Falling for the Ghost of You (14 page)

I am a silly teenage girl, I'll admit it, and like any other silly girl that's being ignored, I decide there's only one thing to do:

Make him suffer.

I don't want to be too obvious, but I do make an effort to dress up a little more around Zane.  Instead of my usual old t-shirts and old jeans, I pair s
hort s
kirts with cute flirty tops that show a little more cleavage than I'm usually comfortable with.  But desperate times call for desperate measures.  Our month together is almost up, and I’ve already packed up most of my belongings and hauled them over to Jane’s house.  I feel this...nail biting urgency.  I
feel like i
f so
mething is
going to happen between us, it has to happen now, or I will lose him forever.  And that's a thought I couldn't bear.

Friday night. 

I am oddly agitated and restless.  Zane is home for a change, but locked away in his room.  He's barely said two words to me.

Okay, so I have a terrible idea, and I'm trying to work up the nerve to go through with it.

It's a really bad, really slutty idea.  I should be ashamed of myself for considering it.

I'm going to do it.

Before I know it, I'm standing in front of his door, holding my pink towel.  After taking a deep breath, I knock lightly on his door.

Without waiting for a response, I let myself in.  Zane is at his desk, doing something on his laptop.  My heart stumbles when I realize he is shirtless.

"I...uh, I'm going to shake a shower.  Wait, I mean take!"

I flush with embarrassment, but Zane barely turns around.  "Go for it," he mutters indifferently.

Son of a b! 

"Thanks!" I grunt, and stomp past him to the bathroom, slamming the door for good measure.

I am fuming as I strip off my clothes.  How dare he act like I'm nothing to him but
an inconvenience!  I thought—I
don't know what I thought.  We, at least, used to be friends.  Zane would have teased me mercilessly over my awkwardness.  Now he can't stand to look at me.

Angry tears well up in my eyes, but I blink them back.  I let myself relax under the spray of the steaming hot shower, taking my time washing my hair and scrubbing my skin with my coconut scented body wash.

How long have I been in here for?  Half an hour?  Maybe longer.  I shut off the water and reach
for my fluffy pink towel.  After I dry off my hair and body, I wrap the towel tightly around myself and tuck
it in the front between my breast
s.  It's just long enough to cover my torso and graze the top of my thighs.  Um.  Much shorter than I anticipated.

Well, I've managed to steam up the bathroom good.  I swipe at the fogged up mirror with a hand towel and glare at my reflection.  I try to practice making sexy faces, but I quickly give up, feelin
g completely ridiculous.  L
ike one of those girls who uploads thirty pictures of herself making duck faces in the mirror.  Why do girls do that?  I make the duck, and it's not sexy at all.  Creepy, maybe.

What is Zane doing right now?  Is he wondering if I've drowned in here?  Is he even still in his room?  I half hope not.

Well,
I can't stay in here forever—c
an I?  I run my hands through my hair, pushing it back from my face.  Gosh, I look freaked.  Well, it's now or never. 

Here I go.

Nope.  Okay...and now.

I open the door and take a tiny step out.  A cloud of coconut scented steam wafts past me.  Zane is still at his laptop!  He doesn't turn around, but I can tell by the sudden tensing of his back and shoulders that he knows I'm there.

I clear my throat, clutching the towel against me.  "I forgot my clothes," I mumble in a way that is more mentally challenged than seductive.

Oh, well.  But I've finally gotten his attention.  Zane's head comes up slowly, and I catch a glimpse of his achingly handsome profile.  A tiny muscle jumps in his clenched jaw.  Is he mad?  The only light comes from the bathroom behind me, and the muted glow of the laptop's screen, too dim to read his expression.

The silence yawns between us, growing until it becomes a living thing th
at fills the room, robbing us of our voices, and turning
us to stone.

My eyes suddenly snag on my reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet doors.  I search for Zane's image, and my gaze catches his and holds.  We stare at each other through the mirror for seconds that feel like a lifetime.

I am utterly blown away by the sudden certainty that if he turns arou
nd, or if I were to go to him—t
ouch the smooth curves of his ba
ck like I so badly wanted to—I
would be spending the night in his bed.  That dark tortured look he's giving me right now silently promises that.

Do I want that?  I don't know.  I want
him. 
God, do I want him.  But what do I know about sex?  I'm just a seventeen year old virgin who doesn't know how to kiss right.

Finally, Zane tears his gaze away from mine, back to his laptop.  His voice is rough and strained when he mutters, "Get dressed."

Only he can turn me on and piss me off at the same time.  Who does he think he is?!  Half-naked
here, and looking damn good, if I have to say so myself (obviously I do).  Will he be able to maintain his indifference if I "accidentally" drop my towel right now?

I don't, out of fear that yes, Zane would take one look at my naked body, shrug, and turn around again.  Also, I would never actually do something like that.   This goes way bey
ond my expertise.  Hell, Matt—my first and only boyfriend—ne
ver even got my shirt all the way off.  Zane is a
man
, and I know for a fact that he's
gotten more than a few girls—women's—s
hirts off.  And more.

I am way out of my depth here.  Still, I can't leave him with the last word.

"I think I'll walk around naked for a while," I snap as I stomp past him.  "You should probably stay in your room.  I wouldn't want to offend you."

I sneak a look at him out of the corner of my eye, and I could swear I see a hint of a smile.  I don't stop to make sure, heading straight to my room.

Breathing unsteadily, I don't bother to get dressed as I grab my cell phone and start tapping in a phone number.  Yes, I'm angry-dialing, similar to drunk-dialing, but not as stupid because I'm able to hang up before I complete the call when I realize it's almost one in the morning.  Tomorrow, then.

