Snake Eyes Page 9

“Babe, what’s going on?”

  “We went out last night, because she really wanted to.”

  “What’d you do?”

  Caity rubbed her temples and cringed. “We went bar-hopping.”

  “What?” Surprise made my voice loud.

  Her eyes bulged and she slapped her hand over my mouth. “Keep your voice down. What’s so wrong with bar-hopping anyway?”

  I gently flicked her hand off me and whispered, “Nothing, except for the fact that you’re both underage. How’d you even buy a drink?”

  She looked to the floor and mumbled, “How do you think?”

  “Martha Woodgrove?”

  She cringed.

  I remembered pulling the fake ID from her wallet months ago and the hysterical laughter that ensued when I tried to imagine her as a Martha. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I thought you kept that ID as a joke, not to actually use it.”

  “I know, I know.” She squeezed my arms, looking guilty.

  “I don’t get it.” I peeked my head around the corner and heard polite small talk coming from the living room. “She doesn’t even seem like the partying kind and I know you aren’t. What were you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. I just wanted her to feel comfortable around me and I asked her if she wanted to go out and then one thing led to another.”

  It was impossible to hide my bafflement. If she’d pulled off my mask, all she would have seen was an amplified version of what I was already showing her. “No wonder she looks so tired. How are you feeling?”

  She gave me a sheepish grin before looking to the floor. “You want to know the weirdest thing?”

  “I’m not sure.” I crossed my arms.

  “I didn’t get drunk, but I ended up pretending to get as drunk as her. The beer was so gross, I kept spitting it back into the bottle. It was pathetic.”

  “Why did you do that?” I chuckled. “Why didn’t you tell her you’re not really a drinker?”

  “Because I want her to like me.”

  I threw her an incredulous look. “What are you, thirteen again? This isn’t a popularity contest.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have to live with her.”

  “Neither do you.” I shrugged, and then cleared my throat as her expression changed.

  There was a long, uncomfortable pause before she finally huffed. “You’re so not okay with my decision.”

  “Yes, I am. I said I am.”

  “Then act like it!” Her hands flicked through the air.

  “I—” I held my breath for a moment, not wanting to start a fight. “I just don’t understand why you’re pretending to be something you’re not.”

  Her jaw clicked to the side and she took way too long to answer me, like she was somehow trying to think of the right answer. Eventually, she sighed. “I don’t know either. It was just a slip in judgment, but...we had a really fun time.” She shrugged. “I’m not saying I want to go out partying every night or anything, but it was cool. She really let loose and she was funny. I know I made her feel welcome and relaxed and I’ve set us up for a good year.”

  “Caity.” I placed my hands on either side of the counter, boxing her in. “You’ve made her believe you’re something you’re not. That’s not a good set-up.”

  “I’ll make it right.” She leaned forward and kissed the sweet spot on my neck.

  I closed my eyes, finding it hard to think straight with her lips caressing my skin like that.

  “It was just one night of weekend fun. This won’t become the norm, I swear.” She looked up at me with those vibrant eyes and smiled. “The main thing I wanted was for her to feel comfortable around me. I don’t want to kick things off like I did with Piper. Trust me, I may have acted a little wild last night, but I was totally in control and this is not going to be an everyday thing.”

  With gentle fingers, I brushed a long curl off Caity’s face and smiled at her. It was so unbelievably typical of my girl to pull an idiotic move like last night just to make someone feel comfortable. At least she was smart enough not to get drunk. I only hoped that Caity’s will to help Quella didn’t end up changing who she was.

  16

  Caitlyn

  My fingers felt sweaty as I gazed at Eric’s text message. Exactly three weeks ago, I had stood in his kitchen and told him that my night of fun with Quella was not going to be the norm. I’d bullshitted my way through a story about how I wanted to make Quella feel at home. My first instinct had been to hide our night of revelry, but on the drive over I’d been inspired and decided that letting Eric in on as much truth as I could, would make it easier to hide the big truth.

