Chapter 19

PRESENT DAY

The front seat of a limo isn’t as roomy as the back, obviously, but I manage to squish myself between the dash and the passenger seat, head covered by a jacket that smells like electrically charged strawberries. On closer inspection, I realize it’s Jackson’s e-cigarettes.

He told me to stay down and covered until Rian puts up the partition. The longer I stay cramped in the footwell, the better I feel, because that means there’s no private backseat limo stuff happening.

A couple of doors slam shut, jolting the limo and making me bang my head on the bottom of the glove compartment.

“Hey, Jackson,” Rian says after a few minutes. “Take us to the roof court.” Hmm, her voice is so much more polite when it’s not directed toward me, yet I still have the urge to lunge from my crouch and throw down with her National Geographic style.

The limo jolts as Jackson puts it in gear, and I hear the partition rolling up with a ziiiiipah. I chance a peek from under the smelly jacket.

“All clear,” he says. “Buckle up. I don’t need a lawsuit on top of everything else.”

I climb up into the passenger seat, knees cracking as I stretch out my legs, my dress stuck in my butt crack. I adjust as discreetly as I can, thankful Jackson has the decency to keep his eyes on the road.

“So where’s this place we’re going?”

He runs a hand over the wheel and stops at the noon position. “Abandoned building.”

My seatbelt clicks into place, and I flip my dress over my exposed thighs. “An abandoned building? Doesn’t scream romance, exactly.”

He shakes his head, his scruffy jawline clenching as he makes a turn. “Rian’s painted a mural up on the roof. It’s…personal. She’s not taking him there just to show him decrepit scenery.”

I quickly glance over my shoulder at the soundproof partition that’s the only thing separating me from Alec right now. A restaurant patio and a sketchy club weren’t his scene, and I don’t think I truly felt the concentrated surge of urgency until this moment. An abandoned building, a train station, a messy kitchen…doesn’t matter what the backdrop is, because if you’re being completely real with him, he will reward you for it.

“How do we get up there?” I ask, eyes back on Jackson.

“On the roof?” He gives me a side smile. “Well, she’ll take him up in the elevator. The fire escape is a little unreliable.”

“No stairs inside?”

“The door locks from the outside at the top. So we could climb the five stories and have a good rest at the top without having a clue as to what they’re doing on the other side.”

I huff. “Well, co-conspirator, I’m open to suggestions, since you seem to be shooting down everything I say.”

“I’m not going to condone anything counterproductive.”

“Ooh, smart guy uses big words.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully to the side. “Why can’t Theresa get the man she wants? It’s a mystery.”

I run an anxious hand through my mess of hair, blowing out a frustrated breath. He has no idea how many counterproductive things I’m not doing for the sake of making this evening a success, arguing with him being one of them.

“Maybe we should fake a breakdown,” I say, watching the light in front of us turn from yellow to red. Jackson stops so smoothly that it feels as if we were never moving in the first place.

He gives me one, hard shake of his head. “Not giving them that opportunity.” His eyes flick back to the partition before he slams them shut and curses. “It’s damn near killing me, thinking about what’s going on back there right now.”

An image of Rian’s purple head in Alec’s lap invades my scheming train of thought, and I slam my own eyes shut, shaking my head to get it out.

“Thanks for that,” I say to Jackson, my pained tone surprising me.

When I open my eyes I get the first taste of empathy in his gaze before he lets his eyes drift back toward the windshield.

“We’ve got one mile.”

“Okay.” I nod. We can think of something. Jackson said this date can happen as long as it doesn’t escalate. He’s not looking to pick a fight with Rian tonight by so blatantly interfering, so if we keep it quiet, make sure we get them to midnight with minimum chemistry, then we can make our moves. I don’t know about him, but I’m not waiting more than one second after midnight to tell Alec how I feel.

I look at the clock on the dash, stomach dripping with disappointment when I see that there are still several hours to be had of this horrid Valentine’s Day.

“All right,” he says, slowing down to the curb. “Get under my jacket.”

“What’s the plan besides me hiding?” I ask, unbuckling and crouching back into my wedgie-inducing hiding spot.

He tosses his jacket at my head. “Gotta keep eyes on them. So think of something under there.”

God, he’s fired. At least Liz had ideas. When I hear the limo’s doors and Alec’s voice, I press my face into my knees, the jacket slipping slightly. Get to the roof—that’s my plan. Stairs and elevator are out, so I’ll take the fire escape and watch my step. Alec is worth braving a little wobbly steel.

The driver’s door opens and the jacket is whipped from my head. “You weren’t completely covered,” he says with a bite of annoyance, “but I don’t think they saw.”

