SLOW BURN Read online

  When I said Johnny was the jealous type, I wasn’t kidding. It’s ridiculous, because most of his friends are hot popular guys who wouldn’t look twice at me. I hate to admit it, but it’s kind of nice that he thinks I’m that irresistible. I’m really not.

  I dated Michael Shaver in sophomore year. He always walked a couple of steps ahead of me, and accidentally slammed quite a few doors in my face because he forgot I was behind him. He also left me behind at the movies once because he thought he came alone.

  Clearly, I am a genius at picking boyfriends. In my defense, have you seen what there is to choose from? The sea is big, but the fish are scraggly, immature, and obsessed with video games.

  I’m waiting on the front steps when Nick’s big black Range Rover pulls in.

  The Leclare Academy for Rich Kids. That’s the unofficial name. Yet another reason I know I won’t fit in there. When I whine to Johnny about it, he just shrugs and points out that he’s not rich either—Dean’s dad is. His father is just a construction worker, and a drunk. He always sounds slightly bitter when he says this, and I guess I don’t blame him.

  Nick Adler climbs out before I can open the passenger door of his car. He picks me up and envelopes me in a big bear hug. I love his hugs—they are just so warm and comforting, with just the right amount of squeezing. He could make a fortune as a professional hugger. Companies should hire him to stand outside, and wait for the employees who have just been given the shaft. I’m not saying Nick’s hugs would put an end to workplace violence—but it could.

  When he puts me back down, I study him standing in the yellow beam of his headlights. He looks good, as always, dressed casually in a beat up gray tee shirt and long board shorts. It could be fifty degrees out, and Nick would look like he’s ready for a day at the beach. I love his sun-kissed surfer boy looks: the messy brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and lanky, sinewy-muscled build. There’s not an ounce of fat on him, but his wide innocent gaze give the impression of a mellow softness.

  “Hello, beautiful.” Nick salutes me with a wink. “Ready to do some shots with me tonight?”

  “Yeah, right.” I say sarcastically. He knows I don’t really drink. I just don’t care for the taste of alcohol.

  I smile my thanks when he opens the door for me. I crawl in and breathe in the rich scent of leather and more faintly, Nick’s spicy cologne. I reach up to swat the wooden Hawaiian warrior helmet dangling from his rearview mirror. The brightly colored feathers sprouting from the top ruffle slightly as it sways back and forth. “This is cool,” I say, studying it in the weak light.

  He glances over at me as he starts the car. “Yeah, my mom bought that for me on her last trip back to Hawaii. It’s sort of my good luck charm,” he ends with a little shrug.

  “That’s nice,” I say lamely.

  I know Nick’s mom died last year in a car accident. Johnny says Nick hates talking about it, so I quickly rack my mind for something to change the subject—anything to get that wistful faraway look out of his eyes.

  “I had a good luck charm once. My friend, Jenny Ng, gave it to me for Christmas,” I blurt out. “It was a little jade Buddha. I use to carry it everywhere with me. I’d rub his fat little belly and wish for money.”

  He laughs, his eyes clearing. “How’d that work out for you?”

  “Not so good,” I confess. “I swear, every time I did that, something horrible would happen—I’d accidentally break something, or lose my lunch money on the way to school. Then one day, I took my little Buddha with me to Jenny’s house, and her grandmother saw me playing with it. She freaked out on me! Turns out, Jenny stole the Buddha from her dead uncle’s altar—because she didn’t have any money to buy me a real Christmas present.”

  “That’s so…” Nick bursts out laughing. “Sad? Morbid? I don’t know. That’s an interesting tale, Juliet. Is it true?”

  “Unfortunately. Isn’t that creepy? I think that little Buddha cursed me for life, though. I’m always broke,” I sigh.

  “Oh,” Nick says awkwardly. What can he say to that? Sucks to be poor? I’m sure he’s never known what it’s like to not have pocketfuls of money. Not that it’s his fault.

  I didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. I clear my throat. “So, tell me about the game.”

  Nick brightens and immediately launches into a detailed description of the game, especially the last play where Dean threw a spectacular Hail Mary to Johnny, who plucked it out of the air like a magic trick.

