Very Bad Things (22 page)

“You
can’t make someone love you.”

–
Nora
Blakely

AFTER VIXEN’S PARENTS picked her up
and Teddy left with his sister, Sebastian asked me to stay for dinner. I’d had
plans to eat a sandwich and soup at Aunt Portia’s, so I called her and told her
I was eating with Sebastian. She was relieved, I think, because it gave her
reason to go ahead and head off home. I knew she loved me and wanted to help
me, but I hated to disrupt her life.

It might be a little weird to hang out with Leo, but I was
adamant about getting over him. Plus, things seemed to have smoothed over a bit
at practice. He’d offered me the job, and my gut sensed he genuinely wanted to
help me.

Was it possible for us to be friends?

I think we had to try if I wanted to hang out with
Sebastian.

Because I’d gotten sweaty playing piano, I took a quick
shower first at the gym and then walked back over to my attic space. I changed
into a pair of jeans and a halter-style red shirt that was part of some new
clothes Aunt Portia and I had gotten over the weekend. It felt good to wear
something I’d picked out. I put my hair up in a high ponytail, slipped on some
leopard print ballet flats and headed out the door. Mila called on the way over
to the gym to say that Sebastian had invited her, too.

When I walked back in the loft, Sebastian was nowhere to be
seen, but Leo was pacing around the kitchen, getting ready to cook. He’d taken
a shower, and his blond hair was still damp and curling around his ears. He
wore track pants that hung low on his hips and a Club Vita muscle shirt that
showed the definition in his chest. The long body of his dragon was visible,
and I wanted to stare at it, but I tore my eyes away. Some of the tension
between us seemed to have lessened, and I didn’t want to bring it back.

“You’re not going to hit me with that are you?” I asked him
ruefully, eyeing a pan he’d pulled out of the cabinet.

“Only if you refuse to help me cook my famous spaghetti
sauce,” he said with a hesitant grin.

He waved me over. “Come on and help me cook.” His eyes
flicked down the hall. “Sebastian’s in the shower anyway.”

I walked over to the counter where he’d set out items to
make a red sauce. “Homemade, huh?”

He nodded.

I picked up the sugar he’d set out. “Sugar in spaghetti?”

“Everything needs a little sweet in it,” he said, staring at
my mouth.

“I’ve never had homemade,” I said.

“How does your mom make hers?” he asked me, starting to chop
the tomatoes. He slid the oregano over to me and handed me a small cutting
board and a paring knife. “Here, be useful.”

I chopped. “My mom doesn’t cook. Now, if you asked her to
organize a charity dinner for five hundred people, she’d do that in a snap.”

“What charities does she promote?”

I kept my eyes down. “Whichever makes her look the best.”

“You never said why you moved out,” he said quietly.

I flinched, and he stopped chopping to look at me. “I’m not
letting you eat until you tell me and that includes dessert, Buttercup.”

I blinked at his teasing. This was a big leap from the day
before when he’d given me the Paris book. That whole conversation had been
strange. But if I wanted us to be friends, I had to get past the fact that he
didn’t want to be with me.

I smiled. “Hmmm, I guess it depends on what’s for dessert.”

He smiled back. “It’s a surprise, so give me the deets.”

I shrugged and gave him the G-rated version. “Mother found
out I dropped most of my classes and extracurriculars. Appearances are important
to her. She flipped out.”

A few seconds ticked by, and I admitted, “She
may
have found some cocaine in my purse . . .” I held my hand up at
Leo’s suddenly very angry face. “I didn’t snort it, Leo.”

His mouth tightened as he attacked the onions and garlic
he’d put in the sauté pan. Wanting to explain more to him, but scared of the
questions it might raise, I tried to ignore him. I reached up to the pot hanger
above the island and took down a stock pot to boil the noodles.

His silence was killing me.

“I’m not a druggie,” I told him after I couldn’t stand it
anymore. Cocaine
had
been a stupid idea. When Finn had forced me to take
it, I’d been a zombie.

He stared at me, his eyes disappointed.

I sighed. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to promise me you aren’t going to do drugs or
anything else on that shitty list.”

“I’ve dyed my hair and got a nipple piercing. So what?”

“Yeah,” he said, gazing at my chest.

I crossed my arms and glared at him.
Don’t even think
about it, mister.

“What else have you done? Random sex?” he asked, standing
there motionless, not paying any attention to the hot pan sizzling on the
stove.

I shrugged, deciding to not admit I’d abandoned my list. Why
did he care if I had random sex with someone?

“Cuba’s willing,” I said.

“What do you mean Cuba’s willing?” he said, slamming down
his cooking utensil.

“He wants me, and maybe I want him. He is hot. And I love
his hard body,” I piped up, embellishing the story a little. “Of course, I
gotta work out the whole ménage thing. I tend to want all the attention.”

Leo’s nose flared. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, he wants to.”

“Stay away from Cuba Hudson,” he snapped at me.

“Why?” I said. “Because you’re jealous? Because you won’t
have me, so no one can? It doesn’t work like that, Leo.”

He stood there with clenched fists, and I just didn’t get
his reaction. He claimed he didn’t care about me in a girlfriend way, yet he
was angry.

Seeing his tense stance reminded me of the tiger in him.
With a name like Leo you’d think he’d be the lion type, but he wasn’t reticent
enough. Lions are a bit on the lazy side, basking in the sun, expecting the
lioness to drag home the kill and let him eat first.

But male tigers are different. They hunt and let the female
and the cubs eat first. They’re caretakers, just like Leo. I mean, couldn’t he
see how he took care of others? Sebastian, Teddy, and even me? Yet, he wouldn’t
let love in.

