Rachel Dyken - Toxic

The perfume this morning, the phone call from Lisa, the girl in the piano room… shit. Worse of all, she’d heard the song. The one I’d written.

Worst timing in the world — because that immediately set me off. How dared she listen in on something so freaking private?

I hadn’t planned on kissing her, but I was pissed, and thought if I just scared her off, she’d freak out or just slap me away, at least then I’d feel something, right?

Wrong.

She’d kissed me back.

Wrong move, considering the whole dry spell and all, her little body had fit exactly in the outline of mine.

I couldn’t blame her — she had no way of knowing that the last girl that felt that perfect in my arms… was no longer present. So really it wasn’t her I was angry at. Maybe it was myself.

“Come on, Kim!” I grabbed her hand and kissed each finger, dipping them in my mouth as my tongue swirled around her hot skin. Damn, she was hot. With a giggle she pulled away and teetered on her feet. I grabbed her to keep from falling.

“Babe!” She giggled again. Clearly she wasn’t used to handling pot and alcohol at the same time. “It’s freezing outside!”

“But you’ll be with me, come on.” I pulled her into my arms. “One quick run then we can go to the wrap party later.”

Kim squinted and laughed again. “Right, but you’re forgetting, we’re a bit drunk and I’m not so sure it’s safe.”

“Again,” I sighed and pointed outside the window. The snowy landscape was untouched by anything. “You’ll be with me, and we won’t go down a hard run, I promise. Come on!” I kissed her forehead. “It’s not like anything’s going to happen! There isn’t even anyone out there! Look…” I stalked over to the window and pulled the curtains back as far as they would go. “It’s incredible. You don’t get this type of powder in California — only Whistler. Come on.”

“Fine!” Kim shook her head and walked toward the bedroom. “Let me just get my stuff real quick okay? I don’t care what you say, it’s freezing outside.”

Five minutes turned into thirty by the time Kim was ready. I grabbed the key to our hotel room and ran down the hall with her in tow. At sixteen it seemed kind of forbidden that we would be able to stay in the same suite, but my agent had said it was great publicity. We were basically the next teen heart throb couple and everyone wanted to see us together.

Which really wasn’t a problem, considering I was freaking obsessed with the girl. Her life, her smile. Hell. I would marry her at sixteen and she knew it.

“Ready?” I asked once we were outside. There weren’t any clouds in the sky, just stars. I winked at Kim. She shook her head and laughed, looking away as if embarrassed. Damn, I was lucky.

“Ready.”

“One, two—”

“Wait!” Kim touched her head. “I forgot my helmet.”

“One run.” I tried not to sound irritated. We were already going to be late to the party. “It won’t kill you. I swear.”

Kim looked uncertain. Didn’t she trust me to protect her?

“Well, okay.” She aimed her skis down the hill.

“One, two—”

“Three!” She squealed and went flying down the run, leaving me in the powder. Laughing, I went after her. I could hear every swipe of her skis, and then all of a sudden I heard a scream.

Then nothing.

“Kim?” I screamed, “You okay?”

I wasn’t going to make it.

I ran over to my bike and puked on the other side, wiping my face with the back of my hand. No matter what my dad did, no matter who found out about my true identity, one thing would always remain. It was my fault, my cross to bear, and there weren’t enough prayers that could save my soul from burning in hell for what I’d done. For what I was still doing.

Once I’d puked my guts out — relieved myself of that bad ass Captain Crunch — I sat on my bike. Visions of the hot piano player ran through my head. I should have apologized instead of being an ass. Dry spell? Yeah, let’s blame it on that.

How was it my fault anyway? That she’d been spying on me? Or that she was sexy as hell. Was she new? I shook my head. Probably not. The University of Washington was a huge school and it wasn’t like I was a music major or anything — it was too close to my past, I had to stay far away from any hints of the guy I used to be, the guy I was running away from.

