Heartsick
Authors: Caitlin Sinead
Heartsick
By Caitlin Sinead
Quinn is looking forward to her senior year at Poe University. She has big plans to hang out with her best friend, flirt with a certain boy genius, party at her favorite dive bar and figure out what she’s going to do after graduation with her not-so-useful art major. But that’s before she meets Luke, a hot townie who’s moved back home to help take care of his dying sister. And it’s before a weird epidemic sweeps across campus, mysteriously turning people’s eyes purple.
Is it an odd side effect from a new party drug?
Is it a rogue virus developed in a campus lab?
Is it the mark of the devil?
Soon the town starts blaming the university and the student religious group becomes frighteningly aggressive in their on-campus accusations. Quinn and Luke are caught in the middle—until a tragic accident forces Luke to reveal the one part of himself he’s kept carefully hidden. That he’s so much more than the happy-go-lucky boy next door Quinn had believed him to be isn’t a surprise…but this truth might be too dangerous for her to handle.
81,000 words
Dear Reader,
Hi, my name is Angela and I am an unapologetic reader of romance. I love a happy ending and I’m happy to ignore the people who say that requiring a happy ending makes my reading predictable, boring, silly, embarrassing or whatever other adjective they use. The people who think that are the people who’ve never actually read all of the amazing romances available. This month, we have eight diverse, non-boring, fantastic romances to offer all of you who are unapologetically #TeamRomance along with me!
For those who are extra unapologetically happy to have their romances on the erotic side,
Game Play
is the exciting first book in Lynda Aicher’s new erotic romance series. When hockey golden child Samantha Yates is called in to help Minnesota Glaciers defenseman Dylan Rylie get his game back on track, it doesn’t take long before their on-ice competitiveness turns into rough, aggressive off-ice sex. The kind Sam likes but Dylan wants to change.
Also delivering a sexy erotic romance this month is Solace Ames’s
The Companion Contract
. When Amy’s offered an unusual contract—sexual companion to an eccentric legendary rock star—she accepts. She falls into an easy rhythm of control and submission—but it’s not her client who keeps her up at night and soon the price of submission might be too high…
Eleri Stone offers up an erotic romance in the fantasy genre. In
The Shape of Temptation
, an artistically gifted mage forced to play the pawn in her mentor’s bid for power comes to crave the sensual, hard-bodied—but lowborn—soldier she spends her days sculpting. Revisit this world in
Threads of Desire.
Also in fantasy comes this alternate history mystery from April Taylor. Luke Ballard, now Henry IX’s Privy Inquirer and a Dominus Elemancer, falls victim to the seductive charms of a darkly mysterious beauty in
Mantle of Malice
.
You might like
All for You
by Christi Barth if contemporary romance is what you crave. When a straight-laced park ranger falls in love with a sexy professor hell-bent on exposing her darkest secret, she’s torn between a future with him or a past that must stay hidden.
This month, we welcome Alyssa Cole to Carina Press with her new adult post-apocalyptic romance
Radio Silence
. Arden Highmore doesn’t know if the world is really ending, but one thing’s certain: she’s falling for her best friend’s brother as they struggle to survive.
On behalf of the Carina Press team, I’m pleased to introduce two debut authors who have their first releases in February. First, in contemporary romance is Elizabeth Harmon’s
Pairing Off
. A scandal-plagued American figure skater’s last chance at gold means pairing up with Russia’s sexiest male skater…who happens to be the first man she ever loved.
Caitlin Sinead debuts with a new adult mystery romance,
Heartsick
, in which a terrifying plague sweeps across a small liberal arts school and the surrounding community, bringing town/gown relations to a head and forcing an artsy undergrad to team up with an older, secretive detective.
Coming in March 2015: HelenKay Dimon returns to Carina Press with a dirty-talking ex–Special Ops Marine, a prostitute and a street fighter find love in Victorian London, and we begin our love affair with a new space opera male/male series.
Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend. And a lifetime of enjoying romance without apology.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
Dedication
For my mom—we’re one small step closer
to that lake house.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Andrea Somberg, not only for picking me out of the slush pile and representing my work, but for providing invaluable vision, guidance and patience. Kerri Buckley, thank you for tightening loops that needed tightening and straightening dialogue that needed straightening, and, of course, for believing in this project. Thank you to the entire Carina Press team for supporting my work.
I appreciate every comment I received from my writers group. Thank you, especially, Jeremiah Goulka, JD Mayrant, Jon Moffat, Elizabeth Nellums, Barbara Reck, Melody Schreiber, Kellie Small, Chrisi West and Jeff West for your gentle spurring and helpful feedback.
Cate Cameron, Ava Jae, Laura Rueckert and Lisa Terry, I’m so privileged to call you ladies my CPs, and I can’t imagine succeeding in this without all of your wisdom and support.
It’s one thing for writers to swap their work, it’s another for friends to agree to spend hours reading and commenting on a book for nothing in exchange. Thank you, Kate, for all your encouragement and wonderful brainstorm-inducing ideas. Thank you, Tim, for talking sci-fi and superheroes with me and being an amazingly good sport when it came to the romance parts.
