The Girl of Sand & Fog Page 7

  I glare. “Are you going to tell me who she’s going out with or not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sister stare.

  Damn. I can’t tell if she knows and is keeping her mouth shut or if she really doesn’t know.

  “Fine. Be that way. See if I help you with your homework ever again.”

  Krystal gives me an intense, wide-eyed look. “I really don’t know.”

  The homework threat and nothing from her.

  She’s telling the truth.

  I rise from the bed and head toward the door.

  “Leave Mom alone,” Krystal says quickly. “She’s been really happy this week.”

  Really happy?

  That wasn’t the reaction I expected given what I did to Chrissie with Linda Rowan.

  Damn.

  Something is going on.

  Only one thing ever makes my mother really happy.

  Alan.

  I leave Krystal’s bedroom and go into my own, locking the door behind me. I set down my tote, change into boy-shorts and a t-shirt, and then settle on my bed.

  I pull out my books and binders, arranging them neatly in front of me. I grab my cell and check to see if Zoe texted me. Nothing. Beotch. She better not be doing something stupid with Seth. I’ve got to have a talk with that girl.

  I shut off the phone.

  I reach for my laptop, flip it open and start clicking away. Google search: Alan Manzone. The page fills up with links. I scroll through them. Still on tour. He’s in Eastern Europe.

  I click on a few links.

  Yuck.

  So not the kind of thing a girl wants to see about her father. Even if the dude pretends he’s not my father. Even if my father is still young and good-looking—yep, both my parents are hotties—and they are both single again. According to this my dad’s divorce from number two is fini.

  Good.

  I never liked Shyla.

  Such a bitch.

  She was always rude to us kids whenever she visited with Alan when Jesse was still alive. Not that I blame her. If my man had a daughter he lied about with a woman he still loves and dragged me there with him for warped family time, I’d be rude, too. But still, I’m glad my dad got rid of Shyla finally.

  I click on another link. Oh, definitely a TMI kind of moment. Or should I say too much visual kind of moment? Shuddering, I exit out of the page, and then go on the official Blackpoll website and check the tour schedule.

  Nope.

  No tour breaks until January.

  Whatever Chrissie is happy about it’s not him.

  Jeez, does Mom have a date? Has she decided it’s time to shop for husband number three? It’s been a year since my stepdad’s death, but that’s too weird even for my family.

  I shudder again and slap shut my laptop. I’m about to hit the books when I pull my camera out of the tote.

  I watch the footage from the beach. My brows pucker. This would make an interesting short film. Instead of starting my homework, I upload the video and photos of Bobby and start editing. I flip through the photos, cutting them into the video.

  Two hours later I’ve got a nice little film. I watch it several times then upload it on YouTube. My gaze locks for several minutes on the photo of Bobby I used for the final frame.

  I click and make it my wallpaper.

  God, I love his green eyes. They pop from his tanned face. He is really good-looking. He’s got such an intense face that seems to say whatever the shit is I’m above it and somehow he doesn’t look jerk-like.

  He’s superior and cool and not jerk-like.

  I slap my laptop closed and set it on the floor. Crap, I should have probably ask Bobby if it was OK to put the surf clip on YouTube, but I’m not feeling generous toward him right now.

  He’s got such a hot body.

  He sure can kiss.

  And, fuck, he ditched me today for Caroline.

  CHAPTER 7

  I pull into my usual parking spot at school and wait. Crap, I’m too early again. There are only a few cars here and the only person I see walking around is the janitor. I should have left the house at a reasonable hour. Hell, I should have skipped today.

  I open Zoe’s text from first thing this morning and read it again.

  Zoe: WTF did you do yesterday? Bobby is pissed. We’re hitting the gym and then I’m driving to school with him. Heads up.

  My palms begin to sweat as I hold on tightly to the steering wheel. The only thing I did yesterday was the YouTube video. Why would he be pissed about that?

  I’m annoyed that I’m worried. Annoyed that it matters. And doubly annoyed that I hightailed it out of the house to get this over with first thing rather than have it drag through the day waiting for me.

  It was just a freaking video. Straight up surf footage. It wasn’t like my Kaley’s World videos where I make fun of just about everyone in my life. Faculty. Students. Whoever.

  No harm, no foul.

  He shouldn’t be pissed.

  Not like that Starbucks barista I covertly filmed, cutting the footage in with my demented burned Barbies on strings who host my mock shock talk show. I called that episode of Kaley’s World “How to Train Your Barista.”

  Yep, it’s a classic. Over fifty thousand views. That’ll teach that girl not to be rude to customers after sloshing coffee all over their arm. Really, how hard is it to remember to put the green tab in the drinking slit before handing it out the drive-thru window?

  It’s not like I did that to Bobby.

  Why is he pissed?

  Cars start to arrive and I search the parking lot, committed to cutting Bobby off at the pass before he can pounce on me. Throw him off his game.

  No hiding for this girl.

  The best defense is a strong offense.

  Crap, I’m waylaying him first.

  I search and search and search and don’t see him. For all I know he’s parked next to me. I can’t believe I don’t know what kind of car he drives. Or his class schedule. Or who he hangs out with at school.

