Fall Into Forever (3 page)

Jon glances up, and for a split second, his gaze locks on mine. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. All the oxygen has evaporated from the surrounding air as well as from inside my lungs. It’s like I’m the one who’s had the wind knocked out of me, not his opponent.

I’ve never seen eyes like his before. So vibrant. So stunning. You’d expect someone with hair as dark as his to have the dark eyes to match, but his are a pale, crystal blue. Like cut glass lit from within. And right now, they’re icy shards, freezing me in place.

It takes me a moment to catch my breath, for the blood to flow into my fingers and toes again. By that time, his attention is back on the guy he just hit.

Chris touches his mouth and nose. His hand comes away covered in blood. “What the fuck, Priestly? You broke my nose.”

“Actions have consequences,” Jon says. “That’s one of them.”

“I can’t believe you actually broke my nose.”

The way he says it makes me wonder if they hang out or might have been friends at one time. Guys are weird. They can be best friends one minute, then beat the crap out of each other the next.

Gingerly touching his nose, Chris mumbles under his breath, “You’re such a fucking loser.”

Jon lunges forward again and grabs him. The crowd parts as he drags him down the steps like a rag doll. Away from me. I can finally breathe again.

Once they’re out on the lawn, he gives the guy a hard shove. “You promised to pay, dickwad. Or didn’t your daddy teach you that? Stella’s not running a charity. Now, get the fuck out of here before I break something else.”

A low murmur runs through the crowd. “Stella?”

“Who’s Stella?”

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”

“Yes, he does.”

“No, he dumped her.”

Chris lobs a few more parting insults, but when Jon starts after him again, he storms across the lawn with as much swagger as he can muster. He jumps into a shiny black Beemer parked halfway down the driveway and floors it. Gravel sprays in a wide arc, hitting a few nearby cars. I’m glad I parked around the block. Even though I have a POS car, I’d have been pissed if it got pelted with rocks.

Jon rubs his bloody knuckles as he turns back to the house. “Party on,” he says, and everyone laughs.

The music returns, and people are laughing as they line up again to get inside. It’s like the fight we witnessed was just a blip—a rock breaking the surface of the water, making a momentary ripple. I wonder if stuff like this happens all the time at the White House. No wonder the place has a reputation.

Jon stops to talk to a group of girls standing at the foot of the porch steps, their faces turned up to him like he’s some sort of rock star. Yeah, he must be on the football team.

“Are you okay, Ives?” Cassidy repeats her earlier question. “And your jacket. Ugh.”

I plaster on a smile and try to sound lighthearted. “Well, that was interesting. Does that happen often?” I take off my blood-splattered jacket and hold it by the loop in the collar. “I’m fine. But I don’t think this is.”

“Yeah, that sucks,” the girl behind her says. “I hope it comes out.”

Cassidy agrees. “Maybe we can dab it with water once we get inside.”

It’s a two-hundred-dollar North Face jacket that I bought at Nordstrom Rack for seventy-five bucks of my own money. It’s really cute. Slim, like a shell, not bulky but very warm. I’ll be pissed if it’s ruined. “That’s what I get for wearing white, I guess.”

It pains me to say that. Growing up, my mom never let me wear anything white, saying it stained too easily and that I was too messy. Even in high school, she bitched about me buying anything completely white. Seriously, white shorts are the cutest, but no, I didn’t have a pair. So when I first went to college, I went on a white shopping binge. Skirts, shorts, jeans, tops.

I’ll probably need to call her for stain removal advice. I’ll tell her I got a bloody nose or something, which wouldn’t be that much of a stretch. After the accident, I was getting them once a week or so. Then again, I don’t want her worrying about me. That would be worse.

Jon’s coming up the steps now, all five girls in tow, one hanging off each arm. They’re each wearing matching pink T-shirts that say something about…church? Okay, that’s weird. Must be a sorority joke. Moving aside to let his entourage pass, I lean back against the porch pillar as Cassidy talks animatedly to that girl. As soon as she’s done, I’m going to tell her I want to go. I can feel the beginning of a headache starting to form at the base of my skull already.

Cassidy stops in midsentence and stares just over my shoulder. Something strong closes around my upper arm and pulls me around. However, instead of swiveling, the heel of my shoe slips on the wet porch floorboards. As if in slow motion, I’m falling headlong into a hard male body, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I hit that muscular chest with an
umph
and slide cheek-first down the black T-shirt, stopping literally inches from his belt.

And the bulge below it.

Oh my God. I am so freaking embarrassed right now.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” Long-fingered hands cup my elbows and set me back on my feet. “You okay?” Jon’s voice is soft and tinged with amusement, but not cruel. Totally different from when he was talking to Chris.

“I’m…uh…fine.”

A clean scent, faintly spicy, fills my nostrils and lungs, invading my body, and courses through my veins like an illegal substance. He doesn’t loosen his grip or step away, and although my teal top has long sleeves, my skin burns where his hands are touching me. He steals away my breath, my energy, my very essence.

Without blinking, he holds me at arm’s length and lets his gaze travel slowly over my body. Every inch of me tingles. And I mean
every
inch. My toes. The backs of my knees. Between my legs. My belly. My ears. My scalp. All my senses are on complete overload and for a split second I feel myself teetering. If he wasn’t holding onto me, I’d have to place a hand on the pillar to steady myself to keep from falling again.

He’s a good six or seven inches taller than I am, which is impressive, since I’m five foot eight. I’m used to looking guys straight on, or at least almost straight in the eye, so it’s a weird sensation for me to crank my head up like this. He’s got black gauges in his earlobes the size of a medium-tipped Sharpie. A bruise is starting to form under his left eye. Guess he took a few blows after all.

