Turning Home (A Small Town Novel) Page 2

  “Stacy,” I said to the girl next to me.

  “It’s Michelle,” she huffed.

  “Whatever,” I mumbled. “Go mingle. I’m busy.” My eyes cut to Brooke’s, and Michelle turned to see who I was looking at and snorted.

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Dylan. Everyone knows Roseville’s princess is a goody-two-shoes.”

  I kept my eyes locked on Brooke’s, noticing the tightness in her jaw. She broke eye contact with me and pretended to study the crowd. I knew more than anything she was itching to run out the door on the other side of the room.

  “I’m about to test that theory,” I said, bringing my eyes to Michelle’s bloodshot ones. “Run along.”

  “I am so sick of you being an asshole to me, Dylan,” Michelle started. “Don’t come sniffing in my direction when she doesn’t put out.”

  Michelle walk away, and I watched her tiny ass shaking as she disappeared through the pack of people. Her threats were as empty as her soul. I knew I’d be between her legs by the end of the night, just like every other time I needed a quick fix. Because the thing Michelle Baker hated, more than the way I treated her, was the feeling of rejection. Girls with Daddy issues were the crème de la crème—always ready to put out just to feel wanted. It was pathetic, but then, so was I.

  “Should we get started?” I said, winking at Brooke.

  “It looks like one of my opinions of you was just confirmed,” she said, crossing her arms.

  I leaned in, placing a hand on her hip and whispered next to her ear, “People know who they get when they’re with me. I don’t work under false pretenses, Princess.” I inhaled the scent of her hair, something floral that caused my dick to twitch. I wondered if she tasted as good as she smelled. Her innocence dripped off her like honey from a beehive, ready to be harvested.

  Her body tensed, and she turned her head slightly to the side so that her lips were next to my cheek. “I’ll remember that.” She took a step back and my hand fell away from her body.

  My eyes fell to the ‘V’ in her expensive shirt. “Don’t worry, I’ll remind you.” We locked eyes, and I lost myself for a moment. This chick was unlike any other I had dealt with. There was a fire hiding behind her eyes, yearning to break free of her pampered prison. As soon as I had seen it, I knew I wanted to be the one to release her. I cleared my throat, looking away first. I needed to get my shit straight and not let those baby blues and soft curves distract me.

  “Ready for the first test?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  I laughed softly at her gumption. “Okay, let the test begin.” I lined up two shot glasses on the counter. From the fridge, I grabbed a lime and picked up the saltshaker from the stove. Brooke’s eyes widened when I set the stuff next to the glasses.

  “Ever do tequila shots?” I asked, taking a knife from the drawer. “What am I saying, of course you haven’t.”

  “Right,” she snapped, “because you know me so well.”

  “I do,” I told her with certainty. “Allow me to introduce you to yourself this week.”

  “Week?”

  I nodded, cutting the lime into slices. “Did you think I could come to a logical conclusion in one night? Determining ones personality takes careful study.”

  She laughed for a moment before she smothered it with a cough, steeling her features. Her eyes shot around the room nervously.

  “Don’t worry, nobody here is going to run and tell Mama and Daddy Kingsley that you’re slumming it with a Crawford.”

  An annoyed huff fell from her lips. “That’s not what I was worried about.”

  “Then what were you worried about?” I asked. “Liking what you may find out about yourself?”

  “I wasn’t worried about anything. The test can’t be a week because I’m leaving for school in three days, and I have things to do to get ready. So whatever conclusion you’re going to come to needs to happen tonight. It’s all you’ll get.”

  “Well then,” I said, filling the two shot glasses with tequila. “We better make it count.” I sent her a sideways glance and smiled.

