Jennifer Armentrout: Don’t Look Back

I quickly placed the picture on the bedside table. “I don’t know where she is.”

“I have theories.”

Interest piqued, I rocked back on my heels. “You do?”

Scott flopped on my bed and stretched out lazily. “Shit, you probably killed her and stashed her body somewhere.” He laughed. “That’s my main theory.”

Blood drained out of my face, and I gasped.

The smile on his face faded as he watched me. “Sam, dude, I was kidding .”

“Oh.” Sweet relief shot through me, and I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my chipped nails. In an instant, everything turned gray and white. The only color was red—vibrant, garish red under my fingernails. Soft whimpers — someone was crying .

Scott grabbed my arm. “Hey, you okay?”

I blinked, and the vision, the sounds faded away. Shoving my hands under my legs, I nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He sat up, staring at me. “Holy shit, you’re not faking it.”

“Faking what?”

“The whole amnesia thing—because I was betting money you were off partying somewhere, got trashed for days, and couldn’t come home until you sobered up.”

Damn. “Did I do that often?”

Scott barked out a laugh. “Yeah … this is weird. You’re definitely not faking.”

Now I felt even more confused. “How can you tell?”

“Well, for starters, you haven’t kicked me out of your room or threatened to ruin my life yet.”

“I’d do that?”

He stared at me, his eyes wide. “Yeah, and sometimes you’d even hit me. Once, I hit you back, and, well, that didn’t go over well. Dad got pissed. Mom was mortified .”

My brows pinched. “We … hit each other?”

Shaking his head, Scott leaned back. “Man, this is bizarre.”

No doubt. I pulled my hands out from under my legs and sighed. “Back to the whole killing-Cassie-and-hiding-her-body thing. Why did you say that?”

“I was kidding. You two have been best friends foreva .” He smirked. “Actually, you guys were more like frenemies in the last couple of years. There was some kind of unspoken rivalry going on between you two. It started when you made homecoming queen during sophomore year and she made court. At least that’s what you tell everyone, but I’m thinking it started when you two were freshmen and you started dating Del the Dick.”

“Del the Dick ?” I tucked a strand of hair back. “That’s my boyfriend.”

“ That’s your whole world.”

Not liking the sound of that, I made a face. “I don’t remember … him, either.”

“That’s going to be a blow to his confidence.” He grinned. “You know, this is possibly the best thing that has ever happened.”

“Me losing my memory and not knowing what happened to me?” Anger sparked deep inside me, familiar and powerful. “Yeah, I’m glad that’s so great for you.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Scott sat up, looking me straight in the eyes. “You were a terror to everyone who knew you. And this”—he waved his hand around me—“is an improvement.”

That icky feeling was back, coiling around my insides. I was a terror? I bit my lip, frustrated that there was nothing in my head confirming or denying what he’d said.

Someone cleared his throat.

We twisted around and … wow, just wow. My jaw hit the bedspread. There was a tall boy standing in the doorway to my bedroom. Dark brown hair fell over his forehead and curled around his ears. His skin was deep, almost olive in comparison to my paler skin, hinting at a Native American or Hispanic ancestry. His cheekbones were broad, giving him an exotic look, and his jaw was strong, clenched tight. The long-sleeved shirt he wore stretched over his broad shoulders and biceps. His body was purely athletic, slender and yet muscular.

A black baseball cap dangled off the tips of his fingers, forgotten. Our eyes locked, and I felt a stirring in my chest. His were a magnetic, intense blue. The color of the sky right before the day ended and night took hold—the color of dusk. There was stark relief in his gaze, and also a wariness I didn’t understand.

“Is that my boyfriend?” I whispered, hopeful and scared all at once. If he was my boyfriend, I had no idea what to do with him. Well, I did—I suddenly had lots of ideas that involved kissing, touching, and all sorts of fun things, but he was … mouthwateringly gorgeous , and that intimidated the hell out of me.

Scott choked on his laugh.

The boy in the doorway glanced at my brother and then at me. Heat crept across my cheeks. The relief was still in his eyes, and my lips split in a hesitant smile. He was happy to see me, but … but then his eyes hardened into chips of ice.

“Boyfriend? Yeah,” he said slowly, voice deep and smooth. “Not even if you paid my tuition to Penn State next year.”

Stung and embarrassed, I jerked back, and the question came out before I could stop it. “And why not?”

He stared at me as if I had an arm sticking out of my head and waving around. He turned to my brother, brows raised. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

“Sure, man, be there in a sec, Car.”

“His name is Car ?” I said, folding my arms.

Vehicle Boy stopped and turned back around. “Car, as in Carson Ortiz.”

Oh. That made sense. I lowered my arms, feeling about nine kinds of stupid.

Carson’s eyes narrowed. “She really has no clue about … about anything?”

“Yep,” Scott replied, lips pursed.

Carson started to leave again but stopped once more. Muttering under his breath, he looked at me. “I’m glad you’re okay, Sam.”

Before I could even respond to that, he was gone. I turned back to Scott. “He doesn’t like me.”

Scott looked like he wanted to laugh again. “Yeah, he doesn’t.”

A weird, twisty feeling sprang in my chest. “Why?”

Pushing off the bed, he sighed. “You don’t like him.”

I didn’t? Did I not have taste? He was baby-making material. Then I frowned. How did I know who was baby-making material? “I don’t get it.”

“You were kind of a bitch to him … in the last couple of years.”

“Why?”

The look on his face told me he was getting tired of the question Why? “Because his dad is hired help, and you’re not a fan of the hired help. Hell, or their offspring and anyone who associates with them.”

I dropped my hands into my lap, unsure of how to respond to that. He had to be kidding. “We have hired help?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Dad and Mom do, which is funny because Mom hasn’t worked a day in her life.” When he saw my expression, he cursed. “Jeez, this is like talking to a toddler.”

Anger pricked my skin, and so did hurt. “Sorry. You can go talk to Car, who apparently doesn’t suffer from an impaired IQ.”

Regret flickered in his eyes, and he sighed again. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, but, Sam, this is weird. It’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers or something.”

It was weird. I glanced at the empty doorway, anxious and even a little afraid. I suddenly realized I didn’t want to be left alone. “Where are you guys going?”

He glanced down at his sweats, one brow raised. “We have baseball practice.”

“Can I go?”

Surprise shone on his face. “You hate going to baseball games. The only reason you do go is because of Del.”

“I don’t know who Del is!” My hands balled into useless fists. “I don’t know what I hate. Or what I like. Or what I’m supposed to do or say. I don’t recognize any of this. To make things worse, now I find out that everyone apparently hates me—including my best friend, who disappeared at the same time I did—and I can’t even remember why .” I looked around the room, close to tears. “And my middle name is Jo. Who gives their kid a middle name like Jo ?”