“The American Library Association midwinter event,” he said, grinning proudly. “Saw you obsessing over it on your blog before you got sick. I’m pretty sure you said you’d give up your firstborn child to go.”
Yeah, I kind of did say that.
Daemon’s eyes flashed. “Anyway, back to the whole you-wanting-me part.”
I shook my head, dumbfounded.
“You do want me.”
Taking a deep breath, I struggled with my temper…and my amusement. “You are way too confident.”
“I’m confident enough to wager a bet.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He grinned. “I bet that by New Year’s Day, you will have admitted that you’re madly, deeply, and irrevocably—”
“Wow. Want to throw another adverb out there?” My cheeks were burning.
“How about irresistibly?”
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “I’m surprised you know what an adverb is.”
“Stop distracting me, Kitten. Back to my bet—by New Year’s Day, you’ll have admitted that you’re madly, deeply, irrevocably, and irresistibly in love with me.”
Stunned, I choked on my laugh.
“And you dream about me.” He released my arm and folded his across his chest, cocking an eyebrow. “I bet you’ll admit that. Probably even show me your notebook with my name circled in hearts—”
“Oh, for the love of God…”
Daemon winked. “It’s on.”
Spinning around, I grabbed my backpack and hurried through the stacks, leaving Daemon in the cubicle before I did something insane. Like throw common sense aside and run back to tackle him, pretending that everything he’d done and said all those months ago hadn’t left a raw mark on my heart. Because I’d be pretending, right?
I didn’t slow until I was standing in front of my locker on the other side of the school. I reached inside my backpack and pulled out my binder full of art crap. What a hell of a day back. I’d dazed out in half of my classes, made out with Daemon, and blew up another computer. Seriously. I should’ve stayed home.
I reached for the handle on my locker. Before my fingers could touch it, the locker swung open. Gasping, I jumped back, and my art binder fell to the floor.
Oh my God, what just happened?
It couldn’t be… My heart rate went into cardiac arrest territory.
Daemon? He could manipulate objects. Opening a locker door with his mind would be a piece of cake for him, considering he could uproot trees. I looked around the thinning crowds, but I already knew he wasn’t there. I hadn’t felt him through our creepy alien bond. I backed away from the locker.
“Whoa, watch where you’re going,” a teasing voice intruded.
Sucking in a sharp gasp, I whipped around. Simon Cutters stood behind me, clenching a ragged backpack in his meaty fist.
“Sorry,” I croaked, glancing back at the locker. Had he seen that happen? I knelt to pick up my artwork, but he beat me to it. Epic awkwardness ensued as we tried to pick up the papers without touching each other.
Simon handed me a stack of craptastic drawings of flowers. I had no artistic talent. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” I stood, shoving my binder into the locker, ready to flee.
“Wait a sec.” He grabbed my arm. “I wanted to talk to you.”
My eyes dropped to his hand. He had five seconds before my pointy-toed shoe ended up between his legs.
He seemed to sense this, because he dropped his hand and flushed. “I just want to apologize for everything that happened homecoming night. I was drunk and I…I do stupid things when I’m drunk.”
I glared at him. “Then maybe you should stop drinking.”
“Yeah, maybe I should.” He ran his hand over his closely cropped hair. Light reflected off the blue and gold watch around his thick wrist. Something was engraved on the band, but I couldn’t make it out. “Anyway, I just didn’t—”
“Yo, Simon, what are you doing?” Billy Crump, a beady-eyed football player who only seemed to notice my boobs when he looked in my direction, sidled up next to Simon. He was closely followed by a rabid pack of teammates. Billy grinned as his gaze zeroed in on me. “Hey…what do we have here?”
Simon opened his mouth, but one of the guys beat him to it. “Let me guess. She’s trying to get on your jock again?”
Several guys chuckled and elbowed one another.
I blinked at Simon. “Excuse me?”
The tips of Simon’s cheeks turned ruddy as Billy lurched forward, dropping his arm over my shoulder. The scent of his cologne nearly knocked me out. “Look, babe, Simon ain’t interested in you.”
One of the guys laughed. “Like my mama always said, why buy the cow when the milk’s for free?”
A slow rush of fury inched through my veins. What the hell was Simon telling these douchebags? I shrugged out from underneath Billy’s arm. “This milk isn’t for free and wasn’t even for sale.”
“That’s not what we hear.” Billy fist-pumped a red-faced Simon. “Isn’t that right, Cutters?”
All of Simon’s friends’ eyes were on him. He choked out a laugh and stepped back, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah, man, but not interested in a second glass. I was trying to tell her that, but she wouldn’t listen.”
My mouth dropped. “You lying son of a—”
“What’s going on down there?” Coach Vincent called from the end of the hallway. “Shouldn’t you boys be in class by now?”
Laughing, the guys broke apart and headed down the hall. One of them spun around, motioning a “call me” hand signal while another made a rather obscene gesture with his mouth and hand.
