REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (20 page)

He walks in with a six-pack of beer and takes the pizza box, heading over to the futon.

“Don’t sit there!” I shriek, dropping the hammer on my big toe.
 
“Ow, motherfudge … !”

He freezes halfway squatted down.
 
“Why?”
 
He’s frowning at me.

“The sperm.”
 
I bounce around on one foot, holding my bruised toe in my hand while I wince and grunt through the pain.

He stands straight immediately.

Putting my foot down, I take two limping steps in his direction.
 
“I mean … ha ha … not
sperm
.
 
Did I say sperm?
 
I meant … worms.
 
Yeah, worms.
 
I saw a worm on it the other day, so I don’t want to use it until I fumigate it.
 
De-worm it.”

He blinks at me.
 
Just three movements of his eyelids up and down and I’m full-on confessing again.

I lace my fingers and put them on top of my head, breathing through the pain.
 
“I got the futon from a guy I went to school with and he’s a total d-bag chick-user, so I just assumed that the thing has all kinds of … you know … residue from his life on it.”
 
My hands fall to my sides. So much for being slick.
 
I totally hate myself right now.

“Why’d you take it?”

“Because, number one I was desperate, and number two I didn’t think of the residue problem until my friend Quin mentioned it.”
 
I gesture lamely to the mattress.
 
“I put plastic bags down on it, but they make me sweat and they slide all over the place.”
 
Even better.
 
Tell him how you get all sweaty while you sleep.
 
That’s attractive.
 
I’d bet a box of doughnuts that blonde doesn’t sweat ever.

Rebel puts the pizza back on the sink and the beer on the ground and walks over to a cardboard box.
 
Pulling it apart until it’s flat, he lays it out on the carpet.
 
“Sit.”
 
He gestures towards it as he reaches over and grabs the pizza and drinks.

I walk over and sit down across from him on the box.
 
The pizza and beer go in the middle.
 
I’m nervous, but I’m still able to manage a smile.
 
“Picnic.”
 
I don’t exactly know why he’s here, but I’m not going to look cross-eyed at a free pizza and drinks too.

He separates a slice of the pie and hands it to me.
 
“Eat up before it gets cold.”

I dive into my piece and roll my eyes heavenward at the chewy cheese and garlicky sauce.
 
“Yum.
 
Delicioso.”

“Dino’s.
 
Up the street,” he says between bites.

“I recognize the boxes,” I say, tipping the top closed.
 
“You had quite the collection at the shop.”
 
I take another bite and chew away happily.
 
This could be the best pizza I’ve ever had in my life.
 
No wonder they eat so much of it.

Rebel leans over and I freeze.
 
His thumb comes up and slides across my bottom lip, wiping a blob of sauce off.
 
I nearly have a heart attack when he sticks it in his mouth next.
 
But he goes right back to eating his pizza like he didn’t just rock my world.

Every chew he makes bulges out the sides of his jaw and emphasizes his strong, harsh features.
 
I’m melting in his presence and all we’re doing is eating pizza.
 
My ears are on fire.
 
I’m in so much trouble.

I tap into my massive willpower to keep myself from wiping the sweat off my brow, and make an attempt at casual conversation.
 
“So,” I say, clearing my throat to get the frog out of it, “big plans for tonight?”

He shakes his head, staring at me the whole time.

“Don’t you ever go out?”

“No.”

“Why not?
 
Too tired working two jobs?
 
How come you work at the club, anyway?
 
Aren’t you making enough money at the shop?” I know it’s a personal question, but I have to get my mind off his mouth and his hands and visions of him going out on a date with that girl.
 
Hopefully this distraction will do the trick. Dolph Lundgren has nothing on this man; my former crush is dog meat, the scum in my shower.
 
Rebel is the real deal.

Do not stare at his dick.
 
Look away.
 
Look away!
 
My gaze flicks away from the danger zone and up to the ceiling before settling down to focus on my pizza.

“No.
 
Not too tired.
 
I work at the club to help out a friend once in a while.
 
It’s no big deal.
 
Money doesn’t matter much to me.”

“You’re a nice friend.”
 
After the words leave my mouth I realize that it’s completely true.
 
He’s turned into my friend in a way.
 
I didn’t really ask for it, but I got it anyway, and I’m not unhappy about it.
 
In fact, I’m feeling kind of lucky right now.
 
If I can’t be enjoying sexy time with Dolph Lundgren’s superior who also happens to be my boss, at least I can be his buddy.
 
That’s way better, anyway.
 
Friends stick around a lot longer than guys who get too close, and besides … he already has a girlfriend.

I smile when I realize that for the first time in several days, life does not completely suck.
 
For the first time, I’m breathing easy in his company too.

“Thanks, by the way.
 
For helping me out.”
 
I glance down at the box.
 
“For the pizza.
 
The shower.
 
The hot sexy jumpsuit.”

“Friend,” he says.

I wait for him to finish what he’s going to say, but I wait in vain.
 
I guess that was the whole thought.

“Friend.” I repeat, thinking I can spark more of a conversation by repeating his words.

“That’s what I am.”

“Well, technically, I guess you’re my boss.
 
But you’re doing a lot more than a boss normally does, I think, so yeah.
 
Friend.
 
You’re my friend.” I rush to finish my thought, worried I’ve assumed too much.
 
“If you want to be.”
 
My heart is going annoyingly fast again.
 
