Shut Up and Kiss Me: A Lost Boys Novel Page 2

  He spoke. One syllable—one very frustrated syllable—but still, Cade parted those lips and spoke.

  He’d said a few words to me when I first started coming around, but lately he’d clammed up. Now, evidently, his patterns were back. Poke him and, like an angry bear, he growled. I couldn’t cheer him on or he’d shut down completely. That left only one option. Me taking charge.

  “Couch,” I instructed, pointing at a brown leather love seat sitting in front of a TV on the floor. The wires were curled into a circle and I was momentarily surprised he hadn’t hooked it up yet. “We can do your exercises there.”

  Caramel-colored eyes leveled me as he prowled my way in a few long-legged steps. Then he stalked past me…into the bathroom.

  I heard the shower start and, with a sigh, I extracted my homework from my backpack and plopped down onto the couch where I’d told him to sit.

  Chapter 2

  Cade

  The space above the garage was meant to be an apartment, but for a renter, not me. My dad had envisioned making some extra income by finishing the room before he was swept up in gambling instead. In the years while I focused on becoming a lawyer, he’d lost interest in the idea of renting, or maybe he’d forgotten about it. This section of the house had been used as storage.

  I hadn’t slept much lately, so on those nights when I lay awake, I came up here and cleared it out. Half the shit went into the garbage—stuff no one needed, like extra garden hoses and malfunctioning holiday lights—and the other half went into storage in the garage. Some of those boxes were filled with my mom’s stuff. I doubted she’d want it back, but I kept it anyway.

  I unpacked a box, pulling open another dresser drawer to dump in my T-shirts and sweatshirts. That was the last of my clothes. I kicked the box off to one side. I’d carry it back into my old bedroom and pack up my closet next. Moving from the house to the space above the garage wasn’t my idea of living the high life, but my current job as a busser at Oak & Sage didn’t afford me much in way of a place of my own. That would change, and soon, but in the meantime this place gave me the privacy I needed.

  I made the bed next, stretching a set of navy blue sheets over the mattress and surreptitiously checking out my therapist as she sat on my couch.

  Tasha Montgomery.

  Blond-haired, blue-eyed, great ass. She wasn’t easy to overlook. She was tallish, but not too tall, which I liked. A lot. I’d first noticed her on campus at Ridgeway University on the arm of Tony Fry. That jackhole walked all over his women—and yeah, he had more than one. I figured Tasha knew. I wished I could remember myself as a bumbling, nervous idiot who simply blurted the wrong words in the presence of a hot girl, but that hadn’t been the case.

  I’d made a move on her at a frat party before the accident. My intention was to flatten Tasha with a grin, disarm her with my charm, and get her into my bed shortly thereafter. Tasha hadn’t been charmed, or flattened. She’d been pissed. Snapping her head around to face me, she’d told me point-blank to leave her alone.

  She didn’t think my offer of riding the “Cade train” was sincere, and—here’s the part I’m not proud of—it wasn’t. I’d pegged her as a rich girl who would go for the grin no matter what I said. I told my buddies as much before leaving them behind to approach Tasha. I was showing off.

  I wasn’t proud of that either.

  I’d since learned that I was right—Tasha was a rich girl—but also wrong. She never went for the grin. She’d truly believed that she and Tony were going to ride off into the sunset when it had been clear to me—and anyone else watching—that Tony was biding his time with her while biding his time with a few someone elses at the same time.

  Being cheated on sucked. I knew firsthand.

  Since my ex-girlfriend, Brooke, left me, I’d seen a lot of girls, but never, ever did I date more than one at a time. I wished that made me sound like more of a nice guy, but hey, at least I wasn’t a cheater. For a while I blamed my promiscuity on heartache. Now I blamed myself for being shortsighted while chanting “YOLO” like some frat douchebag who didn’t know the future could change in the blink of one of Tasha’s blue, blue eyes.