I wanted to slam my fist into something. But Simon wasn’t my biggest problem. I faced my locker again, wincing as my stomach dropped to my toes. It had opened by itself.
Chapter 4
Mom was gone, already having started her shift in Winchester earlier that day. I’d been hoping she’d be home so I could chat with her for a little while and forget about the whole locker incident, but I’d forgotten it was Wednesday—also known as Fend For Yourself Day.
A dull ache had taken up residency behind my eyes, like I strained something, but I wasn’t sure if that were possible. It had started after the whole locker incident and didn’t show signs of stopping.
I threw a load of clothes into the dryer before realizing there were no dryer sheets. Fail. Going to the linen closet, I rummaged around, hoping to find something. Giving up, I decided that the only thing that was going to make today better was the sweet tea I’d seen in the fridge that morning.
Glass shattered.
I jumped at the sound and then hurried to the kitchen, thinking someone had broken the window from outside, but it wasn’t like we had a lot of visitors out here unless it was a Department Of Defense officer bum rushing the house. At that thought, my heart tripped up a little as my gaze went to the counter below an opened cupboard. One of the tall, frosted glasses was in three large pieces on the counter.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Frowning, I looked around, unable to figure out the source of the noise. Broken glass and water dripping… Then it struck me. My pulse sped up as I opened up the fridge.
The jug of tea was on its side. Lid off. Brown liquid ran across the shelf, spilling down the sides. I glanced at the counter. I’d wanted tea, which requires a glass and, well, tea.
“No way,” I whispered, backing up. There was no way the act of wanting tea had somehow caused this.
But what other explanation could there be? It wasn’t like there was an alien hiding under the table, moving crap around for fun.
I checked just to be sure.
This was the second time in one day that something had moved on its own. Two coincidences?
Numb inside, I grabbed a towel and cleaned up the mess. The whole time I was thinking about the locker door. It had opened before I reached it. But it couldn’t be me. Aliens had the power to do that kind of stuff. I didn’t. Maybe there had been a minor earthquake or something—a minor earthquake that only targeted glasses and tea? Doubtful.
Weirded out to the max, I grabbed a book off the back of the couch and sprawled out. I needed a serious distraction.
Mom hated that there were books everywhere. They weren’t really everywhere. Just wherever I was, like the couch, recliner, kitchen counters, laundry room, and even the bathroom. It wouldn’t be like that if she caved and installed a wall-to-ceiling bookcase.
But no matter how I tried to get into the book I was reading, it wasn’t working. Half of it was the book. It had insta-love, the bane of my existence. Girl sees boy and falls in love. Immediately. Soul mate, breath stealing, toes curling, love after one conversation. Boy pushes girl away for some paranormal reason or another. Girl still loves boy. Boy finally admits love.
Who was I kidding? I sort of loved all that angst. It wasn’t the book. It was me. I couldn’t clear my head and fully immerse myself in the characters. I grabbed a bookmark off the coffee table and shoved it in the book. Dog-eared pages were Antichrist of book lovers everywhere.
Ignoring what was happening wasn’t working. It just wasn’t in me to run from my troubles like this. Besides, if I was honest with myself, I knew I was more than a little freaked out by what was happening. What if I was imagining I was moving things? The fever could’ve killed off a few brain cells. I dragged in air so fast my head swam. Could a person get schizophrenia from being sick?
Now that just sounded stupid.
Sitting up, I pressed my head to my knees. I was fine. What was happening… There had to be a logical explanation for it. I hadn’t closed the locker door all the way and Simon’s lumbering steps had jarred it open. And the glass—left on the edge. And there was a good chance that Mom had left the cap on the tea loose. She was always doing stuff like that.
I took several more deep breaths. I was okay. Logical explanations made the world go around. The only fault in that line of thought was the fact I lived next door to aliens, and that was so not logical.
Pushing off the couch, I checked the window to see if Dee’s car was out front. Pulling on my hoodie, I headed next door.
Dee immediately pulled me into the kitchen. There was a sweet, burned smell.
“I’m glad you came over. I was just about to come get you,” she said, dropping my arm and rushing over to the counter. There were several pots scattered across the countertop.
“What are you doing?” I peered over her shoulder. One of the pots looked like it was filled with tar. “Ew.”
Dee sighed. “I was trying to melt chocolate.”
“With your microwave hands?”
“It’s an epic fail.” She poked at the gunk with a spatula. “I can’t get the temp right.”
“Then why don’t you just use the stove?”
“Pfft, I loathe the stove.” Dee pulled the spatula up. Half of it had melted. “Whoops.”
“Nice.” I shuffled over to the table.
With a wave of her hand, the pots flew to the sink. The tap turned on. “I’m getting better at this.” She grabbed some dish soap. “What were you and Daemon doing at lunch?”