The Bad Boy's Dance (20 page)

              Silence ensued. I knew Asher had picked up on my omission of exactly what had landed me in the hospital, but he didn’t comment.

              “Want a Pop Tart?” I suggested, forcing some cheerfulness into my tone. “Because I want one.”

              Climbing off the couch, I walked into kitchen and extracted a few Pop Tarts. The silence was getting to be too much. As much as Asher and I fought, it had never felt this tense with us. I was getting worried. Why didn’t he say anything?

              I didn’t realize until I turned around and almost rammed into him that he’d followed me into the kitchen. “Pop tart?” I offered again.

              He snatched the plate from my hands and set it on the counter. “Is this how you deal with something painful? You ignore it?”

              I frowned in contemplation, then shrugged. “Pretty much.”

              He retreated a few steps and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s cowardly.”

              And just like that, I was ticked. Generally, I was a very mellow person, but Asher had the unique ability to incense me like no one else. “What do you expect me to do? Embrace it? I’ve had plenty of time to deal with it. I’m perfectly fine.”

              He studied me as I stomped to the plate of Pop Tarts and stuffed one in my mouth.

              “Is he the reason you stopped dancing?”

              I halted mid-chew. It was smart of him to connect the dots, but I forgot who I was talking to. “It was my decision.”

              “That he influenced.”

              “No,” I said stubbornly. “It was my decision. I didn’t want people to see the mosaic of marks on me, anyway.”

              “That’s such a load of horse shit, angel,” Asher said softly. But instead of pursing the issue, he dropped it.

              “That’s why you hate having attention on you,” he murmured to himself, and I knew he was remembering my hurried exit from the lunch room the day he punched Tristan.

              The sound of keys jangling startled both of us. The front door opened, and Dad bellowed, “Ivy, we’re home!”

              “Keep your voice down, Victor! Jodi’s asleep, remember?” Mom snapped.

              I locked eyes with Asher. This was bad, very bad. They were coming closer, and there were no exits from the kitchen. The one window was too small to fit his frame. Cue major wig-out fest.

              Asher started opening cupboards to see if he could squeeze into them, but my quaint little kitchen was not equipped to hide a tall, muscle- bound teenager.

              It wasn’t bad enough they were going to catch me with a boy, they were going to catch me with
Asher.
His reputation would instantly put my parents on red-alert, and his appearance would freak out my brothers. Leather jacket, black jeans, white V-neck, and thick locks of dark hair, Asher was not exactly a preppy trust-fund baby.

              Resigned, I motioned for Asher to come stand next to me. I at least hoped he wouldn’t talk and freak my parents out even more. Mom was the first to appear in the doorway. “Ivy, have you seen-”

              Her expression was almost comical when she caught sight of Asher. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes were in danger of splattering on the floor.

              Dad was the next to enter the doorway, and he gaped. My trepidation grew as Spencer showed, because that meant that only one family member remained. The only one I was really worried about.

              Spencer just rolled his eyes and snatched one of my Pop Tarts. Apparently having exposure to Asher made it easier to deal with this awkwardness.

              The last one to appear, and subsequently shove himself to the front, was Paul.

              He stared at Asher with outright hostility. The rest of my family merely looked curious, like he was an interesting science project, but Paul looked like he was going to shred him apart.

              Asher prodded me. Oh, yeah. “Um, guys, this is Asher. He’s my dance partner.”

              “Your dance partner? But-” Dad started.

              “Yeah, yeah, we all know you guys expected a chick. As you can see, he’s not,” Spencer interjected. I shot him a glare. If he dared mention how he’d found us in the middle of nowhere, I was
so
telling Mom the true origins of the demise of the china cabinet.

              “Asher Grayson, sir,” Asher said politely, stretching a hand forward. Dad, after a second of hesitation, accepted it.

              “Ma’am,” he lifted Mom’s hand to his lips, and I could see Mom’s anxiety melting into goo from Asher’s charm. That sly little weasel.

              “Wait, Grayson? Are you Hayden Grayson’s son?” Dad asked.

              I saw Asher’s Adam’s apple bob, the only indication that the question made him uncomfortable. “Yes.”             

              “Isn’t he the man who-” Dad started, but Mom elbowed him.

              “Would you like to move this to the living room?” Mom said, flurried. In her mind, the house was in shambles and we hadn’t stuffed Asher’s face with enough food to feed a small country, therefore we were terrible hosts.

              Hey, I offered him a Pop Tart.

              “Isn’t anyone going to ask what he’s doing in our house alone with Ivy?”

              Paul was radiating hostility, and all of it was aimed at Asher.

              “Paul. Don’t,” I ordered, and we glared at each other for a minute. “Asher, why don’t you go into the living room with my parents.”

              Gaze darting between me and my older brother, Asher was enveloped by my parents and herded into the living room.

              “What is wrong with you?” I hissed. “You’re acting like a complete jerk!”

              “Me? Are you joking right now? Do you have any idea who that is?” Paul’s anger was so great, he seemed unable to speak in anything but questions.

              “Yes, I do. He’s my dance partner who you just probably offended.”

              “Ivy, that guy is practically a criminal! Do you really expect me to let you be around him? He was arrested twelve times within a year! Not to mention his father.”

              I pointed a finger at my brother. “I’m not getting married to him, Paul! We were hanging out, and last time I checked, it’s not within your right to ‘let me’ do anything!”