I get the feeling that I’m playing some kind of game, but I don’t know the rules or how to tell if I’m winning or losing.
 
I take a big chug of beer and let out a burp that was supposed to be a lot quieter.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

I’m not expecting this question, so I hesitate in answering.

“Or don’t tell me.”
 
He drains half a bottle of beer in one long group of swallows, and I get a little distracted watching his mouth do its thing.
 
Catching a glimpse of his tongue makes me almost gasp out loud.

Holy shit.
 
My chest and stomach are burning with lust.
 
Think unsexy thoughts!
 
Stella!
 
Armfat!
 
Golden-toothed pawn shop employees!
 
Phew.
 
That was close.

I shake my head and blink really hard a few times to get my brain back on track.
 
“No, it’s not a secret.
 
I’m … uh … from a town called Sunol near Silicon Valley.
 
I lived up in the hills in kind of an isolated area.”
 
There.
 
That took care of it.
 
Think about that place and those people and that’ll get rid of every sexy thought you could ever hope to have.

“You’ve got family there?”

“Not anymore.”

He lifts an eyebrow but says nothing.
 
It makes me feel compelled to explain.

“My step-mother lives there.
 
My father died last week.”

He puts his pizza down and looks at me for a few seconds.
 
Then he leans over and pushes on my knee a couple times.
 
“Sorry.
 
That sucks.”

“Yeah.”
 
I nod my head, not trusting myself to say any more on the subject.

“You get along with her?
 
His wife?”

I shake my head.

“She just left you here, didn’t she?”

I look at the ceiling, willing the tears not to come.
 
They’re threatening though, so I drop my pizza, get up, and go into the bathroom.
 
I run the water and wash my hands for a few seconds until I don’t feel like crying anymore.
 
When I come out, he’s put the pizza box off to the side and he’s working on his third beer.

“Sorry about that,” I say.
 
“I still lose it a little when I think about that stuff.”

“Understandable.”

I sit down across from him and crack open another beer.
 
I’m starting to feel the first one and I’m looking forward to feeling more from the second.
 
Or less, depending on how you look at it.
 
I’m starting to not care what I say or how I say it, and that’s a good thing as far as I’m concerned.

“How long’ve you been in LA?” he asks.

I take another swig of beer.
 
“Almost four years.
 
College.”

He nods.

“How about you?” I ask.

“Been in LA all my life.”

“You must know a lot of people.”
 
I remember Mick saying something like that.
 
I wonder what kind of people they are.
 
If they’re anything like that blonde woman, they’re no one I’d ever hang out with.

He shrugs.

“Tell me about your girlfriend.”
 
My face heats up as I realize what I’ve just said.
 
Very cool.
 
So smooth.
 
Well done, cat-pee.

“What girlfriend?”

“The girl at the club door.
 
At your second job.
 
The blonde.”
 
I’m holding my breath, waiting for the crushing pain of reality to bulldoze me.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Joy fills my heart and soul, warming me to my bones. He’s probably understating their situation, considering how she was practically peeing on him to establish her territory, but his explanation is good enough for me. I’m not going to press for details and make him regret saying it to me, either.
 
A change of subject is definitely in order.

“Tell me about your brothers.”

He doesn’t answer right away.
 
It appears as if he’s lost in thought, and I’m beginning to think he’s just not going to respond at all when he finally starts talking.

“Mick was just a baby when he got into the system.
 
I was already with Emily when he showed up.
 
So was Colin.
 
First the State took Colin, and then later Mick.
 
He was scrawny and sick.
 
His parents were meth addicts.
 
He’d been exposed.”

“Exposed?”

“They had a lab.
 
When he was taken in, he was under the influence.
 
Had to detox.”

“Oh. God. That’s … horrible.” I’m picturing little Geneva being wasted on a drug I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, and I cannot imagine the kind of people who would let that happen.
 
I’ve lived a very sheltered life, and I’m totally okay with that in this moment.

“Yeah.
 
But he bounced back.
 
He’s tough.
 
Always has been.”

“Why do people call him hellion?”

“Because he likes to party.”

“Party in what way?”

“Drink mostly.
 
Dance. Play around.”

“With girls or something else?”

“Girls.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? Him drinking and partying when his parents were addicts?”

“He knows what he’s doing.”

“And what about Colin?”
 
I finish my second beer and reach for the third.
 
Rebel leans over and twists it open for me.
 
My heart flutters with the intimacy of the act, and then I feel stupid for thinking that it was anything but just politeness on his part.

“Colin’s trouble, just like I said.”

“But how long have you known him?”

Rebel shrugs.
 
“Ten years.
 
Maybe longer.”

“Why is he so much trouble?”

“Bad past, like the rest of us, I guess.”

“But you’re not trouble.” I start to smile, but the serious expression on his face stops me.

“Don’t kid yourself.”

A thrilling shiver runs up my spine.
 
“I’m sure that’s supposed to scare me off, but it’s not working.”
 
The minute the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Not because they aren’t the truth, but because I know how suggestive they sound. He’s way more man than I can handle; I know this.
 
I can feel it.
 
But does that stop me from laying my shit all out there?
 
Hell no, it doesn’t.
 
I think maybe I’m the one who needs the Trouble nickname, not Colin.

“Don’t let the calm exterior fool you.”
 
He reaches over to take my beer from me, but I pull it just out of his reach and he leans back again, rebuffed.