  She’d followed me up here, which didn’t surprise me. Though her suggestion to work did surprise me. We had a routine, and the harebrained “workout for your mouth” idea she’d cooked up was not happening. I liked our routine. I’d sit on a beanbag chair on the floor of my room and play my game while she perched on my bed, papers spread on the unmade covers.

  Today she was on the love seat I’d dragged in here with Devlin’s help, and I hadn’t bothered plugging in my game system. I was busy packing, cleaning out my space, and, lately, working on my new/old car.

  Tasha was doing a good job of ignoring me at the moment, which I thought I preferred. Most of the time our interactions reminded me of an old married couple who’d grown sick of each other and no longer spoke. Only in my case, I no longer spoke because rare was the occasion I benefited from it. In the past it had gone something like this: I stuttered. Tasha morphed into teacher mode. I stopped speaking.

  Nothing like the girl I liked way, way too much looking at me like I was needy and pitiful. Have I mentioned that I liked her liked her? There was no way to act on it, but having her near hadn’t cured me of my fascination. I was hot for teacher.

  On second thought, maybe Tasha and I were a typical couple. Most couples I knew didn’t exactly have it together. My dad, Paul, and the woman I’d thought was my mother, Joyce, had split up years after Joyce had accepted my father’s affair and me as the by-product. She and I had been distant since the divorce but were more so now. She was humiliated that she’d lied to me all these years and I was pissed that she’d lied to me all these years. Her attempts to reach out to me after my accident were not met with much enthusiasm on my part.

  I went into the kitchenette and opened the one cabinet over the sink, only to remember I hadn’t bought snacks of my own yet. I’d have to raid Dad’s fridge instead.

  Tasha hummed some pop-music beat in the back of her throat while she wrote in her notebook. A pair of white earbuds dangled from her ears, the other end attached to her phone.

  I had been so wrong about her last year. She wasn’t shallow. She wasn’t full of herself. And she cared. Legitimately cared. After the accident I cared about almost nothing. I still didn’t care. Although that couldn’t be true, could it? I was standing in my new “apartment” and I’d invited Tasha up.

  Wonder why that was?

  I pretended to unpack another box while I watched her without her knowing. Watched the way she pursed her lips in thought, pushed a few stray strands of blond hair behind her ear. Watched her eyebrows close in over her nose as she skimmed the textbook on her knee. She sat, her legs folded beneath her, in a short skirt, low-cut red shirt, and sparkly shoes she didn’t bother kicking off.

  Tasha was gorgeous.

  She represented everything in life I thought I’d have by now. She lived the definition of “the good life.” She would graduate this year, probably with honors.

  When Tasha shot me down at that party, I’d been at the top of my game. Now she wouldn’t leave me alone and I was at rock bottom. What was it about broken me she liked so damn much?

  She came here once a week and fulfilled her obligatory hour with me. She did it for my dad, I assumed. He’d asked for her help when the other therapists quit, though I assumed she’d been put on suicide watch, since it felt like she was being paid to babysit me. I wasn’t suicidal, but being perceived as needy and pathetic wasn’t the best cure for what ailed me.

  Tasha bit the end of her pen, rolling the barrel over those soft-looking pink lips and making me regret, not for the first time, that I’d never found out how they tasted.

  Thinking of college reminded me of Brooke, and thinking of Brooke reminded me that I wasn’t worth holding on to. Like Brooke, Tasha had expensive clothes, jewelry that looked real, and her college was paid for. Unlike Brooke, Tasha had a sweet fa
ce, cared enough about my voice to argue with me about it on occasion, and her perfume…Seriously. The girl smelled incredible.

  Tasha lifted her chin and caught me staring. My eyes went to the delicate gold chain at her throat, the tiny turtle pendant sitting there. I wondered what it meant.

  “Is our time up?” Her watch was gold like her necklace, with a big face and diamonds. Real ones, I’d bet.

  “Yeah, work.” No stumbling. Nice. It was a rare treat when words came out like they were supposed to.

  “Oh, okay.” She shoved her book into her backpack and unfolded those delicious-looking legs. Then she stood and tugged her skirt down, though it was too short to come close to her knees. I resisted staring, but only by biting down hard enough on my cheek to make my eyes water.

