents of your
refrigerator that you’re a wine fan, but I haven’t the first clue about the
stuff.” Inside the blanket were a bottle and two tumblers. “I nicked this particular
vintage from Pappa’s wine rack. He didn’t have white,” I added, laying the
bottle on the ground, in order to spread out the blanket, and beckoning Cora to
sit down.

“Are you sure we should be having
alcohol?” she asked, over the sound of the cork popping.

“Still hung over?”

She watched the red liquid fill
the glasses. “I meant with the bikes,” she said, accepting her glass and staring
into it. “What if we get stopped by the police?”

I cracked a smile. “What, drunk
in charge of a bicycle?”

“It happens. I’ve seen it on
television.”

“Yeah, if you’re a pisshead.
Seriously, you looked drunk enough, wobbling all over the road, on the way
here. I doubt anyone would notice the difference.”

Cora pretended to take offence,
affording me a small slap to the thigh, as she sipped on her drink and sloshed
the liquid around her mouth. “Mmm, this isn’t bad.”

Wine was wine to me. I couldn’t
tell good from bad and, given the choice, would have preferred a beer or whisky,
so I downed mine in one gulp and laid back, letting the warmth radiate around
my stomach.

The sun twinkled through the
canopy of leaves over our heads. Life was good. Only one thing could make it
better, and I could feel the weight of her stare. A huge grin stretched across
my face.

“What are you thinking?” Cora
asked.

I turned my head. “Do you believe
in heaven?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Look.” I pointed up to the tree.

Cora shuffled her bottom down the
blanket to lie beside me. “What am I looking at?”

“I was thinking the sun looks
like angels’ wands twinkling.”

“Angels don’t have wands.”

“They did in my school plays.”

“Were you an angel?”

I smiled at the irony. “I’ve
never been an angel. I was usually a sheep. I did once get promoted to a wise
man, but I dropped the gold on Baby Jesus’s head and it didn’t go down too
well.” Her laugh surfaced again, and I felt her walls crumbling. “What about
you?” I asked, rolling over to face her.

“What about me?”

I propped up on my elbow and
studied Cora’s face. Her cheeks were flushed from the exercise; her eyes
reflected the twinkles. She was my angel. “Tell me about your childhood.”

“I was the Virgin Mary.”

No surprise there. “Teacher’s
pet?”

“Teacher’s daughter.”

“Mother or father?”

“Father. My mother has health
problems. She hasn’t worked for years.”

“I’m sorry.” Without thinking, I
snapped off a long blade of grass and rolled it between my fingers. “What about
siblings?”

“Just me.”

“What was that like?”

“Quiet. Lonely at times. But I
had a lot of friends. I was happy.” I trailed the grass up her arm and she
shivered.

“Are you cold?”

Her eyes flicked to mine. “No.
Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

I wanted to kiss her so fucking
badly. I wanted to touch her for real, not with an inanimate object but with my
fingers running over her silken skin, exploring places left untouched for too
long. Screw that. I didn’t just want it, I needed it, and the way she was
looking at me told me she wanted it just as much as I did—even if she was still
refusing admit it. But I was afraid to spoil the moment. It was too perfect. Her
hard edges were softening but I wasn’t sure she was soft enough. The grass
continued its journey across her enticing slice of bare stomach. Her lips
parted and a puff of breath shot out, quickly replaced by a sharp intake. Yeah.
She was soft. I leaned closer, until my nose was inches from hers. Maybe this
was
the moment.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

“Kiss me.”

“Who said I was going to kiss
you?”

“Weren’t you?”

“I thought about it.” I must have
thought about it over a thousand times, since I’d first laid eyes on her. “Who
wouldn’t?”

“Well stop thinking about it.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

A haze of moisture glistened over
her perfect cupid’s bow, inviting me to run my tongue over it. Lips like hers
deserved to be kissed. If it were up to me, I’d keep them plumped and puckered
all day every day. Starting now. What would she do if I tried, hit me, push me
away? Was it worth the risk? It might be.

“Actually, I don’t remember our
kissing discussion. Fancy running it by me again?” I discarded the grass but
continued the stroking, drawing circles around her belly button.

“I, um …” Her mouth stayed open
as her eyes closed. My touch had rendered her speechless. I saw my chance and
bent my head to her collarbone. When my lips made contact, I passed the point
of no return. The pounding in my chest refused to be ignored. Static charged
blood through my veins and my dick sprang into action. Down boy. Patience. A
moan shivered through Cora. It was all the encouragement I needed. I gripped
her waist and moved up her neck to nibble on her earlobe. She smelled of
vanilla and lilies; it was intoxicating, and my head whirled with her scent.

She sucked in a breath, and her
hand gripped my arm, lifting it away as she pushed up to standing. “I have to
get back.”

Damn the woman. What was it going
to take for her to let me in?

Chapter Thirteen

Kendrick stirred and winced, as I
entered his room, later that day. “Shit, my head’s banging. What happened?”

“You tell me.”

He pressed a hand over his face,
feeling the swelling. “My face is fucked.”

“Tends to happen when you come in
contact with a fist or three. How do you feel?” I asked, opening the first-aid
kit. “Dizzy? Sick?”

“Nope. Can’t feel anything
through this damn pain.” He groaned. “Do I still have all my bits?”

“You might be missing a spot of
brain, but let’s face it, that’s not much of a loss. Your bits, you can check for
yourself.” Kendrick tried to laugh but it came out as a grimace, switching to a
growl, as I parted wedges of hair packed with congealed blood. “Did you see who
did you over?”