He wouldn’t allow anyone to take care of
him
.

Or maybe he
was
letting love in. Maybe he did love
Tiffani. I wanted to barf.

“You have no right to tell me to stay away from someone when
you have your psychic,” I said.

He seemed to deflate. “You’re right, and I’ll drop Cuba, but
I want you to listen to me,” he said. “A junkie killed my parents, and it
fucking freaks me out that you might have used drugs. If you need help, I’ll
get it for you. I know your parents have cut you off, but I’ll give you
everything: a place to live, money, rehab, college. If anything ever happened
to you—” he looked back down at the pan on the stove.

I sighed sadly, because he only meant those words as a
friend. “I did have cocaine, and yes, I thought about using, but in the end, I
didn’t.”

“But you’ve taken it before?”

I stiffened. “I’ve taken it before, but I didn’t want to,” I
said. “End of story. New topic, please.” I looked down the hall, needing a
distraction. “Where’s Sebastian. He’s taking a really long shower.”

“Sebastian?” he barked, his lips thinning. “What’s going on
between you two? He’s falling for you, you know.”

“He’s my friend, Leo.”

He glared.

“Look,” I said, getting back to the original topic, “don’t
worry about the list. I made it when I was angry. I’m not going to OD with
drugs or end up in jail. The coke wasn’t even mine; it was Finn’s,” I said,
biting my lip hard when I realized I’d said his name.

“Who the fuck is Finn?” he demanded, suddenly livid. “Your
ex-boyfriend?”

I felt the blood leave my face.

“Buttercup?” he asked in a lowered voice.

“
Don’t
call me that. It’s a term of endearment, and
you need to save those for Tiffani,” I said, pointing at him.

He rubbed his hands through his hair several times, a crazed
look on his face. “Fuck. Nora, I’m sorry. I feel out of control here. Forgive
me, okay? But this Finn guy . . . I will rip him apart for giving you drugs.”

I shrank from him, frightened by hearing Finn’s name on his
lips. “Please, don’t ask me about him ever again.”

He nodded uncertainly and moved closer to me, like he wanted
to hold me, but I stepped back. I still couldn’t handle him touching me;
Tiffani was too fresh. He sighed and turned back to the stove to stir the
sauce.

I bit my lip as I watched him, not wanting to be angry with
him. I needed him, just like I needed Sebastian.

“Tell me a happy story, Leo.”

He gazed at me. “One day you’ll have your own stories.”

“Yes, I will,” I said firmly.

“Let’s finish cooking this killer meal and then eat it.
How’s that for a happy story?”

I nodded. “I like it. What’s for dessert?”

“You’ll love it,” he said, his fingers brushing mine as we
turned back to the stove.

As the minutes passed, we eased into a familiar camaraderie
that reminded me of our night at the movies. I made a salad, and he put the
French bread in the oven. He set the table, and I poured the tea. We talked
about similar books we’d read and movies we wanted to see. I admitted my word
compulsion, and he laughed and told me I was wacko. I informed him
wacko
was a relatively new word, an Americanism coined in the 1970s. He explained how
he’d taken his parents’ life insurance and restored the old gym his dad had
owned, turning it into a lucrative business by buying and selling several gyms,
like people flip houses. I told him how high my IQ was, and he called me a
geek. I grinned and said I preferred the term
intellectual badass
. He
laughed uproariously.

By the time Sebastian and Mila came in the kitchen, dinner
was on the table and smelled wonderful. As we ate, the sun was setting and a
golden glow came in through the window and lit the table. Leo had turned on
some R.E.M., and a song about losing your religion played. I looked at each of
them. Sebastian’s cheeks were bulging because he’d tried to stuff as much bread
into his mouth as he could. Leo thumped him in the arm, telling him to mind his
table manners around their company. Mila had spaghetti on her fork, but it
plopped in her lap when she burst out laughing at their banter. I closed my
eyes, savoring, because this . . . this was one of those happy moments I could
string on my necklace.

Leo jumped up. “Time for dessert,” he said, grinning, as if
he knew something I didn’t.

“What’s going on?” I asked the other two as he went into the
pantry.

Sebastian laughed and Mila grinned.

Leo came back holding a giant misshapen pink cake with
candles on it, and my heart swelled because I could tell by looking it was
homemade, and no one, not even Aunt Portia, had ever baked me a cake.

“Is that what I think it is?” I whispered in amazement.

“Surprise. I know it’s a little late in the game, but seeing
as you didn’t tell anyone until the day of . . .” Leo said,
setting the cake down on the table. I watched him light the candles.

“Happy Birthday,” he said, leaning over and surprising me by
tucking my hair behind my ear. “Now, make a wish and blow them out, so we can
eat this monstrosity.”

“Beautiful monstrosity,” I murmured, staring at the fluffy
icing, imagining Leo standing in the kitchen making something special just for
me. I grew emotional, sitting there, thinking of him trying his best to be my
friend. I blew out the candles and made my wish. It might never come true, but
my heart still yearned for Leo.

Some would say love at first sight is ridiculous, and
perhaps love never happens for those people at all. I kept thinking about what
Sebastian had said: that when it was real then you know it. I looked at Leo,
sitting there around his friends and family and knew the truth. I
loved
him.
Forever. Was it surprising that as I was searching for myself, I’d also found
love? Yeah. Fate, destiny, karma, kismet, God, crazy coincidences, or whatever
you wanted to call it, had written in the stars that I would find my soulmate.