  It wasn’t.

  Drawing in a breath, I replied to his invitation of a quiet night at the beach. It sounded like heaven, way better than where I was currently standing.

  Would love to, but am out with Quella. Why don’t you come join us? We’re at Club Ultron.

  My fingers jittered as I waited for his reply.

  He’d hate this. He’d read my text and wonder what the hell I was doing. I was a fool to invite him, but I missed him. Quella was taking up a lot of my time and it was starting to show. The only time I ever really saw Eric was on our study dates in the library and Taco Tuesday, which was sacred and would remain so. There was no way Kaplan or Quella were stomping on that one.

  Eric still hadn’t replied. I shoved the phone into my pocket with a scowl.

  This sucked.

  I wanted the beach, the moonlight, Eric covering me with his hot self, but instead I was out at a loud dance club, pretending to be a party diva so Little Miss Wild Child could shake her booty and get plastered.

  We’d done it every weekend since she arrived and every weekend I worked my ass off to get her to spill something, anything about her precious father. So far, I knew he was a ba-gillionaire, a coffee snob and owned two mansions—one in New Mexico and one in Palm Springs. Yeah, well, thanks to Kaplan I already knew that.

  Quella let out a whoop and waved at me from the dance floor, indicating I should join her. I raised my hand and nodded, pointing to the bar and pretending to be waiting on some drinks. She gave me a thumbs-up before throwing her head back and shimmying closer to a young Latino man who seemed to be fully into her.

  I glanced away, imagining my phone call with Kaplan later that night.

  Oh yeah, hey, Kaplan. No, nothing new. The only stuff this girl likes talking about is fashion, dancing and hot guys. In fact tonight, she spent most of it gyrating on the dance floor with some dark and handsome man who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a Spanish soap opera. So, can I quit now please, because I’m really not enjoying this and I’m sick of my boyfriend asking me out on these amazing dates and having to decline because I’m babysitting a spoiled, rich kid!

  And she’d reply with...

  You’re not working hard enough, blondie. Stop messing around. Get her drunk, get her talking, make sure you’re beside her at all times. Have those girly heart-to-hearts and get her to open up.

  That was all well and good, but how did you get the world’s most shallow person to open up?

  Think about the girls.

  The statement hit me like it did every day. It varied in pitch and volume, but it always had the same effect. Time was not on our side. I needed Quella to spill something—anything—that would get me a step closer to the truth.

  I’d been reading her like crazy, flipping her mask on and off so I didn’t slip up when I saw something new. I was aware she adored her father in spite of the fact she wanted to break free of his protective reign. She felt guilty sometimes, but when she was drunk, her inhibitions ran into hiding. She’d spout off about not being a little girl anymore and how he couldn’t keep her locked up forever.

  Last week, I’d had a little breakthrough when she’d confessed that her UCLA stint was only a one-year trial. If she didn’t behave herself he’d haul her back home, which was why she used her sweet-as-pie voice whenever she spoke on the phone. “Yes, Papá.
I am being very well behaved.”

  If only he knew the truth.

  With a sigh, I reached up on my tiptoes and looked across the dance floor. Quella’s arms were now draped over the Latino man’s shoulders. He was holding her hips and they swayed together as if connected with super glue. I frowned. I knew she was a virgin; she’d told me that late one night, as well. I’d tipped my head, thinking it was cool that she was opening up, but wishing she’d say more.

  The phone in my pocket vibrated against my butt. I yanked it out.

  Okay. I’ll see you soon.

  No kisses this time.

  I frowned. That probably meant Eric was annoyed with me. Heck, I was annoyed with myself! How could I pass up a romantic night at the beach with my man?

  Because of the girls!

  I closed my eyes, wishing I could tell him.

