Blindsided (14 page)

I wait outside as she heads into a store. I don’t know want to know what she’s buying in there. Probably the single most embarrassing thing…

Aw, fuck.

“You’re wearing these.”

“Hell no!” I back up a couple of steps.

“Hell yes.” She walks toward me.

“I’m not wearing fuckin’ Mickey Mouse ears.”

“Why not?” She pouts. And shit. She looks so damn adorable doing it that I almost want to give in to her.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“I didn’t want to go in that stupid mansion, but you made me.”

“Okay. That’s fair. But I’m not wearing them!”

“You are.”

Leah runs toward me, and I reach out and grab her waist. She moves onto her tiptoes and places the headband on my head. Then her face breaks into a huge smile, and as her eyes drift from the ears atop my head to mine, she slowly lowers back down to her heels and looks at me for a long moment.

She looks at me like I’m something other than the jackass who pisses her off every time he opens his mouth. Like I’m more than the devil-may-care playboy the media makes me out to be—that I act like. She looks at me like I’m a real fucking human being, and when she drags her teeth across her bottom lip while still looking at me, my heart thuds loudly.

My fingers flex against her slim waist. Every part of me is screaming for me to step forward and cover her sweet mouth with mine. I want to take this moment of her not hating me and spin it into something more.

She steps back from my hold and whips out her cell phone. Before I can say a thing, she snaps a photo of me with the ears on and laughs. The look on her face is pure delight, and that combined with her musical laugh means I have to smile at her. I move closer to her and pull out my own phone.

“What are you doing?” She raises her eyebrows.

I put my arm around her and tug her into me. “Smile,” I whisper into her ear before taking my own picture.

I look at the screen. We’re both smiling, and it looks totally natural. No pained, faked smiles.

“What did you do that for?” Blue eyes look up at me.

I push some of the horrid, dark hair from her eyes, letting my fingers linger on her soft cheek. “So I can remember the thirty seconds where you weren’t actually mad at me for something.”

I pull into the driveway outside her house and kill the engine. We get out silently, and I follow her to the door. Night is beginning to fall, and I know that, if I look out at the city below, I’d see thousands upon thousands of bright lights making their mark in the darkness.

But looking anywhere other than at Leah doesn’t seem plausible right now.

She puts a hand on the door handle and drops it again. “Thank you,” she says softly, turning to me. “For today. I actually had a really nice time.”

“Nice? Ouch. That’s an insult pretending to be a compliment.”

Her pink lips twist on one side and those gorgeous eyes find my gaze. “Fine. Aside from you dragging me through one of the nine circles of Hell, I had an amazing time.”

“Now you’re just trying too hard,” I sigh.

She laughs and slaps my arm. “Shut up. I mean it. I wasn’t expecting to, but I had a lot of fun.”

“Me, too. Even if it was at Disneyland.”

Her eyes glitter, and she reaches up and tugs the wig off her head. “Yeah.” Then she throws it at me. “Good thinking on the wig, cowboy.”

“Do you think it worked?” I lean against the wall.

“You’ll know tomorrow morning. I’ll be either happy to talk to you or leaning over your bed with a heavy object.”

“She’s a comedian as well.” I dip my head. “Now, are you gonna let me end this date with a kiss or do I have to steal one again?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Why, are you asking me if you can kiss me?”

“Right now? Yes. In five seconds, it might be a whole other story.”

Leah laughs, and I’m starting to think that I really fucking like that sound. She rests her hand on my waist and leans up onto her tiptoes, tilting her face up. Her lips press against mine, soft and sweet, the sugary taste of the cotton candy she was eating an hour ago still lingering on her mouth.

“Night, cowboy,” she whispers, stepping away and opening the front door.

“Night, babe.” I walk backward toward my car, not taking my eyes off her, because how the fuck am I supposed to? How am I supposed to look anywhere other than at the girl who’s edging her way under my skin?

“Hey, Corey?” she calls from the doorway.

“What?” I spin, my hand on my car door.

A small smile appears on her face, one that lights up her eyes. “Check your call log.”

I look down and scroll to the log, and sure enough, the last call is from Leah. My eyes go to the door, but its shut and she’s inside. I bring up my messages and text her instead.

Looks like I finally got your cell number.

Wrong. I got your number. SUCKER.

A laugh bursts from me as I get in my car.
When did you do that?
I reply before driving. It takes me two minutes to get to my house, and when I do, she’s already replied.

When you went to the bathroom at lunch. Can I give you some advice?

You can.

Don’t leave your phone around a girl you’re trying to pull, especially if she shoots better than you. If she can do that, she can probably pull better too.

You’re not letting me live that down, are you?

