Dangerous Boy (12 page)

“So much for our sunny day, huh?” I say, nodding toward
the window. Dark clouds have moved in since I left Bick’s house three hours ago.

Logan slides out from under my feet and walks to the window, staring out for a long moment. “What is with this town? Every time I turn around, it’s stormy.”

“October’s always like that. It’s the Cascades. They trap the clouds here instead of letting them move over to Eastern Washington.”

“Oh,” he says. He finally turns back to me. “I should probably get going. Can I get you anything else? Water maybe?”

“Nah, I’m okay. I just took some pain pills so they’ll kick in soon.”

Logan walks to the coffee table and pushes it closer, then arranges the remotes so they’re all within reach. Or they would be, if my arm wasn’t in a sling. I don’t point this out to him, because I find the gesture to be totally sweet.

“You think your dad will actually remember to check on you like he said? I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“He’s just out in the barns. I know where he’s at if I need him.”

Logan nods and goes back to the window. A moment later, headlights splash across the wall. “Allie’s here,” he says.

“Really?”

I start to sit up, then wince again as my shoulder screams in protest.

“Yeah. She texted you a couple hours ago, while you were in X-ray. I told her you’d be released soon.”

Moments later, the front door swings open. Allie appears,
holding a giant casserole dish. “So, my mom found out you went to the hospital and made you tuna casserole. It’s probably disgusting.”

I giggle, and it shakes my shoulder, sending a fresh wave of pain down my body. “Ow. Don’t make me laugh.”

Outside, the rain thickens, until I can hear the hum of it on the roof. Logan turns and stares out at the half-obscured glass. “I guess I better go. You guys sure you’ll be okay?”

Allie reaches into her purse. “I brought
Titanic
. We’re good for a few hours at least.”

Logan smiles, then walks back over to me and kisses me on the forehead. “All right. I’ll leave you girls to it.” Then, turning back to me, he says, “Text me later?”

“Mm-hmm,” I reply, watching as Allie crosses the room and slides open our DVD player.

“Okay then. Have a good one.”

And like that he’s gone, just as the rain really picks up. When the door swings open, the sound of it is positively roaring.

“Kinda sick of this weather,” Allie says, dropping the DVD into the slot and pushing the mechanism closed.

“Yeah. It’s getting old.”

“Do you have popcorn?” she asks, turning the TV on.

“Yep, it’s in the drawer to the right of the kitchen sink.”

“Cool. Be right back,” she says, strolling out of the room.

I try to remember the last time we had a chance to sit through the whole
Titanic
movie, but I can’t. It must have been at least a year ago…before she got together with Adam.

I watch Logan’s headlights in the window as he pulls out.
He’s been amazing today, holding my hand at the hospital, waiting for hours while I got X-rays, listening to my dad rant about how he’s supposed to watch out for me, not get me hurt. And he did it all without the blink of an eye.

By the time Allie returns with the popcorn, the movie is rolling. Allie plunks down on the worn-out leather loveseat, handing me my own small bowl.

It’s a little awkward, holding the bowl with my sling-clad hand and eating with the other. Getting used to this is going to suck.

“I forgot how much I love this movie,” Allie says. “Leo is so hot in it.”

I lay my head against the pillow, tossing a few pieces of popcorn in my mouth. “I think he’s cuter now. He’s too baby-faced in this movie. Kate Winslet totally outshines him.”

“No way. He’s smokin’,” Allie says, twisting around on the couch so her legs are up against the back and her head’s upside down. Her own little popcorn bowl rests on her stomach.

I snort. “He’s maybe a seven. She’s definitely a ten. I’d give anything to look like her.”

Allie twists around and sits up, setting her bowl down on the coffee table. “You’re at least as hot as her, you just don’t have all the smoke and mirrors. A makeup artist and a good stylist, you’d look better than she does.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously.” Allie lights up. “Actually, my makeup is in the car. Let me give you a makeover.”

I stop chewing and stare at her, realizing she’s serious. “No way,” I say.

“Come on! You totally owe me.”

“For what?”

“For riding quads because
Logan
asked you, and not the thousand times I suggested it,” she says. I can’t tell if she’s being playful or serious. Maybe Bick wasn’t the only one bothered by my sudden change of heart.

I do kind of feel bad about riding quads for Logan and not for them—even if I ended up getting injured—but she just doesn’t understand that things are different with him. He knows about my fears, and he’s helping with them. Allie means well, and she’s an amazing friend, but there are times I need her and she’s too involved with Adam to notice.

I look back at the movie, watching as Kate Winslet climbs over the railing on the boat, her hair flowing out around her in the ocean breeze. “You can’t really think I’d look that good.”

Allie slides forward on the couch, steepling her hands. “Please please please please please? Just give me a chance. It’s not like you have anything else on your oh-so-full agenda. You’re practically an invalid.”

I snort, and she grins sheepishly at me.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s do it.”

She squeals and claps her hands together. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

Except I might already.

“S
it still!” Allie says, unwinding my smoking hair from the curling iron she just-so-happened to find in her car. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she planned it. Maybe she thought I’d be so hopped up on medicine I would somehow not notice a stealth makeover.

I watch my nose scrunch up in the bathroom mirror. I’m afraid to look at the charred remains of my hair. “Are you sure it’s supposed to smoke like that?”

“It’s not smoke. It’s steam. I put some product in it,” she says, indignant.

“Steam. Right.” I shift my weight on the old wooden stool and chew on the inside of my cheek, rethinking this whole idea. “What if I show up at school tomorrow with half of my hair missing? I’m
sure
Logan would be super attracted to me then.”