  Show-offs. I don’t say that out loud.

  “This party’s gonna be great,” Nick enthuses with his infectious smile. “They got Rick Bob to deejay.”

  “The Voice of 97.9’? I’m impressed. Who set that up?”

  “Kara, of course. You think Dean or Johnny would bother?” Nick laughs. “Dean wouldn’t even have parties at his house if it wasn’t for Johnny—and if it was left to Johnny, he’d just throw beer and chips at us. Kara always plans their parties.”

  “And Kara is…?”

  “You weren’t at her birthday party last week?” When I shake my head, Nick looks slightly sheepish. “Kara Deschamps. She’ll be there tonight.”

  Well, that’s a vague answer. She’s obviously a part of the gang, so why haven’t I heard of her before? More importantly, why hasn’t Johnny ever mentioned her?

  I’m beginning to think I am way out of my depth here.

  Nick doesn’t seem to notice when I grow quiet as he carefully navigates the twists and turns to the house. He drums his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of a hard rock song playing on the radio, occasionally glancing down at his phone.

  Finally, we turn into the circular driveway of the biggest and fanciest house on the block. It’s packed with expensive vehicles. How big is this party? There are cars parked on the rolling manicured lawns, and there’s a flashy red car ramped halfway up the edge of the beautiful stone fountain in the center of the driveway. How did they manage to do that?

  Nick manages to squeeze his Range Rover in a precarious spot between a huge black truck, and a foreign-looking sports car parked almost diagonal. They’re going to have a hell of a time getting out—especially if they’re wasted.

  “Sorry, I didn’t leave you much room to get out,” Nick apologizes as he carefully slides out. “Do you wanna come out my side?”

  I eye the expensive-looking sports car, mere inches from the door. “Yeah, I think I’d better,” I say, and crawl over to his side.

  He helps me out, gently grabbing me under my arms and lifting me out. He sets me on my feet with a flourish. “You ready for this?”

  I don’t get a chance to answer. I hear a strange whooping sound getting rapidly closer, and suddenly a blur of movement passes my line of vision and crashes into Nick, sending him sprawling to the ground.

  It’s a big drunk dude. “Adler!” he crows, pinning Nick to the ground. “I love you, man! You’re like the son I never had.”

  “Grayson.” Nick laughs good-naturedly, rolling the guy off of him. “Get off me, man.”

  The guy falls onto his back with a groan. His face is so red, I’m a little worried he might explode. Nick leaps easily to his feet, and helps the guy up. When the drunk guy starts swaying, Nick looks concerned.

  “Hey, Juliet, why don’t you go on in?” Nick says, supporting the other boy’s weight. “I’m gonna give Gray a hand here. Johnny, or one of the other guy’s should be around somewhere. If not, text me, and I’ll come get you.”

  He looks at me, hesitating, and I quickly wave him away. “Sure, I’ll see you inside. I’ll be fine.”

  Hell, no, I won’t! Don’t leave me!

  I don’t say that out loud, of course. Instead, I resolutely square my shoulders and march towards the front door. I pass groups of people just hanging around and talking along the way, some smoking—mostly all of them holding red plastic cups that I’m going to assume contain alcohol. It’s not my imagination that they’re looking at me. Most of the girls are wearing tight dresses or
tiny shorts and cute little tops—I stick out like a sore thumb. Naturally, it makes me more self-conscious than I already am. Aren’t they cold like that? There’s a little breeze in the air, enough to make me shiver a little without a jacket. I notice a cute blonde in a lacy cami and a short jeans skirt wrap her arms around herself, and bounce up and down for warmth. The guy standing next to her immediately puts an arm around her and draws her close against his side.

  Oh, that’s why.

  I ignore them all and focus on the house, a huge rambling Spanish-style affair with fancy arches and bricked courtyards. I don’t have to strain to hear the thumping bass, or the loud pitch of excited voices and drunken squeals of laughter. How come the neighbors don’t complain? Everyone’s so loud and raucous, and there are underage drinkers everywhere. Maybe a different set of rules apply for the stinking rich?

  Okay, enough procrastinating. I go right up to the big archway and stride through the open double doors…

  Only to be stopped by a gorgeous redhead. She blocks my entrance, standing in the doorway, with an outstretched arm.

