Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

“Should we be up here? I don’t even know who lives here,” I said, out of breath. I wasn’t trying to do that seductive-bunny voice girls like Taylor use to unhinge guys. Honestly. Hiking the massive staircase after months of no physical training and the close proximity of Liam’s lips to my ear had sincerely winded me.

“Don’t worry,” he assured me, letting go of my hand and plopping down on a love seat facing the railing. “This house is just a party pad. You know Chase?”

“I think so. Is he on the football team with you?” I asked, even though I knew exactly who Chase was. Alana used to have a thing for Chase like I still had a thing for Liam. At one point, she’d even had the joint wedding all planned out.

“Yeah. Well, this is his uncle’s third or fourth house. He’s some billionaire from Texas or something.”

“It’s amazing,” I said, still standing in the doorway where he left me.

“Yeah, I know—sick, right?”

“Totally. Sick.” I felt sick. I had no idea what to do with my hands. Pockets, no. Behind the back, no.

“Come sit down,” he said, sounding sort of winded himself. Which made no sense since he was in peak physical condition.

“OK.” I rounded the seat and sat down next to him, wondering why I was being so weak. I had firmly resolved not to allow him to get close to me again. And here I was, obeying his every command.

“So, what’s up with you leaving me high and dry the other day on the beach?” he asked with a slight hitch in his voice. Almost like he was just as tense as I was.

“There’s this thing called school. And you aren’t supposed to be late to it.”

“Whatever. We had plenty of time.” He leaned toward me.

It was a bright night, and the moon provided an unfortunate spotlight on my awkwardness—and a better view of that scar on his ear.

“Have you thought about what I told you?” he said. “About that guy watching you? Have you told the police?”

“No, I mean yes, well…” I stopped to gather myself. “Yes, I thought about what you said, but I haven’t told the police.”

“Have you told your mom?”

“No.”

“Why not? Don’t you think it’s sort of pertinent?” He put his hand on my knee. I jerked away, far jumpier than necessary.

Of course I thought it was pertinent. But football players shouldn’t use such big words. Or pretend to be seriously interested in me. And certainly not touch me like that, or look at me like this—with tenderness and intimacy.

“What’s going on? Why wouldn’t you help them protect you?”

“You don’t understand. There’s more to it.”

“Tell me, then. Help me understand.” He turned his body to face me.

I stared at his lips. Were they telling the truth? Or were they like chocolate—promising happiness, providing a few moments of heaven, then ultimately betraying me, going behind my back and putting junk in the trunk?

It didn’t seem like a fair choice. Chocolate had total power over me—there was no denying my addiction to the dark, creamy crack. Those few moments of bliss were always enough for me to disregard the consequences. So, even if Liam was only chocolate, I wanted to taste a piece.

Just imagining the moment our lips would touch made me light-headed. There was no denying how strongly I’d wanted this. An energy buzz overtook all my logic, all my pain. Overwhelmed by it, I gave in.

I softened.

Briny air swirled across the veranda, mixing with Liam’s musky cologne. The scent swept over me, and I closed my eyes to breathe it in. But then something inside me turned over. It smelled like the same cologne my dad used to wear.

A deep pit formed in my stomach as I remembered him walking out the garage door for the last time. I didn’t know then he would be ambushed and blown to pieces. I didn’t know then that I would never see him again.

“I gotta go.” I opened my eyes and started to get up. But Liam stopped me, reaching for my wrist. Instinctively, I rotated my hand clockwise and thrust it down with the full weight of my body to break his grip.

“Jeez!” He jumped up and grabbed at his wrist in pain. “What the—?”

“Don’t grab at me then if you don’t want to get hurt!” I moved behind the couch, to put some space, and furniture, between us.

“I wasn’t grabbing at you,” he said with a grimace. “I was just trying to stop you from running away from me again .”

“First of all, you did grab me, and second…” I didn’t really have a second. “Look, I’m way too messed up for you to bother with.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to grab ,” he said, moving toward me slowly, like I was a bomb in need of dismantling. “And just so you know, it’s OK to be a little messed up.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” I backed up. “Or why you’re acting so interested in me all of a sudden. Is it the fame thing? Do you want to see yourself in the newspaper next to Bleeding Ruby Rose again? Or did one of your football buddies bet you that you couldn’t get laid by the most dangerous girl in school?”

Not likely. My virginity wasn’t exactly a secret. One of those trashy magazines had even broadcast it in an article called “Ruby Rose: The Virgin Vigilante.”

He stopped and looked at me with the mug of a kicked puppy. “Wow.”

“Wow, what?” They were simple questions.

“I had no idea that’s what you thought of me,” he said, lowering his head to stare at the red marks developing on his wrist.

“Well, I told you,” I said, a little less abrasively. “I don’t know what to think. Things are complicated for me, and I don’t know what your intentions are.”

“My intentions?” he asked, as if he didn’t readily know the answer. “I just wanted to help. That guy—he used me, too, you know.”

“What? What do you mean he used you?”

“He pretended to be me when he sent you that text, remember? My name was in the police report. That Detective Martinez guy came to my house and interviewed me. And when it went public, reporters tried to talk to me. My friends never leave me alone about it. So, yeah, I feel a little involved , OK?”

“OK,” I said, taken aback. I felt horrible that my stupid life had already affected him, and like the biggest B-word for giving him such a hard time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“Plus, I know what it’s like to be misunderstood.” He paused and did that self-conscious ear-touching thing. Again, I wondered what could have possibly happened to him. “It’s a lonely place to be, and I can see how talented you are at pushing people away. Or maybe I should say karate chopping people away.” A sliver of a smile formed in the crease of his eyes.

Oh, no. I was softening under his charm again. “But you’re still not answering my question, Liam. Why do you want to help me? Are you upset that you’re involved?”

He rubbed his forehead. “C’mon, isn’t it obvious?”

“If it were obvious, I wouldn’t need to ask.”

“I like you, all right?” He was red in the face and clearly frazzled. “I’ve liked you for a long time, but you haven’t given me the time of day.”

It couldn’t be that simple. He couldn’t have wanted to help me simply because he “liked” me. I “liked” watching lobsters play in their tank at the restaurant, and I still “liked” to eat them. I didn’t trust that word. For two years, I practically went all googly-eyed at him every time he looked at me. Now he was saying he “liked” me?

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I’ve always given you the time of day.”

“Let me be clear, then, so you know what I mean,” he said, stepping forward again, a glutton for punishment. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, but when your dad died I figured you needed some time. Then, just when I got the courage to ask you to Homecoming, well, the bottom of your world dropped out again.”