Undressed Page 5

  To make it easier on myself, I’d created an alter ego. That’s how Lola Bang had been born. Lola could take her clothes off. Lola, who wore wigs and masks, and who always avoided looking directly at the camera. Lola, who learned how to strip and grind, to arch her back and part her legs, just so.

  It was always Lola in front of the camera, not me. Never me.

  And when I felt ready, I recorded myself again and again, until I not only looked like Lola, but I felt like her too.

  The rest was simple—a couple well-placed online ads, and before long I had “regular” subscribers who knew my hours and never asked for more than I was willing to offer.

  I told myself I wouldn’t do the stripcam forever, and I’d meant it.

  I just hadn’t expected it to end with someone dying.

  Out in the living room, the huge racket Emerson was making drew me back to the present. I finished toweling my hair dry.

  “Hey! Sorry about the mess in here! There’s just so much sand.” I shouted out to her. “You have no idea the places I found it!”

  There was a pause, and then an amused voice called back to me. “Trust me, you get used to it.”

  What . . . the . . . hell? That was so not Emerson.

  My fingers seized around my damp towel, as I was suddenly aware of just how naked I was in here. And how acutely male that voice out there was.

  That voice.

  There was something vaguely familiar about that voice.

  Except . . . no way. Why on earth would he be here? In my bungalow of all places.

  My heart slammed against my rib cage and time crashed to a complete halt. If it was Will, how in the world had he gotten inside, and what the hell did he want?

  Had he come to apologize for that scene at The Dunes last night? Or had he made himself a copy of my key, thinking he might actually have a chance at another go-round—Body Shot, Part Two?

  Or maybe he was he a crazed serial killer who preyed on runaway co-eds.

  I mean, forget the part where he was ridiculously good-looking. Ted Bundy was hot, right?

  So how was one supposed to proceed when one found a strange man lurking in their summer rental? All I knew for sure was that I couldn’t hide in here all day, pretending I didn’t know he was out there.

  I cracked the door, hoping it really was Will and not some ax-wielding psychopath standing on the other side waiting for me.

  But there was no one. The living room was deserted. I could practically hear the horror film soundtrack hanging ominously in the air.

  “Um, hello? Is . . . my . . . roommate here?” Maybe a reminder that I didn’t live alone would deter whoever was out there from going all Norman Bates on me.

  Will popped his head around the corner that led to the kitchen, and even though he couldn’t see me from inside the bathroom, I breathed a sigh of relief that it really was him. Not that he couldn’t still be a serial killer wearing a hot-guy suit.

  He ducked back into the kitchen. “Roommate?” he asked, a strange note to his voice. “Well, since Lucas let me in when I got here, you might wanna check over at his place.”

  Great, Em abandons me the first chance she gets. And then there was one.

  Still, so far at least, Will wasn’t behaving particularly stabby.

  “Okay,” I said, feeling a little braver and opening the door a little wider. Steam from the bathroom seeped into the hallway. “So . . . ?” I prodded. “What are you doing here, exactly?”

  “Leaky faucet,” he said, as if that was all the explanation I needed.

  I secured my towel around me and took a few steps closer. “What do you mean, leaky faucet? I never called about that.” Besides, wasn’t Will a bartender?

  Metal clanged against pipes, which explained all the noise I’d thought Emerson was making.

  More banging, and then there was a brief pause before he answered. “Yeah. Well, I was supposed to fix it before you moved in yesterday, but something came up.”

  I tiptoed further into the living room, telling myself I just wanted to see what he was doing in there—that it had nothing at all to do with Will himself.

  But I was a liar. It was almost too much, him being here in my place. I hadn’t stopped thinking about him. His lips had practically left heat blisters on my belly. Plus, now he knew where I lived too. I peered around the corner, to where he was sprawled on his back on the kitchen floor, studying the pipes beneath the sink. He was exactly as I’d remembered him—too good-looking for his own good. Except this time he was the one flat on his back, not me.

  “So . . . what? You moonlight as plumber?”

  I heard him chuckle. “If I was a plumber, I’d be making a helluva lot more money,” he answered. “I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades.”

  His shirt had inched up, revealing the carved planes of his stomach and the path of hair that trailed from his naval and disappeared into his shorts. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about what he would taste like drenched in tequila.

  Oblivious to my smutty thoughts about his nether regions, Will kept talking. “I do odd jobs for the owner. You know . . . maintenance, repairs . . .” His face scrunched up in concentration and his arm flexed as he yanked the wrench. “. . . key sitting. I told Lucas I had your key last night, so you’d know where to find ’em. He didn’t call to tell you I was coming today?”

  “Who? Lucas?”