I should say something to fill the awkward silence between us, but nothing that’s not completely stupid comes to mind.
Nice right hook
or
Good fight
don’t seem appropriate.

His expression darkens, and I’m filled with a sense of unease again. It takes me a minute to realize he’s looking at the bloody jacket I’m holding and not me.

His female entourage has had enough of this interruption and tries to pull him away, but he shrugs them off. “Go inside,” he tells them without turning around. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

One of them protests, “But—”

“Go.”

None of them look too happy, but they do as they’re told. I’m struck by the fact that I was a lot like them just a short time ago—doing what a guy wanted me to do even if it wasn’t what I wanted. This break in focus snaps me out of la-la land and I regain some of my lost composure.

They file past us into the house, and each of them gives me the once-over. I want to tell them, “He’s all yours, ladies. Don’t know him. Don’t want to know him.” Instead, I straighten my spine and try to ignore my body’s insane physical reactions to this complete stranger. I can’t let a guy like him affect me this way. Not only does Jon Priestly sell drugs, he’s also got a violent temper. If I were in the market for a boyfriend right now, which I’m not, I’d pick a smart, sweet, law-abiding guy any day of the week.

“Your coat,” he says, frowning.

I shrug, pretending it’s no big deal. Part of me is afraid of him, but the rest of me is utterly fascinated. Who
is
this guy? He’s wild, almost primitive. And I’m too weak to resist. If he pushed me up against this pillar and kissed me right now, I might—just might—be stupid enough to kiss him back.

Geez, Ivy, you’re better than this. You’re not that stupid. Not anymore.

My inner voice is right. Why am I attracted to boys who aren’t good for me? I’m so disappointed in myself, I can hardly stand it. You’d think that after what I’ve been through, I’d be smarter than this. Obviously not. If I could slap my face right now, I totally would. No more guys with tempers. No more guys with cocky attitudes who think they’re the shit.

“Come inside. You can clean up there.” He makes a move toward the front door, assuming I’m going to follow him inside like an eager puppy.

Well, you know what? He’s wrong. I’m not interested in how he’s going to help me. I may be a fool, but I’m not stupid. Any hesitation on my part, any little opening, and
bam
, a guy like him will force his way in. And I don’t need that.

“No. That’s okay. I’ll wash it when I get home.”

Some girls may find a guy like Jon exciting and charming. Some are even naive enough to want to date them. But guys like him can harbor dark, dangerous secrets. Secrets you don’t want to know or be involved in. How do you think they got this way in the first place? It’s best to follow your head and stay as far away from them as possible.

Trust me when I say this: Guys like Jon Priestly are nothing but trouble.

chapter two

There was a dawn I remember when my soul heard something from your soul.

~ Rumi

Jon

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed when Tina comes out of my bathroom, wearing only her bra and underwear. A few minutes ago, she cornered me on the stairs as I was heading up to my room to chill out, and, well, I’m not a saint. The party is still rocking, but I’ve got to be at work in about an hour, so it’s not like I can hang around and drink, anyway. I don’t know about you, but being the only sober guy in a house full of drunk-ass college students isn’t my idea of fun.

Tina tosses her things on my desk chair. “I’m so glad I ran into you. It’s been waay too long since we hooked up. I need my JP fix.”

“I thought you were dating someone. Didn’t it work out?”

She shrugs and glances at her phone. “I was, but I got bored.”

“Boring can be good, you know.” I kick off my boots.

“Yeah…maybe when I’m thirty and I’ve popped out a kid or two.” She quickly types a text and starts to set the phone down, but it chimes and she picks it up again.

She and the other girls from her sorority were wearing those matching shirts when they came in. I make a mental note to tell Kelly at the station that neon pink was a good idea. It makes them easy to spot in a crowd…and easy to avoid if I don’t feel like being swamped. Most of the time, I like the attention. It feeds my inner narcissist, the part of me that craves people hanging on my every word and action. But I can only take so much of it. And for some reason, I’m not into it tonight.

I flex my hand. It’s still sore from hitting Chris. God, what an asshole. I fucking lost my shit when he started mouthing off, but I can’t say that I regret it. I’d do it again in a second. For him to say that three hundred bucks isn’t a big deal shows he’s never had to decide between eating lunch or putting a couple bucks’ worth of gas in the tank.

Besides, your word is your word. Doesn’t matter if you think the person you owe is loaded or not.

Tina sets down the phone. “Sorry about that.”

“As long as it’s not your boyfriend, wondering where you are.”

“I told you, we broke up,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It was Ali and Hanna. I said I was busy, but that I’d meet them downstairs in about twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. I’ve become a twenty-minute rebound fuck for bored chicks. Great.

As she passes my desk, she runs a finger slowly along the edge and peers at me from under her lashes. Okay, so she’s trying to be seductive, I get that. But why? It’s pretty obvious we’re going to be fucking in a minute, so why bother?

She fans out a handful of condoms like a deck of cards. “What color? I’ve got red, blue, orange, purple, and green.”

“I don’t care. You pick.”

“Jesus, Jon.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You act like you’re not even into this.”

She’s right, but I’m not about to admit it. After all, I do want to get laid. I just don’t want to deal with all the bullshit leading up to it. “No, I am.”

“Really?” She comes closer, frowning. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m not distracted.” But the instant I say it, I know it’s a lie. And I’m not just talking about the fight with Chris.

You know when you glance at the sun, then close your eyes and still see the image on the back of your eyelids? That’s what happened to me with that girl on the porch. Ever since I saw her staring at me, I can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe it’s the torment behind her eyes that calls to me, making me want to know more. It’s like she knew all of my secrets at a glance—what I’m feeling, what I keep hidden from everyone. Logically, I know that’s impossible. Only a handful of people know the truth about me, and one of them is dead.