              “Can you guys keep it down? Canada’s trying to get some sleep,” Spencer drawled, going over to rummage in the fridge.

              “Aren’t you at all alarmed by this?” Paul asked Spencer, frustrated.

              Spencer extracted a glazed donut and licked the sugar. I really had no idea how he managed to stay in shape when he ate like a starving sumo wrestler.

              “No, not really. I mean sure, last time I met him he annoyed me, but I don’t get a bad vibe from him or anything. If you’d remove your head from your ass for a few seconds, you might see that too,” Spencer answered, and then paused.

              “Oops,” he muttered.

              “You’ve met him before?!” Paul bellowed.

              “Enough!” I shouted before Spencer could make the situation even worse. “Stop it, Paul! The only person upsetting me right now is
you
!”

              Storming past, I evaded his arm when he tried to grab me. Asher was wedged between my parents, and if I wasn’t in such a bad mood, I would have laughed at the trapped look on his face.

              “Mom, Dad, Asher needs to head home. I’ll let him out, okay?” I said, gesturing for Asher to stand. He did, practically flying to my side.

              “It was truly a pleasure meeting you both,” he said smoothly, shaking (or kissing, in my Mom’s case) their hands once more.

              When we were on the porch, and I’d checked that the curtains were closed and we were out of range of the peephole, I let myself relax.

              “Sorry about that,” I apologized. “I warned you it wasn’t a good idea to come to my house.”

              He shrugged. “It’s understandable. And I guess we’re even, after my mother’s performance at breakfast. Your brother, though…” he trailed off. He didn’t need to elaborate. I knew exactly which brother he was referring to.

              “Paul’s really protective,” I sighed. “He’s a terrific guy, but he’s got issues when it comes to me.”

              “Spencer doesn’t seem as, uh, tense.”

              “Paul was the one who helped me through my recovery. He had to suffer my nightmares, my panic attacks, my fits of rage. He’s not receptive to guys near me,” I clarified, my chest tightening at the lingering guilt I felt when it came to what Paul had gone through for me.

              I should apologize. He was just trying to watch out for me.

              “Understandable,” Asher repeated softly. We shifted, and I knew that new lines had been drawn in our relationship. We each knew things about each other, private things. Sure, I hadn’t told him the full story, and he hadn’t told me everything, but it was enough.

              “I guess I’ll be heading home,” Asher lips quirked in a smile. “It’s been a very…interesting few days. Can’t say you don’t keep me on my toes, Robello.”

              Oh geez. He had to make at least one remark about my drunken fiesta last night. “It’s not car chases and guns, but I try,” I rebuffed.

              He tilted his head and mouthed ‘Touché’ as he started walking backward. The agile SOB didn’t so much as stumble until he reached his car.

              Winking at me, he disappeared into the driver’s seat, revved the engine, and drove off.

              A few minutes later, while I was still staring after the vehicle, Spencer materialized besides me.

              “No one can say the dude doesn’t have class,” he commented, chewing on what I assumed was his fifth donut.

              “That’s the scary thing,” I muttered, heading back to my house.

              My parents were already in bed, but I knew I hadn’t escaped trial yet. Paul, according to Spencer, had driven off to see a few of his friends and cool off. I shoved the guilt down and vowed to speak to him the minute he came home.

              I melted into the mattress, exhausted and faintly smelly.

             
Note to self- take a mothereffing shower.

Chapter Nineteen

            Horny & The Beast

A shrill noise in my ear sent me rolling off the bed. I landed with a thump onto the ground, tangled like a pretzel in my covers. Groaning, I checked the clock. Why was I waking up this early?

              Oh, right. I need to apologize.

It was Dana’s week to pick us all up for school. That would give me enough time to apologize to Paul. I hadn’t been able to track him down on Sunday, and my best chance was to find him before I went to school.

I staggered blearily into the bathroom. Quickly brushing my teeth and splashing some cold water on my face, I hurried to my closet and slid into a pair of pink yoga pants and a black pull-over.

I’d forgotten to wrap my hair in a bun last night, so it had naturally curled. Glancing at my watch, I hastily pulled it into a ponytail. Not my customary bun, but it wasn’t that big a deal, right?

My cell phone beeped with a text from Dana.

Dana:
I’m outside. U ready?

Me:
I’m gonna talk to Paul first, remember?

Dana:
Oh yeah, u need me 2 come w/?

Me:
Sure

Please. What a bunch of hogwash. She wanted to come up see Paul herself; she’d had a massive crush on him since freshman year. Dana was generous with her affections, being the hardcore romantic that she was. Knowing my time was limited, I yanked on my sneakers and padded down the hall to Paul’s room.

I hesitated outside his door. What if he didn’t want to talk to me? What if he ignored me? I couldn’t take disdain from Paul, anyone but him.

Suck it up! This is Paul we’re talking about; he’d never intentionally hurt you. Put your big-girl diapers on, march in there, and do what you gotta do!

Reinvigorated, I threw open the door, puffed up like a canary with the words I would say to my older brother.

Instead, I stood there, shocked, before I managed a shriek of utter disgust.

I’d found an older brother, all right.

Spencer shouted and tugged the covers up to hide his dangly bits. A pretty red-headed girl blinked at me in confusion, not bothering to hide anything.

“Spencer? Who’s this?” she asked in a girly, high-pitched voice.