  What in the world was I doing entertaining Dylan Crawford’s crazy ideas? When it came to this boy, my common sense evaporated. Seeing how he treated that Michelle girl should have been the first and only warning I needed to stay away from him. Maybe it was the knowledge that in three days I would be gone and not have to think about him anymore. My sick little obsession with Dylan was just that—an obsession. Obviously, the pressures of college, James, and my parents were driving me to do crazy things. As soon as he had suggested the test, something inside of me awakened for the thrill only a boy like him could offer to a girl like me. I had fantasized about Dylan for the last three years, and this was my last shot to act on those feelings before college and my life started. After this week, I would never see him again.

  “Should I go first?” Dylan asked, holding up the saltshaker. A small crowd had gathered around the kitchen island. Their eyes landed on me with incredulity.

  “Sure, but I don’t see how doing a shot is going to prove anything. I’ve done shots before.”

  Dylan moved toward me and reached a hand up to sweep my hair to the side. His eyes met mine, and I held my breath. What was it about him that made me do that? No one had ever put me on edge the way he did. When he looked at me, it felt as though he was seeing a completely different girl than the rest of the world saw. I never knew what feeling exposed felt like, until his eyes were on me. I wasn’t sure if I should be excited or afraid. Dylan had the capability to see through the mask that hid my secrets.

  “Tequila shots are a little more … intimate than regular shots. You ready?” He held the lime slice up to my mouth, his mischievous green eyes piercing mine. I normally tried to keep myself together—appearances and all—but currently I was having a holy shit moment. It took everything I had not to let my eagerness show on the outside, but the thought of his mouth on my skin stirred things in me.

  I bent forward, taking the lime between my teeth. I was surprised by how forward I was being with him. I’d never been overly shy, but he brought out a girl I didn’t even recognize. His eyes focused on my mouth and then flicked up to my gaze. My insides wound so tight I thought I would vomit. I had a feeling throwing up on Dylan Crawford would make him lose all interest. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Was it a good sign when a boy made you queasy—and I’m not talking about the grossed out kind of queasy. No, this particular form of queasiness was a direct result of how nervous I was. The last time I felt this much anticipation was when I was waiting for my sixteenth birthday so I could get the keys to my new Mercedes.

  Dylan stepped so close to me, I could smell the mint on his breath. He wound an arm around my waist and tugged me against his chest, a challenge in his gaze. Taking a shaky breath, I tilted my head to the side and exposed my throat to him. When I felt his breath on my skin, a shudder shook my shoulders. The caress of his soft laugh made me fist my hands at my sides to keep from reaching out to him.

  “You can stop this anytime,” he whispered against my neck. “Run home to your mansion like a good little girl.”

  “You’re stalling,” I said around the lime.

  At the first stroke of his tongue, the tightness in my body disappeared, and my legs became wobbly. I clenched my jaw to keep all emotion off my face, but nothing I could do would settle the slam of my heart. He seared a slower-than-necessary path all the way up my neck and paused by my ear.

  “You’re shaking, Princess.”

  God, did his voice have to be so perfectly raspy? It sounded like it had been made for sex and whispering naughty things to helpless females. I was wrong. Dylan wasn’t just a bad boy; he was a master at charming the panties off girls. The panties on this girl, though? They couldn’t be charmed.

  I took a shaky breath before responding. “I was just thinking of where that tongue has been and was holding back my vomit.”

  He chuckled, releasing me from h
is hold. My body sagged forward before I found my footing again. Picking up the salt, he sprinkled my neck and picked up his shot glass.

  “All I heard was that you were thinking of my tongue,” he said with a devilish smirk. “I’m sure it’s not the first time.”

  He tossed back the tequila and suckled the salt from my throat, settling his arm around my waist again. His tongue rolled over his lips before he leaned forward and gripped the lime from between my teeth. When his lips brushed against mine, something burned inside of me. Cheers erupted around us, and I realized how intimate we must look.

  “Make good decisions.” My daddy’s voice broke through the lusty fog clouding my head, and I shoved against Dylan’s chest. What the hell was I doing? I had a boyfriend, and Dylan Crawford was nothing but trouble.

  “I have to go,” I said, my voice trembling. I began to spin around, but Dylan’s fingers gripped my waist tighter, stopping my escape.