  A new song started up, blasting through the speakers. Quella glanced over her partner’s shoulder and beckoned me to join them. I really didn’t want to. I yelled that I was waiting for Eric. She couldn’t hear me and gave up quickly as the guy spun her around. She giggled at the move, but a second later was facing away from me. I gazed at the back of her head, but quickly noticed that Mr. Soap Opera was watching me.

  I smiled at him. His narrow lips rose with an easy grin, his dark eyes glinting with charm.

  Narrowing my gaze, I ripped off his mask and saw it. His dry expression, the calculated look in his eye. He was checking me out and not in a flirty way. He wanted to make sure I was not going to harm the girl in his arms.

  I waited until he turned away before letting my expression fold into a frown.

  Who the hell was that guy?

  He spun Quella in his arms with a laugh. I put his mask back in place to check I was right before whipping it off again to see that everything about him was robotic and emotionless. His eyes darted around the room, his gaze skirting me numerous times.

  He seemed more interested in me, and the crowd around him, than he was with Quella.

  I thought of the black phone hiding beneath my bed back on campus. Kaplan was going to want to know about this guy. With a sigh I pushed off the bar and headed into the claustrophobic fray. Telling her about some guy who looked suspicious wouldn’t be enough. Kaplan would want to know everything she could about the man pretending to flirt with Quella Mendez.

  17

  Eric

  When I first walked into Club Ultron, all I could see were flashing strobe lights, all I could smell was drunken sweat, and all I could think was, “Why the hell would Caity pass up a skinny dip in the ocean for this?”

  I scanned the room, bustling my way through people to find my blue-eyed beauty. She was on the dance floor, shuffling to the beat, looking stiff and awkward.

  What was she doing?

  It so wasn’t my girl and it kind of worried me that she was trying so hard to fit in with Quella. I thought she’d gotten over that in high school. She used to be so caught up in pleasing everyone that she’d always gone with the crowd, but then her eyesight changed and the girl who was hiding underneath started to shine through. It’d been impossible to resist her after that.

  Turning sideways, I plunged my way through the crowd until I reached the dance floor. Quella was swaying to the beat, her hands raised as she backed into some Spanish guy behind her. They moved together, looking as though they were lost in the music, although Quella’s limbs moved like overstretched elastic.

  Was she drunk?

  I placed my hand on Caity’s lower back. She spun in surprise and her expression washed with relief as she wrapped her arms around my neck. “I’m so glad you came.”

  Pulling her against me, I lifted her off the floor and gave her a quick kiss.

  “You done dancing?” I yelled above the music.

  “Definitely!” Her eyes rounded.

  I chuckled, grabbing her hand and walking her off the floor. We found a couple of spare stools around a tiny table that looked out over the lowered dance floor.

  The music was still blaring, making easy chatter impossible.

  Caity scratched her arm, keeping an eye on her roommate.

  “What’s going on?” I leaned toward her so I didn’t have to yell so loud.

  She shrugged. “Just keeping an eye on Quella.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this, Caity?”

  Her head swiveled in my direction and I caught a brief glimpse of something.

  She gave me a closed-mouth smile and touched my arm, leaning up to my ear. “I told you. I want to look out for her.”

  “By falling into this lifestyle? It’s not you. I don’t get it.”

  “She needs me to be her friend right now.”

  “Aren’t you taking things a little too far?”

  “Look, it’s not that bad. We’ve been having fun.” She pulled back from me and looked at the dance floor again, laughing at Quella’s lucid movements.

  I frowned.

  She saw my expression and sighed, nibbling her lower lip and looking at the round tabletop.

  “I—” She swallowed. “It’s hard to explain.”

  Her expression was pinched.

  I hated that this was happening again. We had a communication breakdown at the beginning of last year, over the whole Connor taking drugs thing, and it nearly broke us up. I’d been a stubborn ass about it and could have lost her out of sheer pride and fear. I didn’t want that to happen again.

  I reached for her hand. “I’m always here to listen, you know. You can tell me anything.”