  Sure, we just reconnected two days ago, but I could have gotten all that stuff from the Pacific Palisades loop. Spied on him the way everyone else spies on each other here.

  It would have been useful today.

  What the hell kind of car does he drive?

  My passenger door opens. I jump as I see Bobby sliding into the seat beside me.

  “Hey,” is all he says as he shuts the door behind him.

  I turn my body to face him. “Did I say you could climb into my car?”

  “No, but then again I didn’t ask.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  He looks amused—and angry with me.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing, Kaley.”

  I shrug. “I don’t have any problems other than uninvited people in my car this morning.”

  I glance over my shoulder and see Zoe waiting outside by the trunk, no doubt listening to every word.

  “Why did you cut out on me yesterday?” he asks. “I went for a food run, got back to the beach and you were gone. Not cool, Kaley. You don’t just cut out on someone that way.”

  What?

  My cheeks flush.

  “I didn’t cut out on anyone. I had to go home. It had nothing to do with you, Bobby.”

  “You should have told me you weren’t sticking around. Exactly when did you decide you had to leave?”

  I arch a brow. “About the time you took off with Beach Barbie Bimbo.”

  Oh fuck, I didn’t intend to say that. My face is now burning.

  He stares at me. “Caroline? Are you kidding me? You took off because I went on a food run with her?”

  That makes me sound—possessive? Irrational? Crazy?—nope, don’t want to try to put a definition to that.

  I stare at him coolly, crossing my arms in front of me.

  “Rude, Bobby. Really rude to go off with her in front of me. I’ve already told you. I’m not into the fucked-up games of the male po
pulation. Nice knowing you. Can you get out of my car now?”

  Our gazes lock in silent battle.

  He leans his head back against the passenger window, closes his eyes and groans. “Fuck, you’re a frustrating girl. I invite you to the beach. You don’t answer my call. You just show up. I think it’s all good. Then you take off on me, leaving me staring at an empty towel and holding an extra meal. Are you thoughtless or do you just get off making people look like idiots?”

  My eyes fly wide.

  Invite me to the beach?

  Before I can say anything, he starts back in on me again. “I don’t know why I even bother trying to start something with you.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You’re like a porcupine. All needles. Ready to strike and ask questions later. And just when I decide you are not worth the trouble to get to know you do something cool like that video.” His eyes open. The expression in them makes my heart shimmy. “It was really incredible work. Fuck, you’re one hell of a filmmaker.”

  My breath hitches, my thoughts and emotions racing off in a hundred directions. “I am not a porcupine,” I counter pointedly. “I don’t strike at anyone. And you did not call me.”

  He leans in to me and holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  He’s sitting too close now—pinning me with his eyes—so that I feel surrounded by him and everything inside me sharply readjusts. His hair is damp, and he has that smell of having showered at the gym after a workout. I don’t know what it is about gym soap but it smells so good. At least is does mixed with Bobby.

  We both just stare at each other for several seconds, and out of nowhere I remember what it feels like to be pressed up against him. I want to kiss him, like that, out of nowhere.

  I turn my face away and stare through the windshield. “No. This is stupid. I’m not giving you my phone. I’m not letting you look at my private shit.”

  “Then check it later if it makes you feel better not to have me see you be wrong,” he says challengingly.

  “I’m not wrong,” I snap hotly.

  He shake his head at me. “If you want to be my girlfriend start acting like it.”

  What?

  I raise an eyebrow to match his expression. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  He studies me for a second, then shakes his head again. “I asked you to hang out with me.”

  “So?”

  His gaze narrows like he’s trying to figure out if I’m being a bitch or stupid.

  “Christ, don’t you know anything about anything?” he asks, exasperated.

  The color is moving down my face to my throat. “No. Apparently I don’t. Enlighten me.”

  I widen my eyes because he’s widened his, and square off with him with my gaze this time.

  I watch as Bobby inhales a slow breath, then looks directly at me. He looks really annoyed. “I thought you understood. I don’t date. I don’t hook up. I can’t stand girls who think it’s a turn-on to drop to their knees in the first five minutes and offer me a suck or a fuck. I’m not into the high school social scene. If I like you I ask you to hang out and that’s it. Together. No bullshit. No drama. No games. You said yes when I asked if you wanted to hang out. That makes you my girlfriend.”

  I stare at him, stunned. Is that true?

  Is that how things work in Pacific Palisades?

  Shit.

  I exhale a heavy breath and do my best not to look blown away—and definitely not to look eager to say OK.

  I ease into him until my face is a hair away from his. “Well, pardon me for not knowing your crazy code in the southland. Shit, what’s the code for asking a girl to marry you? I sure don’t want to fuck that one up and end up married to some asshole from Pasadena—”

  Bobby closes the gap between our lips and claims my mouth. He pulls me up against him and my hand tightens around the steering wheel as his tongue darts in to tease me. His fingers run through my hair and his mouth moves away from mine too quickly.

  His lips trail kisses across my cheek and up my jawline. My teeth sink into my lower lip as his breath touches my ear.

