Falling For The Ghost Of You Part 10

Once the pizza's gone, we decide to switch to hot chocolate and some guy name Jinky's video of the Top One Hundred Horror movies of ALL TIME. Most of the movies on Jinky's list comes from the seventies, and I've never heard of them before. A few of them look pretty cool, though, so I write down the t.i.tles of the ones we might want to watch later.

I'm no good at mult.i.tasking. I'm writing on the back of a Taco Bill's receipt, while watching the screen, while taking a sip of my scalding hot cocoa. You can guess what happens next.

The whole cup. The steaming liquid spills all over my lap. I jump up, gasping at the searing pain.

Zane immediately pulls my skirt off of me. "Sit down," he commands, then disappears into the kitchen.

I'm still standing when he returns with a wet towel. He gently pushes me down onto the couch, crouches down in front of me, and places the cool towel over my thighs. It instantly helps soothe the burn, and I sigh in relief.

After a couple of minutes, the sting subsides. Zane lifts the towel up to check my skin. "No blisters," he says softly. "It's just a little red."

He gently brushes a finger over my inner thigh, in a feather light touch that steals my breath and makes me tremble in a way that has nothing to do with pain.

I guess I make some kind of noise. Zane looks up at me, and as if suddenly realizing what he's doing, he stands abruptly and backs away.

"Keep it covered. I'll go look for some aloe gel," he mutters.

I watch him walk away in a daze. Oh, my G.o.d. I can't believe I'm sitting here in my underwear. I can't believe he touched me...there. I see-saw between utter mortification and a nervous exhilaration. And I'll admit it-pure l.u.s.t.

Um, thank goodness I'm wearing nice underwear. Ugh, I just realized, this is the second time he's seen them. Not the same pair, though. Today's selection is lacy and a b.u.t.tercup yellow.

G.o.d. This is so embarra.s.sing.

Zane comes back with a tube of something and a light blanket. He drapes the blanket over my lap and hands me the tube. "Wait a few minutes, then put some of this stuff on your-on the burn," he says gruffly.

"Thanks." I risk a peek at his expressionless face. "Sorry I'm such a klutz."

He allows a ghost of a smile. "You are a bit accident p.r.o.ne, aren't you?"

I shrug, my cheeks heating up. I spread the blanket so it's covering most of my legs.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, just staring down at me. Then he mumbles something about fixing his contacts, and disappears into his room again. He wears contacts? Hm...I bet he would look really hot in gla.s.ses.

Just when I'm convinced he's not coming back, he walks back out, and sprawls next to me on the couch. "You up for some mindless TV?" he asks, picking up the remote.

"Yeah," I say gratefully.

So we sit there and watch sitcoms, reality shows...whatever is on. We laugh at the same things, and make fun of the people in the reality series. Zane doesn't even seem to mind my sarcasm. He seems to enjoy it. We spar back and forth over our favorite shows.

I don't even remember falling asleep. The next thing I know, Zane is lifting me up from the couch, and carrying me into my room-as if I weigh nothing.

Being in his strong arms is so...it's an incredibly precious feeling. I pretend to be asleep just so I can stay there. He gently lies me down on my bed, and draws the covers over me. My eyes blink open when I sense him lean over me.

"Sweet dreams, Violet," he whispers, kissing me on the forehead.

Sweet dreams, indeed.

Wait, I'm not quite done being the stupid damsel in distress.

Lauren and I leave Taco Bill's the next afternoon, and discover my car has a flat tire-and I don't have a spare. Where did it go? I may have moved it to make room in my trunk one day-I remember now. For those boxes of pinatas. Don't ask.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm calling Zane. He laughs at my sheepish tone, and promises to be there in twenty minutes with a new tire.

He gets there in fifteen minutes. I introduce him to Lauren-who is suitably awed-and he effortlessly changes the tire, while we look on. Why is it so s.e.xy when hot guys do manly things, like work on cars? Or maybe it's just Zane. Everything he does is s.e.xy. I'm not the only one who thinks so, judging by the group of girls who stop to drool over him.

d.a.m.n it, I should be the only one allowed to drool over him. I found him first! Or something not as stupid.