  “Can I help you?” she sneers, her expression haughty.

  She’s several inches taller than me—but that could be because of the skyscraper heels she’s wearing. Her hair is a beautiful deep red, but her skin is oddly tan. Her waist is ridiculously tiny, and her chest is ridiculously oversized.

  “Yeah,” I reply finally. “You can move.”

  That earns me a really nasty glare from her ice blue eyes. “Are you lost?” she says, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “Daycare is that way.” She points somewhere over my shoulder.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I give her a vague smile, designed to piss her off. She doesn’t move, just continues to glare at me. So I poke her shoulder and give it a little push. She reacts like I’ve got the plague, jerking to the side, and giving me enough room to slip past her.

  I’ll be damned if I’m kept out of my boyfriend’s house by some snooty bitch. She’s probably a vajazzler, too.

  I forget about Red once I cross the threshold. Oh, my god.

  The house has been turned into a nightclub. All the furniture has been pushed to the side, and there are so many people packed in, it’s pretty much standing room only. Bodies are pressed up against each other, drinking, laughing, dancing together amid a cacophony of voices and bass-heavy dance music. A deejay booth outfitted with strobe lights and a little disco ball is set up in the corner of the room, and a bunch of scantily-clad girls are flocked around it like pigeons waiting to be fed. Up on the mezzanine balcony that wraps around the whole inside of the house are more partygoers, laughing down at the room below. I spot what looks to be thick clear tubes dangling down from the balcony, and I’m confused by their function—until I see a boy position himself under one, mouth gaping open. He gives a thumbs up to the guys standing above him, and amber liquid suddenly shoots down the tubing, spattering the giggling boy in the eye.

  So this is Johnny’s world. No wonder he’s never taken me to any real parties—he knew I would freak!

  Where is he? I’m jostled from behind. A hand briefly gropes my ass. Before I can whirl around, someone thrusts a plastic red cup into my hand. I catch it against me, cold clear liquid sloshing over the edge and onto my arm. It’s not water.

  “Damn it,” I breathe, barely able to hear myself think over the deafening noise of the party.

  Suddenly, a mischievous-looking boy appears in front of me. “Oh, sorry!” he says, and deliberately pours his drink all over my chest!

  I hiss as the sticky wetness seeps into my bra, making my shirt stick to the front of me. Dead Boy watches my chest in fascination, like it’s going to perform a magic trick, or something.

  “Yes! They’re awake!” he shouts triumphantly, a huge grin on his face. “Good morning, girls!” he says to my breasts.

  He sees my appalled expression, and laughingly explains. “I’m spilling drinks on all the girls. That way we can have a wet t-shirt contest! Come on—every party needs one.”

  He sounds so earnest and stupid, I don’t have the heart to kick him in the junk. Instead, I tilt my cup all over the front of his khaki shorts. We both look down to watch the results.

  “Dude,” I say, shaking my head. “I guess you’ve got nothing to hide, huh?”

  “It’s cold!” he says indignantly. “Don’t you know about shrinkage? Stick your hand down there, and you can warm it back it up.”

  I laugh at his audacity. He grins hugely, and opens his mouth to say something. Just then, a big brown hand plants itself over most of his face, and roughly pushes him backwards.

  “Damn, girl,” a baritone voice sounds in my ear. “We can’t leave you alone for a second.”

  I turn, delighted and relieved to see Big Mack Aina standing there, the size of a mountain, his puppy dog brown eyes sparkling, and his big grin flashing blinding white in the darkened room.

  “Mack!” I shout, just before he lifts me up in the air, as though I weigh nothing.

  “What you doin’ down here alone with these savages?” he booms at me. He can’t help that—his voice always sounds booming.

  “I came with Nick, but he got—stuck helping someone outside,” I say breathlessly. Mack puts me down gently. “Have you seen Johnny?”

  “Nah, not since I got here. Come out back with me—he’ll be pissed if he finds out you were left alone.”

  He takes my hand in his giant one and starts pushing through the crowds of bodies. At first, I think it’s hopeless—there’s just too many people—but I forgot about Mack’s special talent, which also serves him well on the playing field.