Thank you, Dana, for being an unfailing beta reader even as my adorable niece and nephews attempt to distract you. (Okay, I’m sure they sometimes succeed.) Thank you, Drew, for never doubting that I’d one day get that “yes” amidst all the “no’s”. And thank you, Austin, for always being up for a celebratory wine.
Thank you, Mom and Dad, for believing in my writing back when I wrote poems about constellations that scooped my second-grade-self out of bed.
Finally, thank you to that cute townie who bought me a drink at a Virginia bar when I was in college. You walk way too slow and know way too much about football and the Civil War, but there’s no one else I’d rather have as my best friend and my muse.
Contents
Chapter One
Of course I’d be the one at a frat party talking to a gay guy about how I don’t want to discuss my abstract art with his Sunday school class. If I was normal, I’d be slipping around on the beer-soaked floor while unfamiliar guys tried to curve their fingers around my hips. That’s what Mandy is doing.
But no, I’m explaining to Conrad why my latest art project is not an homage to Christ. “I know it looks like a circle and then a cross, but the red paint is meant—”
“Yes,” Conrad says. “The circle of life. Rejuvenation. Redemption. Reincarnation. Christ and the blood he gave for us. It was very moving.”
I am in no way shocked. Conrad disappointed his good-ol’-boy father when he came out. He disappointed his Baptist mother when he joined the Unitarian Universalist church. But he never disappoints God.
“Finding meaning in art is like finding meaning in life,” he continues. “It’s like finding God.”
Yes, Conrad, I got it. You. God. Besties.
I sigh into my beer. “It’s actually the symbol for O positive. People with that blood type can give to all positive blood types, but can’t accept that blood in return. And they can’t help their only outside donor, O negative. It’s made out of razors to symbolize how people bleed to help others, even those who can’t help them.”
Conrad scratches his temple.
“Um, okay, Quinn. Yeah. That’s a really neat idea too.”
He’s just being polite. I don’t mind that one iota.
As I take another sip of liquid that passes for an alcoholic beverage, Conrad nods to the mash of riled up private parts attached to students on the dance floor.
“Looks like your freshman is having a good time,” he says.
“Yeah.” I smile. “I think he’s going to be okay.”
Danny is my adorable art department mentee. I’ve been on mentor overdrive because he had the misfortune, along with, oh, 20 percent of the school, of attending that party, the one in late August that no one likes to talk about. Though whispering about it, apparently, is just fine.
Some kids could shrug it off, but not Danny. The Monday after it happened, he shrunk into the corner of the art studio, elbows on his knees, like an old doll that was tossed and forgotten. As I knelt next to him, producing an expert mix of sensitively timed nods and distracting dirty jokes, my legs lost circulation. But it was worth it. He came around.
Now he’s living it up, swaying rather racily with a girl in my dance troupe. He even has a diaper covering his black hair. Yes. The frat pledges have to wear diapers.
Mandy jives her hips near him, smiling that sly smile—the one that means she knows she’s in control—as another diapered guy slides his fingers up and down the fabric of her dress.
Conrad taps my shoulder. “Why aren’t you out there getting your groove on?” He has a knack for using the corniest applicable sayings in any given situation. It might be my favorite thing about him.
I shrug. “Don’t feel much like dancing.”
“Or...” Conrad tilts his head. “Is it because you have only one man on your mind?”
I cannot raise my eyebrow high enough. “You know me better than that.”
Conrad grins. “Maybe this is the year you decide to settle down?” His eyes narrow. “Rashid’s a great guy.”
“I know, I know.” That’s part of the problem. It’s practically a fact: Rashid—nicest guy on campus. Hell, sweetest guy in the whole commonwealth of Virginia.
A couple days ago, as we walked home after grabbing a drink, leaves shivered in the cooling air and the sky grew darker. Heavy raindrops fell on Rashid and me as we pummeled through puddles to get back to my house. He studied me as I wrung out my hair on the porch. I watched the water creep between the crevices of the boards. His wet fingers glided along my damp cheeks. His pelvis pressed against my belly. He held on to my waist as he brought his mouth to mine.
I try to forget about how good that felt and concentrate on what Conrad is saying. Except he just continues to extol Rashid’s virtues. “...and he’s smart. Like genius smart.”
Like genius smart.
“Nothing is going on between us. It was a one-time thing.” I say it flatly, my palm doing a slow motion karate chop in the air. You know, to show I’m serious. “It was nothing.”
Conrad crosses his arms and frowns. Disapproval crashes over his face. “It wasn’t nothing to him.”
Fortunately, I don’t have to respond to that. A piercing female voice penetrates the hip-hop slamming through the speakers. The yell isn’t a fun “whooeee” kind of a yell, it’s an “I’ll cut you, bitch” kind of yell.
Natalie.
Her face burns red as she thrusts her fist in the air next to Danny’s head. He backs away, taking the diaper off his head and holding it at his chest with both hands as though he’s at a funeral.
He is paying respect to the dead.
Respect or no, Natalie’s rants against him continue. “You just let him leave! You let him walk out the door with the keys.”