  When she stood from the couch, we were close.

  “Have a good shift.” She shouldered her bag.

  My eyes returned to her lips. She lifted her chin and shifted from foot to foot.

  I shrugged, not trusting my voice. Not moving or breathing.

  “Okay, well, bye.” She twisted her lips.

  I nodded, but she’d already turned to leave.

  Instead of changing for work, I lingered at the window, watching the driveway as Tasha strolled out, all that honey-blond hair bouncing on her shoulders.

  She climbed into her car: A brand new BMW Z4, white, gleaming in the sunshine.

  Damn.

  Gorgeous girl. Gorgeous car.

  There was a time I could’ve had both.

  —

  Bus tub on my hip, I swept through the dining room of Oak & Sage Restaurant. It was late, the only diners taking up space and taking their sweet-ass time a table of six well into their third bottle of wine. A few servers milled around, one of them a tall blonde who stared at everyone like she might take a bite out of them.

  I’d rather be home underneath my car, or even under Tasha’s scrutiny than this she-wolf’s.

  Back in school, my buddies labeled me the silver-tongued fox because I was able to get whatever I wanted from whomever I wanted. They may have found the nickname amusing, but to me it was a simple fact. I could be convincing. I could get people to like me. I could also swindle thousands of dollars out of bettors back when I street raced.

  My Audi, Blue, had brought in more money than she’d cost—and ten times the money I’d made legally over a lifetime.

  Until she kissed a fire hydrant.

  I totaled Blue and simultaneously did a good job of totaling myself. Busted up some ribs, my wrist. Broke my foot. I favored it now. Anytime I worked a double shift it throbbed like a bitch by night’s end.

  Laughter rang out from the bar as I swiped crumbs from the table I’d bussed. I cast a glance to where my brother’s girlfriend, Rena, bartended. I liked her. She was nice, super cute. Not my brother’s typical type with her long, dark hair and ability to spot bullshitters from a mile away. She was also a great friend to Tasha and had a pure bad-girl streak. That was the part that had lured Dev.

  She wiped the bar top with a towel, giving me a quick smile before turning back to the guys finishing their scotches in front of her. My returning smile faded when I got a better look at the “guys” at the bar.

  They were my friends. Former friends. We used to share a future, but now they represented dreams lost. Brian and Miller Dermont were brothers, Carey Grainger a friend. The Law Offices of Derby, Grainger, and Wilson was our destiny before I banged up my brain and lost the silver tongue that used to be my calling card.

  Hard to deliver a compelling closing argument to a jury when you can barely stutter out your own name. Law school was in their future, but not mine. Not anymore.

  I gritted my teeth and ducked my head, carrying the bus tub to the kitchen. The man I could have become was laid to rest on an icy night on Alley Road. He’d been buried alongside my beloved Blue, now a flattened pancake of metal in a junkyard.

  My brother swung around the corner, his confident and long-legged stride bringing him closer. Think of the devil, and Devlin appears.

  He was dressed in a dark suit, blue tie, button-down shirt. A lot like lawyer Cade would have been dressed. Except cooler. An idea bordering on laughable now, since I wore a food-stained apron, work boots, and a black polo shirt with the words “Oak & Sage” embroidered over my heart.

  Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

  “Empty the trash in the kitchen and you’re good to go. I’ll have Larry run the bus tubs through the dishwasher.” Devlin clapped my shoulder. “Not bad for your first week. You’ll be running this place in no time.”

  I flipped him off. He laughed.

  “Aspirations, Cade. Aspirations,” he said as he walked away from me.

  We hadn’t always gotten along. There was a time we’d nearly beat the shit out of each other, and it wasn’t all that long ago.

  I strolled to the kitchen, gave Larry my full bus tub so he could sort it out, and went to three heaping garbage cans full of discarded food and buzzing with flies. I closed the first trash bag, holding my breath at the stench.