  He grinned, and then started to slide out from under the sink. “No. Mr. Patel. The owner.” He felt around for the dirty rag at his side and then wiped his hands, before sliding out from under the sink. “There,” he said. “That should do it. If it leaks again, give him a call and I’ll come back out.”

  Considering I hadn’t known there was a leak in the first place, I wasn’t sure I’d even notice another. But if it meant getting Will back out here, maybe I’d take a crack at the pipes myself, see if I couldn’t start a gusher of my own. There was something about a gorgeous guy who knew how to use his hands.

  I wondered what else those hands were capable of.

  Maybe I’d misjudged Will. Maybe he was the guy I’d been searching for.

  As he stood up, his bright green eyes landed on me. They drilled right through me, his gaze moving from my head to my toes, and I realized I was standing there in only my towel.

  His eyes turned to ice. “You . . . ,” he uttered, but just that one word said it all. Like he was disgusted to find me standing there.

  He swung away from me, as he began throwing his tools into his metal toolbox. It was as if a switch had been flipped and the friendly fix-it guy had vanished. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  I was confused.

  Had he thought I was someone else? Did he get me and Emerson mixed up, and think it was her he’d been being all banter-y with? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been thrown over for Em, although it was certainly the first I’d been mistaken for her.

  I knew then that my first impression of Will hadn’t been off at all. Will would never be the guy. He was exactly as much of an ass as I’d thought last night.

  “If it leaks again, give Mr. Patel a call.” He snapped the lock on his toolbox closed.

  My face turned hot as humiliation got the best of me and I escaped down the hallway to the safety of my bedroom.

  Will could show himself out.

  WILL

  Tess glanced up at me from her place at the table. “You look like shit,” she stated flatly. If it wasn’t for the slight flex of her jaw, I probably wouldn’t even know she was still mad at all.

  “You shouldn’t swear,” I told her, trying to make it sound like I cared that she cussed.

  This time the jaw flex was more than slight. “I’m sixteen, and you’re not my dad. If Mom were alive, she’d let me go.”

  “You’re not sixteen for another six months. And I know exactly what happens at those parties. No way would Mom have said yes. And no fucking way will I. Final answer.”

  She opened her m
outh, looking like she was planning to mount another argument. Her cheeks flamed and she made a fist. But I wasn’t budging on this one—the Sand and Slam was off limits.

  Good. Yell at me, I willed. At least then I’d know what’s going on inside that head of yours.

  Then she just . . . sighed as she wilted. “Whatever. Dinner’s on the stove.”

  Despite knowing I was right, guilt stabbed at me, and I wondered if this would ever get any easier. If I’d ever have the right answers when it came to Tess. I turned away so she couldn’t see me wince. “Thanks,” I mumbled, grabbing a paper plate—the only kind we used—and filling it with scrambled eggs and pancakes—pretty much the only food she ever made. I doused both the pancakes and the eggs in syrup.

  I hated this. I hated that I was here, with Tess, and still thinking about Lauren.

  What was it about that chick that got to me, anyway? And what was she trying to pull with that towel move? Was she trying to fuck with my head or was she really as naive as she acted?

  Not a chance. No girl was that clueless.

  I probably shouldn’t have gone over there in the first place, especially not without an appointment. I damn sure shouldn’t have let Lucas let me in. But who the fuck walks around half-naked like that when they’re not alone?

  Jesus fuck!

  “What’s up your ass?” Tess asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” I snapped, and when her face fell, I was reminded that she was just a kid. I ran my hand through my hair. I needed to get myself under control. “Crap, sorry, Tess. It’s nothing. Really.” This was exactly the reason I needed to keep a clear head.

  Tess had enough of her own shit to deal with; she deserved me not to be a total dick.

  It was strange being back here after so much time had passed. I’d felt like a stranger that first day, when I’d walked through the door and realized I barely knew my baby sister.

  And I doubted I was the only one of us who felt that way.

  Five years was a long time to be away, especially for a ten-year-old you’d almost never noticed and barely ever spoken to.

  Tess had changed so much in that time. Fifteen now, and frankly, looking more like twenty. She was too damn pretty for her own good—nothing at all like the gawky preteen I’d hardly known before. I couldn’t even remember saying good-bye to her when I’d left.

  She was right. I wasn’t her dad and she didn’t need me acting the part.

  And it wasn’t like I’d rushed home when Tess needed me most. I’d been too busy feeling sorry for myself, holed up in some shithole motel and trying to drink myself into oblivion. By the time news of our mom’s death had reached me almost a year ago, nearly three weeks had passed. A lifetime to a grieving teenager.