I wiggle my way across the seat and plunk my boots down on the cement sidewalk. “Which building?”

He nods at the one with the broken chain-link fence, a faded NO TRESPASSING sign dangling from it. I squint into the darkness, studying the stairs I need to take to the top. If I hurry, maybe I’ll beat them up there.

“You stay with the limo. I’ll tale the eagle eye.” I check the tightness of my boots. “If they start kissing, I’ll create a diversion.”

“Do you like your boyfriend’s face the way it is?” he asks. “Because if you do, you’ll create that diversion before they kiss.”

“Noted.” Should I let him know that every time I see the object of his affection I want to punch her boobs in? No, I’ll let that be a pleasant surprise for all of us.

I take a deep breath and hold it as I squeeze through the opening in the chain-link fence. What is it with this girl taking Alec to very smelly places? After one breath through my nose I choose to forgo that way of getting air and let my mouth drop open. The shadows dance on the walls of the buildings I’m sandwiched between, and I quickly look back toward Jackson. He’s watching me with intense eyes and puffing on his e-cigarette. He looks fast. I can hold off attackers long enough for him to get to me and help. As for ghosts and demons, well, he’s probably their leader.

The side door Alec and Rian must’ve taken is cracked open, and I take a peek around it before sprinting past it and up the first steps of the fire escape. So far it’s fine: no creaking or groaning, and very little swinging. I look up and see a couple of missing steps above me, but I can easily jump them.

The next flight is okay, and the one after that. But once I hit the fourth set of stairs and the entire structure begins to sway, my bravado vanishes and my stomach plummets. I let out an involuntary yelp and squeeze against the railing, my head hitting brick. I wait an excruciatingly long minute until the metal framework stops its wobbly dance, then tentatively crawl up the remaining stairs. I’m grateful when I reach the ladder that is nailed securely into the wall and doesn’t creak or move as I step up rung after rung and swing over the edge of the rooftop.

I stop dead, not chancing a breath or a movement or a single sound. Damn it, I didn’t beat them up here, and I’m completely exposed, standing right in front of them. But as luck would have it—the first bit of luck I’ve had tonight—they aren’t looking up. They’re crouched down together, Alec holding his phone with the flashlight on. They’re talking in low voices and touching the ground, and I take a quick glance under my feet and realize the entire rooftop is covered in graffiti.

Still holding my breath, wishing my heart wasn’t pounding so hard, I sidestep my way into the shadows. Praise Jesus I didn’t go with the sea monster’s prom dress for my attire tonight. The purple is dark enough to blend into the paint surrounding me, and I tuck myself into a corner by a basketball hoop and a cart of balls. I suppose if I wanted to play a game I’d want to do it in a cool place like this, but I don’t feel like thinking in complimentary terms when it comes to Rian and her uncooperative attitude. So I shake my head free of thoughts about how incredible her talents are and tell myself over and over how not jealous I am of them.

I get comfortable watching them—as comfortable as one can be when you’re forcing down the urge to glove-slap a bitch—and start scoping out the area for a better spot to hide, somewhere I can hear them from. Their voices are low, and damn their close proximity to each other. There’s a shadowy cover maybe twenty, twenty-five feet from where they’re standing, and I consider army-crawling my way over, risking being out in the open for a few seconds. But then Alec shifts, tossing his head back in laughter, and I stop thinking about the mission I’m on to prevent them from kissing and only about why the hell he’s laughing.

His hand snakes around Rian’s waist and he swings her in toward him, and my entire being crumples inward and bursts into flame. I’m burning in hell, struggling for air and for clarity, but only seeing red. Rian’s boobs are in serious danger of getting punched inward.

There have been many times when Alec’s done those moves with me and I thought for sure that he was going to kiss me; being the dumbass that I am, I’d joke and run away. Rian is not doing that. She’s all for his kisses because she’s not a dumbass and she’s fighting for her night, and it’s petty and juvenile and I don’t give a shit because I want this night. And all I can think about is the mission to prevent them from kissing.

Prevent it…prevent it how?

I could throw a shoe, yell out his name, burst in between them, and we’d end up in a fight at the end of the night and how I lost my damn chance with him and I should let him move on. It all makes sense in my head—how I should just walk away and let the chips fall.

But my body…my body sees their faces getting closer, and my hand knows there are about fifteen basketballs within reach. I tear my eyes away from the laughter and the smiles and fumble to get the ball in my hand, sliding my fingers on the rubber until I get a good grip. Without another thought I throw with all my muscle behind it.

When I was in high school, I could pitch a baseball at a dunking machine and hit it every time. It’s good to know that particular talent hasn’t waned over the years.