It's our last night together. 

I'm in the kitchen, boiling noodles for the spaghetti I'm making for dinner tonight.  I'm only half paying attention to what I'm doing, so I have serious concerns for how it will turn out.

Where is Zane?  What if h
e decides to stay out all night?
  I debate whether or not I should call him, and wisely decide I'd better not.

I stir the noodles around so they don't get burned to the bottom, then nervously pace back and forth.  This is my last chance.  After tonight, I can kiss my chances goodbye, instead of kissing Zane.  Once our parents get back, Zane will go back to L.A. And
I'll hardly have a chance—or excuse—to
see him.

That's why I brought out the big guns.  It took me three hours to get ready tonight, and that was with Lauren's help (after I promised I would keep her updated wi
th texts).  This outfit is new—
just got it today,
in fact.  The shirt is sexy and
red, made out of a gauzy material, with a deep v-shaped neckline.  The front of it is held together by tiny hooks that show little gaps of skin when I lean forward.  A
floaty
black miniskirt and high heels complete my hot-or-i
s-she-trying-too-hard look. 
I've kept my makeup minimal, just some lip gloss and eyeliner, and my hair is product-free, long and curling down my back.

So what took me so long to get dressed?   Choosing my underwear!  Because I am determined that
somebody
is going to be seeing
it tonight.  I just hope that—

"What are you making?"

I scream, my hands flying up—w
hich is very unfortunate, since I'm holding a colander full of noodles.

Oh, crap!

Miraculously, Zane somehow catches the colander and most of its contents, save for a few stray noodles, which rightfully land on me.  Guess what? They're scalding hot!

I shriek and fling the strands off me and into the sink.  Humiliating?  I think so.

Zane is trying not to laugh as he sets the colander on the counter.  He takes in my appearance, slowly scanning me from head to toe before speaking.  "What's up, Violet?"

"Um...nothing."  I busy myself with brushing sticky bits of noodles on my shirt.  "Uh, actually, are you going out tonight?  Because I have a date coming over.  For dinner. I'm making spaghetti.  For this guy—his name is Mark."

Zane stares at me for a couple of seconds.  "You're having a guy come here?"

I nod nervously, running my hands down my s
hort skirt. "Yes.  For dinner—s
paghetti."  I gesture lamely to the meatballs simmering in pasta sauce on the stove.

He leans against the counter and crosses his muscled arms over his chest. "Actually, I think I'll be staying in all night."

"What?  Why?"

"Because no way in hell am I leaving you alone wit
h some horny jackass—e
specially looking like that."

My mouth falls open in outrage.  "Like what?!"

"You know like what."  He gestures angrily at me.  "He'll take one look, and be all over you.  Then I'd have to beat his ass into the ground."

"Uh, no you don't!  I can take care of myself, and I really don't need you interfering!"

"Interfering?"  I flinch back as Zane explodes in exasperation.  "Violet, you’re god damned sev
enteen years old!  You think I’m
going to sit back and do nothing while some punk takes advantage of you."

I slam a sassy hand on one hip.  "Who says
I
won't be taking advantage of
him
?"

Zane stares at me like I just grew another head.  He shakes his head slightly.  "You don't mean that," he says quietly.

I glare at him.  "Yes, I do.  God, you're such a hypocrite!  You used to have a different girl over here every night, screwing t
heir tiny brains out.  I know—t
he walls here are very thin and sounds are
really
amplified, you know!  So don't you dare lecture me!"

Zane's eyes narrow dangerously, dark fires burning in their depths.  "It's not the same thing."

"Why?  Because you're a guy?"

"Because you're
seventeen
!" he growls. "Fuck!  Why are you being like this?  Are you trying to get back at me for what happened...that night?"

That really pisses me off!  "Maybe I just wanna be with a guy who finishes what he starts," I sneer.

Um.  Uh-oh. 

Just now I realize I am the little kid poking the tiger with a stick, one time too many.  There is definitely a predatory gleam in Zane's eyes right now as he stalks toward me.

I back up, but I'm not afraid.  Agitated, and that weird combination of excitement and...need, whenever I'm around him.  But not afraid.

Well, maybe a little.

Zane traps me against the counter, leaning into to me so that we're touching from our chests to our knees.  I gasp at the contact.  God, the feel of his heat against me!  Something primal in me roars with greed. I can feel his heart racing with mine, we're both breathing fast and hard.  I inhale his amazing Zane scent, so sexy and utterly masculine, turning my insides to warm melting chocolate.

"So, you want me to finish what I started, huh?"  His voice is low and rough when he talks.

Zane places one big hand on my hip and pulls me against his body, and I gasp again.  Holy crap, he is so...hard...everywhere.  In my head, I give a maidenly scream.

"Um," I say nervously, trying desperat
ely to remain absolutely still,
and not wiggle against him!   "I don't know what..."

Zane searches my face, seeming to silently ask a question I have no idea how to answer. His mouth is inches from mine.  If he would just lower his head a bit, we could be kissing instead of fighting.

But, no.  He gives a small sigh and backs away. He runs both hands through his short dark hair, turning away.  "That night was a mistake," he mutters.

Grrr
!

"What was a mistake?  Getting me almost naked in the pool, and whispering dirty nothings in my ear, and
then
acting like I've got the plague?!"  Furious, I shove against him with both hands.  "You can't just play games with me
like that!  I thought that I—I
thought we were friends.  And now...you can't even s
tand to be around me!  You're—y
ou're such an asshole!"