Lauren is appalled by my behavior. I become a giggly loser around him. I disgust myself, but I can't seem to help it. I clamp both hands over my mouth and force myself to stand silently next to Lauren. When Zane is done, he pats my head my like a puppy, and warns me to stay out of trouble. Then he jumps into his hot little car and zooms off.

"Wow," Lauren says, watching him drive off.

"To Zane, or to my ridiculous dorkiness?" I ask meekly.

"Both." She eyes me sympathetically. "V, you've got it bad for him."

"I do," I finally admit, slumping back into my seat in the car. "Pathetic, right?"

"He likes you, but he doesn't want to."

"What?" I turn to her, eyebrows raised. "You could tell that in the five minutes he was here?"

"No." She sighs. "I could tell by the way he had to keep tearing his eyes away from you every couple of minutes. You called him and he came running to the rescue. He hangs out with you all the time. You think a guy like that wouldn't have better things to do than watch movies with you all night?"

"Ouch," I say, not a little offended.

Lauren looks at me in that no-nonsense way. "You've seen for yourself the kind of women he dates. Have you seen him with another girl since you two started getting so chummy?"

"Chummy," I repeat, smirking. "And, no. But he said he wasn't going to bring the s.k.a.n.ks home since that last time. For all I know, he's going over to their houses, or...whatever."

She just shrugs. "If you want him, V, I'm pretty sure he won't turn you down."

I scoff as I start the car. But deep down, a little flower of hope blooms in my chest.

If I want him, she says.

I don't think I've wanted anything more in my life.

Chapter 12.

"So, basically, my dad is a giant douche," I say.

Zane and I are sitting on the chaise lounges by the pool. It's late, but neither of us felt like going to bed, so we've just been hanging out here and talking. I've just explained how my dad left us, and didn't look back. Not even after Mom found out about the cancer.

I stare moodily at the softly lit pool, glowing like a jewel in the night. Zane is silent for a moment.

"Your mom told me about how you took care of her," he says finally. "That must've been really tough."

I give a half shrug. "We had a lot of help. Friends and family."

"She said you helped with a lot of the bills. But she got a little weird about it, like she didn't want to say how."

I shoot him a sharp glance. "It wasn't from hookin' or stripping, if that's what you're thinking."

He hides a smile. "Never crossed my mind."

"It wasn't anything illegal," I say after another long silence, in which I debate whether I should share my secret with him or not. "I...I write books."

Zane turns to me, surprised. "You...write?"

I nod, embarra.s.sed. "I always liked to make up stories. I used to write all the time. When my mother got sick, and we desperately needed money to cover all her medical bills-it was the only thing I could think of doing. So, I looked into it. Turns out, it's remarkably easy to self-publish."

"That's awesome," he says. When I look at him, he looks impressed. "What do you write about?"

"Um..." I shrug. "I have this series out. It's called 'Breaking Time.' It's about a bunch of teenagers who keep getting reincarnated into different lives. They have to find each other, and figure out how to stop a certain cataclysmic event in time. It's...stupid fluff."

Zane shakes his head, smiling incredulously. "It sounds amazing. That's seriously cool, Violet. How many books have you written so far?"

"Five." I fiddle with a loose string on the hem of my s.h.i.+rt. "I'm kind of on hiatus right now, though. Before, there was, like, a lot of pressure on me to pump out the books, you know? I guess I kind of burned out. So, now, I'm taking a little break."

I have to squash down the urge to brag to Zane about how much books I've sold, the websites and videos that have sprung up, dedicated to my Breaking Time series. People not only buy my books, they talk about it, obsess over the characters. And constantly hara.s.s me about when the next book will be coming out.

"So why was your mom so secretive about it?" Zane wonders, tapping my leg to get my attention. "I would think she'd have a b.u.mper sticker made: 'My Daughter's a Famous Author.'"