Never. In fact, I’m probably better than you at most things. All you have on me is throwing a football, and I’m probably pretty close there, too.

I smirk and lock my door behind me. We’ll see, Leah. We’ll see.

I
went on a date in public. With a very public, very hot guy.
And it isn’t all over the papers.

Well, it is. The front page of the L.A. Reporter is a large picture of us at lunch. The photo was taken from behind me, but you can see Corey’s face well enough. And the accompanying headline?

DISNEY DATE FOR THE VIPER KING! IS HIS BITE LOSING ITS STING?

I laugh at it. I have to. He has a soft side. I saw it. The way he held me close to him in that damn haunted house when I was terrified for my life—quite literally, I might add—melted my heart just a little. It warmed a part of me toward him because it proved that he’s not all asshole and dickhead. Although that part is warmed, it’s still wary.

Because I have no idea what’s his game and what isn’t.

And that little part of me, the part that likes him, is vulnerable. I’m aware of it, that slither of a ‘maybe he’s not playing you.’

It breaks through into the rest of my body, and it’s a fight inside to keep that maybe away from the almost certainty that he is.

I don’t want to fall for him. I don’t even want to trip. Hell, I don’t want to freakin’
stumble.

It’s too risky. And not even for my job. That doesn’t matter—not when my heart is involved. My job is my world, the one thing I live for, and the secrecy that shrouds it controls every part of my life. It isn’t my heart though. It isn’t even close. My heart is the gentle, regular beat of every day, waiting, just waiting, for the person worth pounding for. It’s waiting for the person worth thumping against my ribs for.

He could be it, but I doubt it. To be a heart-pounder, you have to be trustworthy, and I wasn’t kidding when I told him that I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.

I pull the pin from between my teeth and secure the waist of the dress on the mannequin in front of me. “Yes. That’s right,” I tell Quinn. “I always saw it with the mocha scarf, not the mahogany one.”

“Right,” he replies down the phone. “And the leaf-patterned dress? What are you putting with that, darling?”

“Nothing much. Do you have the thick-knit, tan cardigan? And the chunky boots with the flip-over tops.”

“Just that? No jewelry?”

“No. Just that.” I pin the other side of the dress then grab my scissors. “And the maroon pants—pair them with a cream blouse, the one with the brown collar.”

“Why didn’t you put this in your notes?”

I slice through the collar. “You didn’t ask me. I’m working on next fall’s collection. It’s hard to concentrate on this season’s collection when I’m consumed by this.”

“You mean it’s hard when you’re not here.”

“Yes.” I sigh, dropping the scissors and leaning against the wall. “Dammit, Q. I wish I were there. I’d give anything to see my designs walk down the runway and all the crazy backstage fun. I’m gonna miss it all. And that sucks big time.”

“I know, Leah darling, I know,” he says softly. “But you picked this path—and I commend you. You could do it easily, make your mark in this world because of who you are, but you won’t. That’s honorable.”

“Really? Is it? When I’m going to miss out on everything I’ve ever wanted? When my dream is going to happen without me there?” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I know I have to do this. I want to be accepted for me, dammit. Not because of Mom. It just hurts a little. That’s all.”

“Just remember who refused your designs. Remember all those designers who broke your sixteen-year-old heart because they thought you couldn’t deal with the pressures.”

“But you were there,” I say quietly. “You believed in me before you knew I was a Veronica.”

“Precisely,” he replies triumphantly. “Because you have talent, Leah. You have real fucking talent, girl. So, in two weeks, I’m going to stand at the end of the runway watching your designs kill it and I’m gonna be proud as hell of you. I already am. You got that?”

“Got it.” I stand up. “My designs are gonna create waves, I’m gonna kick ass, and you’re going to video every second and send it to me after, right?”

He laughs. “Exactly that!”

“Awesome. Now I have to go and work before my boss kicks my butt.”

“I agree. He’s a tough guy.”

I laugh as I hang up. Quinn wouldn’t hurt a fly—much less kick my ass. Slap it, pinch it, yes. Kick it? No way. He appreciates a good butt too much.

I grab some pins from my box and hold them between my teeth. I have no idea what I’m creating. All I know is that the neckline dips severely, the skirt clings, and the sleeves… Well, they’re flappy pieces of pinned-on material right now.

Sometimes, when the designs don’t come out on the page, they come out on the mannequin. The secret design room just down the hall from my room is my favorite place in the house. The walls are covered in designs I’ve sketched since I was six, because this was my eighteenth birthday present from my mom. A place that was wholly mine, where I could go and let it all go. There’s even a giant desk in the corner where I’m supposed to sit and design, but I prefer my room for that.