  “Hey,” he said soothingly. “We’re just having fun and doing shots. No need to overreact.”

  “Stop, okay?” I peeled his fingers from my body and pushed through the people surrounding us. Insults and laughter bounced off my back as I made a quick exit. Once I shoved my way through the door, I took a moment to gather my composure. Tears burned the backs of my eyes, but I knew they wouldn’t fall; I hadn’t cried since I was ten. My daddy had drilled it into my head that crying showed weakness, and the Kingsleys were not weak. Now, whenever I was upset I would take pen to paper and let the emotion pour onto the pages of my song journal.

  Realizing that I left without James, I turned and stared back at the house. There was no way I could go back in there. I had already embarrassed myself, proving that I was just as uptight as everyone thought. I dug my phone out of my pocket and dialed James’s number.

  “Hello?”

  Why did his voice sound sleepy?

  “I’m ready to leave. Meet me outside?” I asked. I heard the squeak of a bed and scrunched my face in confusion. “Where are you?” My heart thumped hard in my chest at the thought of him in one of the bedrooms inside. I was surprised when I realized I was more worried about him embarrassing me rather than him actually cheating. All I could think was if he were getting it from someone else, he would leave me alone. I shook my head at my internal thoughts, the burn behind my eyes intensifying. At eighteen, I was already acting like the unhappy housewife I was bound to become.

  “I’m at home,” James said.

  “What? Why are you at home?” I clutched my phone tighter, my humiliation turning into anger. "You just left me?”

  “I couldn’t find you, Brooke. One minute you were standing beside me, and then you were gone. Some dude was picking a fight with me and kicked me out.” He released a breathy yawn. “You know I can’t get into any fights. If I hurt my throwing arm, I’ll spend my first year on the bench, and my father will kill me.”

  James’s selfishness was something I was used to. All the men from our circle acted as though their stuff was more important. I don’t know how many charity events my daddy had missed of my mother’s. Work always seemed to come first with him, though he expected my mother to spend her time volunteering around the community. If I married James, history would repeat itself, and I would be in my mother’s shoes—unhappy and addicted to pills and wine.

  “You know you could have called,” I bit out. “I would have met you outside.”

  “Honestly, I thought you left me. Parties aren’t exactly your thing, Brooke.”

  “So I’ve been told,” I mumbled.

  The door to the house squeaked open behind me. Turning, I met Dylan’s eyes and quickly turned back around and started walking.

  “Brooke, wait up,” he called behind me.

  “James, get your ass out of bed and come pick me up.” I pressed the END button and kept walking. There was one main road that led to the Crawford’s ranch home, and I knew James would see me if I stayed on it. I just needed to get as far away from Dylan as possible. Embarrassed by my reaction to his mouth on mine, I wanted to scream when I thought about the teasing from the partygoers as I ran away like a little kid. The confident and sassy Brooke was not present tonight, and it was all Dylan’s fault. He unsettled me so much that I couldn’t think straight.

  Fingers curled around my arm, tugging me back. Dylan walked around my body so that he was facing me. His green eyes held no amusement or cockiness. Instead, they looked almost … apologetic.

  “You were right, okay?” I said. “I am just as uptight as the rest of the money in this town. I’m predictable and boring—a cliché. There, I admitted it. Now leave me alone.”

  “You’re not,” he said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You proved that by even showing up tonight. Your rich bitch friends would have laughed in my sister’s face if she had invited them, but you came.”

  I stared at a car parked on the side of the street, unable to meet his eyes. If he knew the only reason I came was to get a glimpse of him, he would never let me live it down. Nothing would or could ever happen between us. I knew that, but it hadn’t stopped me from watching him in the halls of school or showing up at his job pretending I had gotten a flat tire. I wasn’t just a cliché; I was pitiful.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I said, slipping on my confident mask. “All my friends left for school already, and there’s nothing better to do in this town. James and I thought it would be fun to see how the other half parties. A little tacky for my taste, but …” I shrugged, letting my rude tone finish my sentence.