She flinches, stares at my hair as if I said she just screwed it all up. “What?” I ask, my mouth going dry. I knew I would regret this.

“Nothing,” she says, not meeting my eyes in the mirror.

“I really don’t like that expression when you’re burning my hair off.”

“I told you, it’s all normal. You really should do this stuff more often. Then you’d know.”

“Hey, I managed to snag Logan,” I say.

“Yeah, though God knows how,” she says, grinning slyly. “It was a Sunday morning, which means two things: You probably fed the calves first and you totally smelled like a farm, and you were still wearing your pajamas.”

I giggle. “Hey! I shouldn’t be required to wear actual clothes until after I’ve had my Sunday morning donut. It’s not my fault I ran into a cute boy at the bakery.” I look up at her in the mirror, at her wide eyes framed by smoky makeup and thick mascara-clad lashes that curl perfectly upward. I want to ask her how she learned this stuff, if her mom bought her her first makeup and showed her how to put it on, but I don’t. That would only lead to a discussion of my own mom. And I don’t talk about her. Not with Allie and Adam and Bick, and definitely not with my dad.

“I was joking,” she says.

“I know, but I question it enough as it is.”

“You do not.”

I shrug. “Sometimes. Don’t you ever see us together and think,
Wow, he is so out of her league
?”

“No way. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Anyone who sees that wouldn’t question it.”

I smile a little, staring down at my chipped nails. “Thanks.
I just psych myself out sometimes. He seems too good to be true.”

“Except that whole secret twin thing,” she says.

I twist my hands in my lap. “Yeah, sorry, I was going to talk to you about it, we’ve just both been so busy. Did Bick tell you about him?”

“Yeah. While you were riding quads. Just before you wrecked, that is. That’s some crazy stuff.” Allie unwinds another piece of hair, then sets the iron down and fluffs it up a little bit with her finger. I have to admit, it’s really pretty.

I adjust my sling. It’s already chafing my neck. The next six weeks are not going to be fun. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure if I should be okay with it or not.”

“Do you want a little bit of advice?” Allie asks, picking up the curling iron again.

I don’t know. Do I? I’ve already decided to just forget about it. “Yeah. Um, sure.”

She smiles, her pretty glossed lips turning upward as she winds another piece of hair up. “Forgive him. Guys screw up. A lot. You just have to figure out whether their heart is in the right place.”

“And his was?” I pull away, my hair slipping off the iron.

“Hold still, will you? I’m almost done.” She frowns, picks up the hair again, and twists it around the barrel. “Anyway, he was afraid of you rejecting him for the wrong reasons. He shouldn’t have lied, but he did it because he didn’t want to lose you. It seems like you’ve already kinda let it go. But if you haven’t, you should.”

I purse my lips and nod, surprisingly relieved. I wanted her to say this. Wanted her to say I was right for giving him another chance.

And she’s right. Logan’s been the perfect boyfriend, other than the whole Daemon thing. “Okay. Letting it go. Officially.”

“You look amazing,” Allie says, untwisting the final curl from the iron.

I stare at my almost unrecognizable reflection in the mirror. My flat brown hair has been transformed into pretty, glossy ringlets. I tug at one, and it bounces back into a tight curl.

“You really think so?”

Allie tips her head to the side and stares at me in the mirror.

“Yeah. And I have an idea.”

Allie and I sit side by side on the couch, me struggling to find a comfortable way to arrange my brace as she leans over and clicks on my bookmarks, bringing up my Facebook page. My profile picture is from last year. Allie and I are hugging, standing in front of a long stretch of pretty white fences, as a summer breeze lifts our hair out of our faces. Her mom snapped the picture of us at their house on a sunny day, the sky a vibrant blue. “This is so overdue,” she says.

I nod, a little unsure. The pictures she took today—of me with curled hair, makeup done up—are pretty. I just don’t know if they’re too over the top to be the best profile pics. What if everyone thinks I’m trying too hard? I’d never wear this much makeup to school.

“Seriously. Live a little. Sex it up,” she practically exclaims.
“You’re always stuck in your little box.”

“That’s what Logan always says.”

“What?” she asks, distracted. She’s too busy clicking on buttons in a desperate attempt to transform my profile page.

“That I’m stuck in a box,” I say. “He’s trying to break me out of it, or whatever. That’s why I was willing to ride quads.”

“Well…” her voice trails off. “You
could
use a little excitement.”

“Uh? What do you call dead birds in the school parking lot, a bloody handprint on the window of my car, a quad accident, and a boyfriend with a secret twin brother who got a kick out of freaking me out?” I ask, reaching up to adjust the Velcro on my sling.

“That’s not the kind of excitement I’m talking about,” she says. She gives me a skeptical look before glancing back at the screen and clicking to upload the photos.

It only takes a moment to upload a half-dozen photos Allie took in the last half hour. Looking at the shots onscreen, it’s clear that she did a good job of it too, totally avoiding the ugly cotton brace. No one who sees the pictures will even know my collarbone is broken.

“This way, when Logan looks at his Facebook page, he remembers how hot his girlfriend is,” she says, grinning.

Moments later, she’s resetting my profile pic to one where I’m leaned back, my curly hair fanned out around me on the floor. I have a sorta-sweet, sorta-devilish smile on my face, and I’m looking up to the left. I’m not quite sure how she caught that look, but it’s perfect. Flirty and mysterious.

She clicks over to my profile, as if to confirm it looks right, and then sits back abruptly.

“Whoa.” She glances over at me, a nervous look in her eyes.