“I’m afraid of heights,” I blurt. I’m sure he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing on a roof if I don’t like heights. Yeah, I’m beginning to wonder that myself.
“Are you kidding me?” I can hear the frustration in his tone. “Wait here.”
It sounds just like the order he gave the pink T-shirt chicks when he told them to wait for him in the house. Just my luck that he’d be the one to see me up here. I guess the only thing worse would be if he were Aaron.
“You’re not going inside, are you? I mean, I kind of don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”
“I’m just going to look for a ladder. Don’t move till I get back.”
“Promise?” Wow. I sound like such a baby.
“I promise.”
The sound of laughter interrupts us, and I freeze. Three girls stumble through the gate, then stop to lean over a low hedge. Their arms are around each other’s waists, making it hard to tell who is holding up whom, but it doesn’t look like they see us. Good. I hope Jon has the sense to keep his mouth shut.
“Hold Tina’s hair back,” one of them commands.
“I can’t. If I see it or hear it, I’ll get sick, too.” This one hiccups.
A low rumbling moan comes from the one I’m assuming is Tina. Without any more warning than that, she pukes her guts out into the bushes.
I did not just see that.
“Eeeew!” The hiccupping one gags and then she loses it, too.
Oh my God, this is so disgusting.
One of them curses. Another one laughs. “Water. I need water.”
“I saw some bottled water on the porch,” the non-barfing friend says. “Come on.”
The three of them stumble arm in arm back the way they came.
“You’re not going to sympathy vomit too, are you?” Jon’s taken a few steps back from where he was standing a moment ago. Did he think I was going to blow my cookies on top of him?
I drop my hand, which was clamped over my mouth to keep me from laughing during the puke-fest. I can see why he’d say that, but no, I’m not going to get sick. “Wow. That was really gross.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. At least you were farther away. I pretty much had a front row seat.”
“I’m sure my bird’s eye view wasn’t much better.”
“Listen.” His tone is impatient. “I can’t be late for work, but I’m not leaving until you’re off the roof.”
What kind of job starts this late at night? Given what I know about him already, do I even want to know?
He moves in the direction of the gate. “I’m going to go get—”
“Do not go inside!”
He pauses before responding, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me, but thankfully, he doesn’t ask why. “Okay, but will you stay put if I go look for that ladder?”
As if I have anywhere else I can go. “Yes.” I glance toward the front of the house for the umpteenth time. “Hurry.”
Less than five minutes later, he’s propping a ladder against the eave. That first step, when I swing my legs over the edge and blindly try to find the top rung with my bare foot, is the hardest. My heart is racing, my hands are sweaty, and I seriously think I’m going to fall to my death.
“I’ve got you.” He grips my ankle and guides my foot to the metal rung.
As I inch myself down, strong hands grip my calves, then my thighs, then my waist. If I slip, I’m pretty sure he’ll catch me. It’s amazing what having a safety net will do for your confidence.
“That’s it. Keep coming.”
When I step from the bottom rung and onto the grass, I breathe a huge sigh of relief that I’m not dead or seriously maimed. But now I need to face my embarrassment.
“You made it,” he says from behind me. “Good job.”
I take a deep breath, steel myself, and turn around. And for the second time tonight, I’m looking straight into the eyes of Jon Priestly. The tattooed guy from the fight. The guy with the female entourage. The guy I’m pretty sure was banging some chick in an upstairs bedroom when I was looking for the bathroom. I’m not sure I could be any more embarrassed right now.
Underneath his unzipped black and gray snowboard jacket is a faded concert T-shirt. He must’ve just taken a shower because his dark hair is damp and he smells like herbal body wash.
A million butterflies flit around in my stomach and my mouth goes bone dry. Forget what I said earlier about facial hair and clean-cut guys. The guy standing inches away from me is hot.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” My voice is thin and reedy.
In the dim light, his pale blue eyes are sparkling with amusement, like it’s an everyday occurrence for him to rescue girls stranded on rooftops. Either that or he can read minds and knows exactly what I’m thinking.
But there’s something else. Sure, he’s dangerous and nothing but trouble. Anyone can see that.
The problem is that I am finding myself way too attracted to Jon Priestly, and I can’t afford to make any more stupid mistakes in my life.
That’s when I realize I am anything but safe.
chapter three
Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.
Jon
When something inconvenient happens, you don’t expect it to change your life. An empty gas tank. An expired carton of milk (which is a real bitch when you forget to check the date and you take a swig directly from the container). You do what you need to do and move on. But sometimes a minor inconvenience kicks events into motion so that everything in your life changes, leaving nothing the same.
If I hadn’t agreed to fill in for a co-worker at the station tonight, I wouldn’t have been going to work. And if I hadn’t been going to work, I’d never have been on this side of the house where my motorcycle is parked. And if I hadn’t been on this side of the house, I wouldn’t have seen the girl on the goddamn roof.
At first I assumed someone else was with her. I mean, these parties can get pretty crazy and it’s not the first time I’ve seen people up there. But when she almost fell and no one came to help, I knew she was alone.
She either didn’t hear me yelling at her or was too drunk to care, because when I burst through the half-open gate into the back yard, she was reaching for the branch of an overhanging tree.
And now I’m looking straight at the girl I’ve been trying to find all night. Only this time, we’re alone, and she’s got mascara running down her cheeks. Her reddish-brown hair, which looked soft and wavy earlier, is tangled with bits of leaves and twigs.
What the fuck happened to her between the porch and now? Too many beers? Is she high? I hadn’t pegged her as a party girl when I first saw her, but this chick’s a mess. I’m not exactly sure why this bothers me, but it does. I thought— Fuck. I don’t know what I was thinking.
She turns slightly, and the light from a window falls across her face. I’m mesmerized by the color of her eyes, which instantly reminds me of the pictures of Ireland’s rolling hills in a book I got for Mom when she was sick. The thing was too heavy, so I held it for her and read aloud about various cities, castles, and places of interest. Like the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge joining a tiny scrap of a vivid green island to the mainland. She always wanted to go there.
I try to swallow, but my throat has just gone tight.
Even though this girl isn’t smiling, her eyes tilt up as if she’s about to. That’s got to be frustrating when you really want to convey to people that you’re pissed off. No one would ever believe you.
“What were you doing up there?” I don’t smell much alcohol on her breath, but then she’s probably a lightweight, unable to have more than a drink or two.