  Dylan snorted. “Is that so?”

  I hugged my arms to my chest, inspecting one of my nails. “Like you wouldn’t think one of our parties was stuffy?”

  “Is that an invitation to your next shindig?”

  I laughed, a derisive sound. “Sure, I’ll talk to my parents. Maybe you can park cars or serve drinks.”

  Dylan’s eyes hardened, and I instantly regretted what I said. Whenever weak emotions filled me, I turned them into bitchiness. My daddy did the same thing, saying mean things when he was upset. I hated that I had inherited such an ugly trait from him.

  “You know what I think?” Dylan asked, stepping toward me. His hand settled on my hip, causing my lungs to constrict. “Under all that makeup, hairspray, and expensive clothing, is a girl who liked what she experienced tonight. We both know why you showed up, and it wasn’t out of boredom.” He tilted his head to the side, studying my face. “If you’re still interested in how the other half lives, meet me at Lilac Pond tomorrow at noon.”

  He ran his nose up the length of my neck, inhaling my hair. The hand on my hip burned through my clothes, I nearly begged to feel that heat on my bare skin.

  “I—I can’t,” I shuddered. “I have things to do.”

  Dylan tugged me against his body, our pelvises to colliding. I bit my bottom lip to keep the moan in my throat from slipping out. His lips pressed against my skin, just below my earlobe, and I felt myself sagging against his body. If James had ever touched me like this, I wouldn’t still be in possession of my v-card. I now understood why Lily liked making out. The thing was, Lily actually liked her boyfriend. I guess that was kind of important in moments like these.

  “Give me your last three days, Brooke,” Dylan whispered. “And then you can go off to school and forget all about me and live your perfect little life.”

  Three days with Dylan Crawford? I knew I should have told him no and pushed him away, but when his hands were on me, all I could think about was how good it felt. I had the rest of my life to be unhappy, and three days of being under his influence sounded like just what I needed before I started my planned life. He could be my little secret—a moment in time I could look back on and remember what feeling alive felt like.

  “Why?” I asked with suspicion.

  “What do you mean?”

  I took a step away from him. I assumed the alcohol was the reason for him touching me so much. When I’d gotten ready for the party tonight,
I had told myself that I would let my guard down a little, try to have fun. I had no idea it would result in Dylan’s mouth on my skin or his fingers gripping my hips. My reaction to his bluntness shocked me.

  “I mean,” I said, crossing my arms. “In all the time we’ve known each other, we’ve only talked a handful of times, none of which resulted in you asking me out. What’s changed?”

  Dylan scrubbed a hand across his mouth and jaw, his eyes falling to the ground. I felt my left eye crinkle as I inspected his body language. Part of me was excited about spending time with him, but the other part was wary.

  “Truth?” he asked, and I nodded and waited for his reply. “I’m curious.”

  “Curious? About me?”

  His head bobbed. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Brooke, and I know you’ve caught me checking you out. I figure now is the best time to see what’s between us.”

  I didn’t know if I should jump for joy or scream at him. I’d waited so long for his attention, and now that I was leaving, he wanted to see what was between us? We stared at each other for a few moments.

  “If you don’t want to, it’s cool,” Dylan said with a shrug. “I just thought—”

  “I’ll try to make it tomorrow,” I interrupted, “but I’m not making any promises.” Since I hadn’t decided whether I was angry or excited, I figured giving him a maybe was better than a flat-out no.

  A smirk bent one side of his mouth up. “You’ll be there.”

  I snorted at his over confidence. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

  Brooke’s boyfriend showed up to take her home, and I watched the taillights fade into the night, wishing I had stopped her from getting into his car. I flexed my fingers at my side, still feeling the curve of her body against my skin. My dick was as hard as a rock. When I realized Brooke had a thing for me, I decided to have a little fun with it, but I never expected how I would react to her.