The distance between them shrinks and the others around them are repelled, oozing out from the volatile middle. But they don’t go too far. They want to see this shit. A few pull out their phones to record whatever is about to go down. Knowing Natalie, it’ll be a show.
Danny looks at the ground and murmurs, “I’ve told you, I didn’t realize he was driving. I’m sorry.”
I sigh and turn to Conrad.
He nods. “We all need saving sometimes.”
I dash into the circle of people on the dance floor. “Natalie,” I say, and her hair seems to swish in slow motion as her heated eyes land on me. I hold my hands out and open my mouth, but nothing is there.
“You were there too,” she says. Despite all the logical things I had said to Danny, guilt still burns in my muscles. Yes, I was also at the party, the one people only whisper about. Unless you’re Natalie—then you shout about it. She tenses her fists. “You could have stopped him.”
“Natalie, I know nothing I can say can make up for your loss, but you—”
“No, it can’t,” she says, rolling her shoulders back and crossing her arms. Waiting for me to try anyway. But my breath is gone. I purse my mouth and take a step back. I bump into Mandy, who has been behind me the whole time. Of course. She’s always got my back.
“Look—” Mandy swipes around me and zeroes in on Natalie, “—Josh shouldn’t have driven that night. We’re all sorry he hit your sister, and if you want to find out wherever the fuck he is now and go yell at him, do that. But leave the rest of us alone.”
Natalie breathes in and holds it. No one speaks or coughs or so much as squeaks their shoes against the floor. We ignore the song bellowing encouragement for everyone to pick out a sex buddy.
Finally, Natalie speaks. “You come here for a few years and think you own the town. But all you do is ruin it. You ruin us.”
Cheers burst from the townie contingent of the crowd. Perhaps none of them realize they are, in fact, at a Poe University frat party.
Mandy leans in. “Poe didn’t kill Lynn. You need to deal with that.”
“Don’t tell me what I need to deal with.” Natalie grabs Mandy’s wrist.
Not the wrist. Not the wrist.
“Come on, Mandy,” I say, bursting forward. “Let’s just go.”
Mandy stares at Natalie, but she pulls her wrist free and walks toward me. No one but me understands how hard that must have been for her.
Natalie pushes the issue. “You all share some blame. And this guy—” she points at Danny, “—took shots with him.”
Danny’s dark brows pucker on his otherwise slack face. “We thought he was walking home...” he says, the words limping along.
“Danny,” I whisper. He looks at me, but shakes his head. Mandy is already turned toward the door. I follow.
Natalie’s voice rises behind us, like she’s the victorious one. “Yeah, get out of here, and take this spic with you.”
Way. Too. Far.
I swish around just in time to see Danny’s crumpled, hurt face. Mandy blows by me to get to Natalie. She raises her hand and unleashes a slap that ricochets along the frat’s walls.
I rarely condone violence. Okay, I don’t condone violence. But a speck of warm pleasure hits me as the red blossoms across Natalie’s cheek.
But then, dammit, tears glisten along the rims of her eyes. I scrunch my face and look to the floor, focusing on the splashes of beer and chunks of mud here and there. I shake myself and tug on Mandy’s hand and whisper our mantra, “Don’t be afraid.” But it’s hard to speak loud enough to overcome the applause. Yes, people actually clap. Natalie has been on her tiring tirade for weeks.
As Natalie recovers, she lunges toward Mandy. A brother grabs Natalie’s arms, holding her back. My mind fumbles for ways to mediate this when the frat president motions to some guys.
That’s how Mandy gets escorted out.
It makes sense to pick Mandy. Politically, what frat president wants to kick out the grieving townie sister of the dead girl? Even if she is a racist. There’s already enough tension between college kids and Allan kids.
Mandy squirms away from the brothers as they take her toward the door. “At least let me finish my beer.”
“You need to leave now,” one brother says. Not as a directive. It’s just sound advice.
She smacks her red Solo cup into my free hand. “Drink this. I’ll meet you outside.”
I check on Danny first, but he’s good, surrounded by his pledge brothers. I look in the drink. I don’t want it. But Mandy stares at me as she’s pulled away. It’s the principle of the thing. So I take a big swig so she can see. But once she’s out the door, I set both our not-quite-empty cups on the counter.
As I follow Mandy into the cool September night, I rub my rosy pink flats against the grass. They’re sullied from the disgusting swirl of swill that pools on frat floors. We journey down a back road toward a much more civilized arena—the row of bars along Main Street, the height of the thriving, or not so thriving, social life in Allan. We crush over the pine needles until we get to the brick walkway. “Let’s just go to Sally’s,” I say.
Mandy rubs her eyes vigorously.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, my eyes just feel sort of, I don’t know, weird.”
I pull some eye drops from my purse.
Mandy looks to the sky and squeezes the liquid into her eyes. When she hands the drops back, her hazel irises look violet next to the purple stones on her necklace. Light rays can achieve mischievous feats.
“I shouldn’t have slapped her.” She circles her fingers around her wrist and whispers, “But I had to.”
“I know.”