“Nah, man. Got jumped from
behind. Whacked me with something hard. I thought my head was going to explode.”
His face repeatedly crumbled and his teeth ground together as he talked. “Next
thing I know, I’m on the ground, boots coming from all directions. How did you find
me?” he asked, watching me remove items from the first-aid box.

“I didn’t.”

“Then who?”

“Liam.”

He forced a grin. “Told you he
was a top mate.”

“You might wanna rethink that. He
wasn’t too friendly this morning.”

“He’s just wary of dudes he
doesn’t know.”

I soaked a cloth with antiseptic
and cleaned his wounds for the second time in a day. “Hostile was more the word
I had in mind, and he said to say the job’s off.”

“Really? Crap. I was counting on
that.” He swatted at my hand. “Jesus, is that acid?”

“Shut up and hold still.”

“Did he say why?”

“He didn’t stop to chat.”

“Man, I needed that money.”

“Then get a proper job.”

“Get serious.”

With the cuts more exposed, I was
thankful they appeared less severe than at first thought. He should be able to
get by without stitches, if I held the skin together with sticking plasters,
but it would probably leave a scar, in any case. The swellings covering his
face were worse. I had to remember what he looked like to know my brother was
hiding beneath them. “Why are you so desperate for cash?” I asked.

“I wanna do something.”

“Such as?”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“Then you’d better not do it,” I
said, smearing cream over the worst scrapes.

“You’re not my dad.”

“If I have no say, why bother
with the secrecy? Unless you give a shit what I think.”

“I wanna get some wheels, all
right?”

“Can you even drive?” I handed
him a couple of painkillers and he shot them back.

“Course.”

“You have a licence?”

“Well, no. But I will. Soon.
That’s why I need the cash.”

Kendrick wanting a car was no
surprise. I’d expected it. He’d have all the money he needed when he hit
twenty-one and came into his share of Mum’s life insurance, but patience didn’t
come easy to Kendrick, and my sympathy was in short supply. “Not getting why
you thought I wouldn’t be okay with that. What are you not telling me?”

“The car …”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna race it.”

Hell, no. “You can fuck that idea
off, right now.”

“See. I fucking knew it. You’re
such a douche. Lighten up.”

“You’ve no experience. At all.”

“I’ll get some.”

“Uh-uh. No way. I am not going to
another funeral.”

“I’ll be careful. Just do the
small races, not the big stuff.”

“Not on my watch.” He was in no
fit state for an argument, but there was no chance in hell I’d be letting him
risk his life for an adrenalin kick. “This conversation isn’t over, but I’m not
being responsible for you popping a blood vessel.” I smashed the tube of cream
and packet of tablets back into the first-aid box and slammed it shut. “I’ll
bring food up soon.”

The evening dragged. I spent the
majority of it in front of the TV, watching a film with Paps and sketching out
ideas for Cora’s rear garden. But it was hard to concentrate under the deluge
of Pappa’s comments about continuity errors and how modern films had too many
special effects and not enough storyline. I tried to humour him. The old man
had been short of company since Gran’s death, and I doubted Kendrick had been
of much use in that department. When the film finished, I left Paps doing his
late-night crossword, checked in on Kendrick, and got my head down.

The next morning, I started work
at the restaurant, and completed it a few days later, well within the timescale
I’d predicted. It would have been quicker had I not had to wait for a delivery
of topsoil.

Despite my job keeping me busy,
my mind constantly wandered to thoughts of Cora. I could still taste her skin
on my lips, hear her sighs in my ears, and feel her body touching mine. I ached
to be with her again, and wondered if she was thinking about me at all. I’d
decided to try the absence makes the heart grow fonder tact, but so far, I had
no clue as to whether it was working. All I knew was, a few days without so
much as a sighting of her was more than I could handle, and I was beginning to
panic that our time apart was undoing any progress I’d made. On the last day of
the job, I caught the bus home and resolved to call round to see her, that
evening.

A couple of streets from home,
the bus pulled in at the stop in front of the Pocket Scratcher. Down the side alley,
three men stood huddled behind the dumpsters, and an altercation was taking
place. I recognised two of the men as Snakehead and Tattooed Guy. They had the
third man cornered, and Snakehead was waggling something small and white in his
face. An old lady shuffling along the aisle distracted me for a second, and
when I turned back to the alley, Tattooed Guy was holding the third man’s arms
behind his back, while Snakehead pummelled fists into his stomach. I felt every
punch as if it were me. It should have been me instead of Kendrick. The old
lady took her seat, the bus set off, and I saw no more.

When I arrived home, I went
straight to Kendrick’s room. He had finally dragged his scrawny ass out of bed,
and with the swellings receding, looked marginally more human. The scratches
had scabbed over, and his bruises had changed from purple to an odd mixture of
green and brown. He was sitting on his bed, lacing up his boots, as I entered.

“Where do you think you’re
going?” I asked.

“Out.”

“No shit. Where?” I didn’t have
time to babysit him tonight.

“Don’t bust a brain cell. I’ll
keep out of trouble.” Kendrick shot to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the
floor. “Lexi’s at a loose end, and I need my kicks, man. I’m going nuts holed
up in this room.” He delved in the pocket, noted the presence of a condom, and
tossed the jacket over one shoulder. “Wanna come? I can ask if Tina’s free
too.”