  Hauling it out of the can and muscling it to the back door, I sent a scowl to that asshole Hamilton who worked behind the line. He was one of those big, dumb types who I could already tell was trouble. And when his eyes narrowed on me, I guessed he was the type dumb enough to bring trouble my way.

  He’d regret it.

  I may not be able to string a sentence together without faltering, but I could beat his ass without breaking a sweat.

  I flipped the lid on the bin outside, tossing in the garbage and wishing I were anywhere but here.

  Tasha came to mind again. Her, on my couch, but this time I was next to her. She smiled, looking at me with both admiration and desire.

  The image was one I wanted to be real.

  Tasha

  My father’s voice echoed in the wide marble foyer the moment I stepped into the house. Sounded like he was on the phone with a client. The house was cold, its size and materials doing a great job keeping out the heat. It was the perfect home for my father. He was equally cool and hard.

  Since his office was at home, he was usually here. Except for when he was flying off to a meeting at one end of the country or the other.

  “Natasha,” he repeated, greeting me with my full name. His cellphone was in one palm, his graying eyebrows pressed over cold, dark eyes. “Your package.”

  He handed me a small cardboard box.

  “Feels light for textbooks.” He was displeased with me. He was normally displeased with me. It was getting hard to tell why.

  “They’re not textbooks.” We had a minor stare-down that ended with him blinking first.

  “Are you still having therapy sessions with Caden?”

  “Once a week,” I answered, wishing I were the kind of person who could lie and make it believable. I didn’t want to talk about Cade with Daddy. I didn’t want to admit that I had pretty much failed Cade since I started.

  My father’s mouth compressed. “And how is it going?”

  Unproductive.

  “We’re making progress,” I said, cradling the box. I opened my mouth to tell him I’d be on my merry way, but then he spoke.

  “My office.” He turned and stepped into the formal room. There were globes and models of ships, an anchor hanging on one wall. The mahogany desk and shelves were oversized and highly polished. Though my father worked at home and saw no one, he dressed in a suit every day. He wore one now.

  I sat primly in a red leather guest chair across from the desk, resting my box at my feet and wishing I’d remembered to change my Amazon address when I moved away.

  “What’s going on between the two of you?”

  “Sorry?” I asked, legitimately confused.

  “You’ve been going over there for four months. I called Paul Wilson today and he told me Caden isn’t saying any more than he used to.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re implying,” I lied, knowing exactly what he was implyin
g.

  “How about the truth?” My father’s eyes were the same shade of blue as mine, only they were icy. And they froze me where I sat. I wondered if he’d ever been lovable. Why my mother had tied herself to him at age eighteen. Why I’d chosen to stay with him instead of leaving with her when they divorced…but I knew.

  At the time, I’d been in high school and hadn’t wanted to leave my friends. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

  “I’m not a speech therapist.” My voice was a little desperate, so I cleared my throat and tried not to sound like I was defending myself. “I help people with torn ligaments. Rotator cuff issues. People who—”

  “It seems you and Cade aren’t doing therapy at all.”

  “Excuse me?” My face flushed. My father may as well have called me a failure.

  “I don’t want you seeing him any longer. Paul Wilson is a former gambler. Caden Wilson is a criminal.”

  “Cade is not a criminal.” I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I didn’t like my father’s tone.

  “Street racing is illegal.”

  He had me there. But there was no way I was letting him mandate what I did or didn’t do, who I saw or didn’t see. I was out of “his house” and that made me immune to “his rules.”

  “Cade doesn’t race any longer and Paul is your accountant. If you don’t trust him, then why would you let him crunch your company numbers?”

  “Let me explain something to you, Natasha.” His mouth turned down. He was unhappy I’d challenged him.

  Morton Montgomery leaned back in his chair and put a finger to his temple, elbow on the desk. It was a casual position, but I could never relax under his scrutiny. “Paul Wilson pulled us out of a tax issue two years ago.”

  “I know.” I should have let him finish his monologue, but I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

  “We owe him,” he said resolutely, his calm voice echoing off the high ceiling as if he’d shouted.

  “You owe him?” I asked, purposely rephrasing his statement.