I scoff. "I'm not famous! And...no one knows that I write besides her and Lauren. I use a pen name."

"How come?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm kind of weird about stuff. I didn't want my name out there on the internet. I don't even use Facebook. I don't like the thought of kids at school, judging my work. They'd tease the h.e.l.l out of me. There are some real b.i.t.c.hes at Hidden Cove."

Zane starts laughing. "What's your pen name?" he wants to know.

I cringe a little. "Elizabeth Bunnei. Elizabeth is my middle name. And Bunnei...well, bunnies are cute."

He c.o.c.ks his head to the side, running a hand over his mouth. "Got a thing for rabbits, huh?"

I totally know he's referring to the rabbit on my underwear. I s.h.i.+ft uncomfortably in my chair. "Let's change the subject," I say. "Um...so, what about your mom? Where is she?"

Zane leans back. His smile is still there, but the edges of amus.e.m.e.nt are gone. "She's dead," he says matter-of-factly.

Great, Violet. Way to bring up bad memories. "I'm so sorry," I say in a hushed voice.

He glances over and seeing my remorseful expression, he reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Don't be. It happened a long time ago. When she was alive, I barely knew her."

I surrept.i.tiously study his face to gauge his mood. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking?" I ask cautiously.

"She was a paranoid schizophrenic. She didn't live with us most of the time." Zane's gaze goes distant. "I remember going to visit her at various facilities. When she did come home, she used to lock herself in the bathroom and just cry and scream for hours. When I was really young, I used to...I used to stand outside, and just listen to her talk to herself. I thought maybe she knew I was out there, keeping her company."

It's my turn to take his hand. "That's a nice thought."

He shrugs. "We thought she was doing better for a while. She was taking her meds, and sometimes she'd even ask me how my day was going. Then, one day I walk into her room and...there she was. She hanged herself with some wire from a hook in the ceiling."

I cover my mouth with both hands, horrified for him. "How...awful."

"Yeah, it was," he says simply. "I had nightmares for months after. Couldn't watch scary movies, or go out at Halloween. It was a long time ago, though. I made my peace with it."

I really have no freaking clue what to say. "I...uh...do you want to...?"

Zane waves the topic away with an impatient hand gesture. "Seriously, I'm okay. I don't need to talk about it. Some things happen that just don't make sense, you know? And talking about it doesn't help anything. Sometimes it's better just to forget."

"I..." I stare down at my hands. "I'm sorry."

"No worries, Violet. Let's change the subject again, okay?"

"Thank goodness," I agree gratefully, and he laughs.

We are quiet for a moment. The awkwardness brought on by the topic of his mother's suicide dissipates like fog, leaving a comfortable camaraderie. It's nice. Okay, it's more than nice. I can't stop stealing glances at his beautiful profile out of the corner of my eye.

"I wish I could go swimming," I say idly, staring at longingly at the pool.

"Why don't you?"

I make a face. "Too cold."

Zane sits up. "The pools heated, you know."

"It is? Wish I knew that before." I sigh.

"So, let's go for a swim," he says, tugging at my ponytail.

"What, now?" I laugh. "It's almost midnight!"

"So? You gonna turn into a pumpkin? Come on."

Zane is already standing up and taking off his s.h.i.+rt, and I have to tear my eyes away from the bronzed muscled perfection of his chest and shoulders. Oh, G.o.d, am I drooling? Look at those chiseled abs!

He pauses with his hand on the b.u.t.ton of his jeans (gasp!) and glances up at me expectantly. "Are you gonna swim in your clothes?"

He seems totally unaware that he's giving me a heart attack right now. When he starts to unzip his jeans, I turn around so fast, I almost fall out of the chair. I am sure I'm beet red from head to toe. I have to clear my throat to find my voice. "I'll get my swim suit," I manage to choke out.

The sound of his s.e.xy chuckle sends my pulse spinning into overdrive. "Don't forget your arm floaties, too. What are you, ten? You don't need your swimsuit. It's just us."