  My heart is hammering against my chest as I wait for his next move. I have no idea what comes next. We were arguing. Now he’s kissing me. I’m not sure which direction I want to go with this.

  His hand on my waist moves upward, across my shoulder and slowly makes its way up to my neck. He lifts my hair and then his mouth is flush against the sensitive flesh beneath my ear.

  My eyes drift closed.

  I’m melting into him.

  “You’re really beautiful,” he whispers, moving his lips closer to my mouth. “But that’s not the turn-on. Why I’m interested in you. You’re so fucking hot because—”

  He closes the space between our lips without finishing and this time the way he’s kissing me is more intimate, totally complete even though he’s never kissed me before. Oh, I kissed him, but he’s kissing me and those two experiences are worlds apart.

  For a brief moment, I actually feel like I really am his girlfriend, like I’ve been his girlfriend forever, and like we’ve made out in my car before school a hundred times. That’s how well he knows my body and my mouth and how I want this to be.

  We’re kissing and touching and both straining into each other. The next breath he draws in is deep and I’m wondering if he’s going to push the air into me like they do in the romantic scenes in movies…when I’ve never had a guy do that before in real life.

  The kiss deepens and deepens and everything inside my panties turns into heat. His fingers lightly dance across my breasts and my body on its own pushes more firmly into him. Oh, crap, can he tell I’ve never done any of this before—had a guy kiss me this way and brush my nipple—never, not really?

  You can count the number of times I’ve been kissed on the digits of a hand and, Christ, after this I probably shouldn’t count those other times as having been kissed.

  It was nothing like this…but, fuck, it should have been.

  Bobby slowly stops and pulls back.

  My lids float open.

  “Come on. I’ll walk you to class,” he says.

  That’s it? That’s how he ends this?

  I exhale and pull my key from the ignition. “Don’t bother. I can find my way there by myself. Nice kiss. But I’m still not your girlfriend. No matter what you say.”

  “Have it your way,” he replies calmly.

  He stares at me, and a minute later, climbs from the car, shutting the door behind him.

  I sink down in my seat, stare at the ceiling and let out a frustrated groan.

  Fuck, Kaley. Why did you do that? Why did you blow him off?

  I grab my cell phone, unlock it and quickly check my voice mail. Crap, there is a message from Bobby in there. I really need to start checking my voice mail but, fuck, hardly anyone ever does anything but text anymore.

  I hit the play button. Bobby’s voice floats from the speaker. It makes me smile. Concise. Cool guy this is where you have to be to be with me sort of attitude. But really sweet. Polite when he invites me to the beach, with a variety of options for how to meet up before we go there.

  Cool guy.

  Sweet.

  Totally him.

  Fuck. I shove my phone into my tote and climb from the car. I slam the door, click lock on the remote, and turn toward my trunk.

  Oh crap.

  Not Zoe waiting any longer.

  Bobby.

  I move between the cars, stopping at my bumper.

  We stare at each other.

  I’m not sure what to do next.

  None of this is what I expected, from the moment he climbed into my car to this last thing: him not taking off after I was a total bitch to him and waiting to walk me to class.

  I study his face. “Why am I hot if it’s not because of the way I look? You kissed me before you finished that sentence.”

  He loops an arm around my shoulders.

  We start walking toward campus.

&
nbsp; “Because you let me climb from the car when you didn’t want to. Because you saw me here and you stopped. Because you are not the kind of girl who thinks it’s a turn-on to offer a guy a blow job in the first five minutes. Because you’ve got your own shit going on and some of it is really cool. But most of all because you are not like every other girl.”

  I’m silent until we reach my classroom door.

  I crinkle my nose. “‘Not like every other girl? Is that good or bad?”

  He shakes his head. Kisses me lightly on the lips. And then walks away.

  * * *

  I bounce against the lockers and wait for Zoe to cram all her shit in there.

  She tries to wedge a book into a space clearly not big enough. “Everything OK with you and Bobby?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

  She rolls her eyes. “OK. Don’t tell me what happened in the car this morning. But I guess you two made up. I cut out once you started making out.”

  I give her the stare. “We didn’t make out. He kissed me. That’s all.”

  She struggles to free her brown paper bag from the locker. Duh, she should have taken it out before shoving the books in.

  I change the subject. “What’s up with you and Seth? And why didn’t you text me last night like I asked you to?”

  She slams her locker closed, and then snaps the lock. “Me and Seth? What are you talking about?”

  I arch a brow. “Don’t play coy. You’re not the least bit subtle when you flirt. You really should knock all that flirty shit off. You don’t need it. You’re a really pretty girl. It sends the wrong message. And believe me, you don’t want to send a guy like Seth the wrong message.”

  Her mouth drops. “Are you joking?” She crinkles her nose. “I’m not interested in Seth. I don’t know how you got that idea.”

  “All the loud laughing and hair twirling and hanging on him.”

  She makes a little shudder like her head is going to explode. “As if. I wouldn’t even talk to him if he wasn’t Jake’s best friend.”

  My eyes widen. “Jake? Who’s Jake?”

  We pause at the edge of the quad and she motions with her head toward a table. “There. Sitting next to Bobby.”