  Her blue gaze filled with agony for a minute, her lips parting. She hesitated for a beat, her tongue skimming her lower lip. “I want to, but...”

  She glanced at the floor again, wincing and closing her eyes.

  I waited, trying to be patient when all I felt like doing was dragging her out of the noise-pit and demanding the truth.

  “It’s a girl thing.” She turned back to me, blinking a couple of times before looking me straight in the eye. “Quella told me something in confidence and I swore I wouldn’t say a word, even though I really, really want to tell you. But she’s vulnerable and she needs me to look out for her.”

  “Is everything okay? She’s not in any kind of danger, is she?”

  “No.” Caity shook her head. “Nothing like that, just...some stuff about her family and her past and.... She’s just really trying to make each day count at the moment, and I want to help her do that.”

  “As long as you’re not compromising who you are to make that happen.”

  “I’m not, I just...this is something I have to do.” Her eyes begged me to accept this. “You didn’t see her face, Eric.” She looked to the ground, her expression sad. “They need me.”

  “They?”

  “She. I meant she.” Caity shook her head with a bashful smile. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

  I could only guess what demons Quella was fighting. There were multiple scenarios, but there was one thing I knew for sure: my girlfriend was a sweetheart. She cared so much about people. She was a girl you could trust, and she wouldn’t spill Quella’s secret if she’d ask her not to.

  And knowing Caity, she’d go to the ends of the earth to give Quella what she needed to be happy.

  That was the part that concerned me.

  I needed to keep a close eye on her and make sure the lines of communication stayed open this time around.

  Caity gazed up at me, looking like a kid waiting for approval; her eyes were bright, still imploring me to accept what she was doing.

  I gave her a tender smile.

  “You’re a good soul,” I whispered.

  She wouldn’t have been able to hear me, but her smile told me she’d read my lips. Her white teeth glowed as the black lights went on. She moved toward me, her slim body pressing against mine as our lips met. I held her close, loving every inch of her.

  The urge to drag her out of the bar and down to the beach was intense. As we pulled away from the kiss,
I checked out the dance floor again, wondering if I could pitch the idea to Caity. We’d be gone for no more than an hour; just a snapshot of fresh air, the feel of the sand beneath us, a quick make-out session with the ocean waves as our soundtrack. Quella probably wouldn’t even notice we were gone.

  I was just opening my mouth to suggest it when I spotted Caitys’ roommate. Her head was leaned back against her dance partner, her eyes closed, her skin pale.

  I jerked out of Caity’s arms. “Hey, is she okay?”

  Caity followed my pointing finger and gasped. “She looks like a ghost!”

  We scrambled through the crowd to reach her.

  “Quella!” Caity tapped her shoulder.

  The girl lurched up as if coming out of a sleep. She spotted Caity in front of her and tried to smile, but then her body convulsed once and she threw up...all over my girlfriend.

  I cringed in disgust, pulling Caity away from the spray. She stood still on the dance floor, her arms spread out as if holding an invisible beach ball. Vomit dripped off her arms and ran down her shirt. Her lips wobbled as if fighting barf of her own.

  “Okay, time to go.” I quickly took control.

  Grabbing Quella’s arm, I gently pulled her off the guy she was leaning against. He scowled at me as if to say, “Who the hell are you?” I ignored him, more concerned about getting Quella home to bed and Caity cleaned up.

  Quella tripped as we neared the stairs, falling against me and letting out a bourbon-infused burp. I grimaced as the smell wafted up my nostrils. She stumbled again and I swept her into my arms, the need to get out overpowering my will to not touch her. Most of her puke landed on Caity, but a little still clung to her clothes.

  It was so completely foul.

  I turned to see Caity slopping out behind us. The Spanish guy was still giving me an evil glare.

  Whatever.

  To say I was pissed with Caity’s roommate was an understatement. If that guy thought I was trying to steal her away from him, he was insane. I had no idea who he was, but what kind of moron let a girl get that drunk?