Cursing, I kicked the back wheel of my bike. The crisp spring air had a hint of moisture in it, causing an involuntary shiver to wreak havoc on my body. I pulled out my phone and dialed Wes’s number. We needed to finish that conversation. Because if there was anyone that could help me, it was him. Wes and I were exact opposites. He represented everything I was running away from, yet he was different. A miracle. That’s what he was. He’d conquered cancer this last year. He was also son to one of the richest men in the US — though you’d never know it from hanging out with him.

I’d met him this last year and promised, damn it, I’d promised I’d try harder to be a better person and I’d just screwed that promise. I hadn’t slept around for weeks since his surgery. Clearing my head seemed like a good idea, and I couldn’t do that while banging every girl within a twenty mile radius.

To be honest, I hadn’t been tempted.

Not until this afternoon.

Gorgeous… forbidden. Those two words came to mind. Long chestnut hair with blonde streaks fell around her face in waves, her large blue eyes almost looked purple, and that tan skin.

I hated to admit it but she was like a hotter version of Miley Cyrus, you know, before she went all blonde and baller.

“Shit.” I hit Wes’s name and waited.

It rang and then I got his voicemail.

“I’m coming by.” That’s all I said. I hoped he was there and just not answering his phone. He was an RA at Lisa’s dorm and usually hung around as much as possible, considering his fiancée and love of his life was my cousin’s roommate. Lucky me, I was surrounded with all-American happy, and all I wanted to do was get high and prove I was nothing like them.

I started my bike and made my way across campus. By the time I pulled up, I’d made a list of hundreds of different things I’d rather be doing — proactive things like calling my out-of-this-world expensive lawyer and getting his ass on my dad so that nothing happened.

But, instead, of doing any of those things, I paused. I was doing that a lot lately, hesitating when I knew I should be taking action. I’d done it with Kiersten, Wes’s girlfriend. I’d wanted so badly to be that guy for her. The one who brought flowers and wiped her tears, and when it came time to actually put any of that into action, my hesitation said it all. She was meant for something bigger, because in the end, I’d always let people down. I could be her friend. I could be Wes’s friend. Hell, I could even been a good cousin to Lisa, but I’d never end up with anyone. My soul mate? I’d already met her.

And it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

I turned off my bike as my phone rang in my hands.

“Hey, Martha.” I bit down on my lip. I didn’t need this, not now.

“Parker, I’m glad we could—”

“It’s Gabe.”

“Right,” she said rapidly. “Sorry, it’s just… she only calls you Parker so I tend to forget.”

“Martha, I’m kind of busy, what’s this about?” I shifted my weight to the other foot and waited.

“She’s asking for you.”

I laughed bitterly. “She always asks for me. They all do.”

“Yes, I know, but, Parker — I mean Gabe…” I could hear the sadness in her voice. “It’s bad this time. Could you stop by? Maybe bring your guitar or something? I know she loves that. Or color, she’s been going through that weird coloring phase. The entire place has!” Her excitement should have rubbed off, but instead, all I wanted to do was get high. I wanted an escape.

But I didn’t deserve one. Maybe that was the problem.

“Yeah.” I wiped my face with my hands. “I can do that. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks… Gabe.”

“Anytime, Martha. Take care.”

I hung up and stared at the dorm. Wes was a freaking miracle worker, no joke, like a walking male version of Mother Theresa.

Shit. I may as well be the devil.

He tasted like cinnamon — too bad I was allergic to cinnamon. Good thing I didn’t go into anaphylactic shock from the kiss. That would have been awkward. —Saylor

Saylor

I wasn’t really sure how long I stared at the piano before I was able to function enough to play. Each time I tried to lift my hands, all I could picture were his. They’d had music notes on each knuckle.

Why I’d remember such a ridiculous detail, I had no idea. But it seemed weird that a guy who looked like that was capable of the music that had come from the practice room. What had come out of his mouth when the door was closed was completely the opposite of what he looked like and how he’d acted when I was eavesdropping.

Maybe it was my fault. After all, I’d been salivating over the music like a dog in heat. It was my weakness, my downfall. I hadn’t heard those songs in a long time, they pulled at something deep within me, some untouched part that I longed to unleash but was too afraid to tap into. Funny, because it had nothing to do with the actual song, but the way it was played — with such passion and abandonment that I was immediately jealous.