  “Move!” he bellows, loud enough to be heard a couple of street down.

  It’s like Moses parting the Red Sea. People immediately squish against each other to make a decent-sized path. Mack tows me through the opening, and I watch in amusement as the hole immediately fills back up behind us.

  He leads me out the sliding glass door to the pool area. It’s as crowded out here: there are girls in skimpy bikinis everywhere—lounging in the shallow end of the pool, or squealing and being chased by guys in swim trunks with squirt guns. Couples grind against each other to the music that can easily be heard from inside. A few of them seem dangerously close to the edge of the pool, and—oh! That girl with the epileptic crotch just fell in. Somebody help her!

  Mack pulls me along to a curving iron wrought staircase that leads to a balcony overlooking the pool. “They locked all the hallways to the bedrooms, so no drunk assholes can go in there and try to hook up,” he explains to me as we climb to the top.

  Good idea, though with the way the rest of the house has been trashed, they’re probably going to have to hire a cleaning service, anyway. It wouldn’t be fair for the usual cleaning staff to deal with this mess.

  There is a small exclusive group of people up here. I pick out the familiar faces—loud and obnoxious Ryan Connelly, and his equally annoying twin, Jason; prankster Ben and his snooty girlfriend Arianna—she stares hard at me, then quickly looks away. Oh, there’s Nick, sitting at the table! And, ugh, Red. Great.

  “Hey, there you are, Juliet!” Nick greets me, quickly pulling out a chair for me. “I looked for you inside, but it was such a zoo!”

  Mack reaches over and smacks him in the back of the head. “Dumbass! Johnny’s gonna kill you for leaving her. Some dickhead poured his drink down her shirt.”

  “Oh, shit,” Nick breathes, rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry! Are you okay, Juliet?”

  I notice him quickly scanning my chest—which reminds me of my wet shirt. “No harm done,” I assure him, pulling my sticky shirt away from my body.

  “Well, here.” He stands up and peels his t-shirt off, revealing his tanned and toned physique. “Put this on for now.”

  “Thanks,” I say, surprised. I quickly pull the shirt over my head, and shove my arms through the sleeves. I catch the scent of something that reminds me of the beach and Nick’s cologne as the m
aterial glides over my nose. The shirt goes down almost to my knees. Sexy.

  “Sit down, sit down,” Mack urges, pushing me into the seat next to Nick. “Juliet, you know most of these jokers. Ben, Arianna, Jase, Ryan—Nick, of course. And that’s Kara and Sloane.”

  He points to Red, who glares at me. Of course she’s the Kara. Why am I even surprised. She crosses her long tanned legs and looks me up and down with contempt. I notice she’s not surprised at my identity. She must’ve known who I was at the door. Bitch.

  The girl sitting next to Kara—Sloane—makes her look like a cheap wannabe. She’s an exotic beauty, with thick black hair falling in silky waves across her shoulders, and framing her exquisite features. Her dark almond shaped eyes regard me coolly. There’s no raw animosity on her face like there is on Kara’s. She looks sort of puzzled, like she not sure why I’m standing there, sharing the same space with all these fabulous people.

  Figures all of Johnny’s female friends are hot, and on the bitchy side. No wonder he never wanted me to meet any of them.

  “I can’t believe you’re Johnny’s girlfriend,” Kara says suddenly, smirking. “What are you—twelve? Do you have to use a stepstool to kiss him?”

  “Shut up, Kara,” Mack says mildly. He shakes his head at her like she’s a naughty child.

  “Yeah, don’t be jealous,” Ben adds, running a hand over his light blonde hair. He winks at me. “Short girls are incredibly hot.” Arianna smacks him hard in the chest. She’s at least 5’8”.

  Kara definitely doesn’t like the fact that the guys are defending me. I don’t really care. She seems like the type of person that gets even more pissed if you don’t rise to the bait. I decide my best course of action is to ignore her. However, I can’t resist batting my eyes a couple of times in her direction. She rears back, looking horrified. Geez.

  “Hey you want something to drink?” Nick offers me, half-standing. “There’s soda and fruit punch…?”