  I still wasn’t sure she’d forgiven me, but I definitely didn’t think I’d ever forgive myself.

  I’d missed my chance to say good-bye to our mom. I’d missed her funeral. And I’d missed the part where my own mother had decided I was too irresponsible to take care of my baby sister, and signed guardianship over to our deadbeat uncle.

  Suddenly my washed-up career hadn’t seemed so important.

  It had taken me two whole days after getting word just to sober up all the way, and another two to haul my ass home. But when I did, and realized our uncle was the same piece of shit he’d always been, trying to figure out how to sell our mom’s jewelry on eBay and Craigslist, I’d booted him out. I swore right there and then—to myself and to Tess—I’d figure out a way to make things right.

  Tess wrinkled her nose at the food in front of me. “That’s disgusting. I don’t know how you eat it like that.”

  I glanced at her syrup-free eggs and grinned, forgetting all about Brown Eyes and the way she’d gotten under my skin. “I don’t know how you can eat yours like that.” I slid into the chair across from her.

  “Seriously, I know you’re mad about the party and all, but I’ll try to start carrying my weight around here. You know, maybe fix you a decent meal once in a while,” I said.

  She lifted her eyebrows critically. “Except you probably won’t.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, I probably won’t. I swear, sometimes I feel like you’re the grown-up around here.”

  Her eyebrows rose a little higher. “One of us has to be.”

  “Ouch,” I said, pretending to be insulted as I stabbed a mouthful of eggs with my fork.

  Tess’s mood turned serious as she pushed her food around her plate.

  “What is it?” I asked, knowing she was beating around the bush in her own way.

  “Camden stopped by again yesterday. While you were . . . out.”

  I sighed. “Tess, I’m sorry.” I reached over and squeezed her hand, wondering if I’d ever get this shit right. “I’ll take care of him. It won’t happen again.”

  “He said he’s coming back tomorrow night, and that you better be here.”

  I couldn’t stand the worry in her face. “I will be,” I told her, inwardly I steeled myself because I knew what I had to do. It wasn’t fair to Tess, but neither was putting her through the constant stress of facing that asshole.

  “So we’re gonna be okay?” She looked at me, trusting me, begging me to tell her the truth.

  I did, then, when I nodded. “It will be. I got it all under control.”

  LAUREN

  Emerson treated me like I was her own personal Beach Party Barbie.

  She’d tossed aside my worn cutoffs and my favorite Star Wars tee, threatening to burn them if I tried to wear them to the party, and convinced me instead to shimmy into one of her halter dresses, a cute teal number that, on her, would have only been moderately revealing.

  On me . . . I felt like I was redefining the word cleavage.

  Emerson slapped my hand away from my chest when she saw me readjusting my top for the umpteenth time. “Stop. You look amazing.” She sighed dramatically. “Seriously. It’s a party. At least try to look like you’re having fun.”

  “I’m trying to look like my boobs aren’t making a break for it,” I grumbled, glancing around.

  I hadn’t known what to expect when Noah had invited me, even though he’d said everyone would be there. I’d expected more of a house party with a lot of people, I guess.

  But a lot of people didn’t begin to describe the hordes that seemed to have converged from all over the state to pack the beaches. There was music from several live bands that came at us from every direction, and smoke from bonfires and barbecues and cigarettes and joints filling the air. Tiki torches flickered from one end of the sandy strip to the other, and people danced and laughed and shouted. Some people even waded out into the darkening waves, disappearing into the water.

  There was little to no chance I’d be joining them out in the waves.

  I wasn’t the most scantily dressed, not by a long shot—a lot of guys wore only swim trunks, and a lot of girls were dressed in only itty-bitty bikinis—but I still felt like there was a neon arrow pointing directly at my chest.

  Em nodded toward my boobs. “Good on them if they do decide to burst out for the night. At least they’ll get some much needed attention.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously?” Of all people, Em knew better.

  “I’m not talking about those pervos who paid to see them online. I mean in real life. You remember what that is, don’t you? That’s when a boy meets a girl . . .”

  I laughed and shoved her. Her drink sloshed over the side of her red Solo cup. We’d each handed over our twenty-dollar entrance fee, which entitled us to a blue wristband and unlimited mai tais. The drinks were god-awful sweet and wicked strong.

  “Hey! I got it!” Em squealed, licking the sticky drink from her hands. “Maybe your Knight in Neoprene Armor will notice what a great rack you’ve got and sweep you off your feet. Again.”

  I giggled. Emerson was a sucker for a good love story, and the one about Noah saving me at the beach yesterday had gotten her all worked up. Even better because i
t had landed us an invitation to a beach party. “A girl can dream,” I told her.

  In reality, with this many people, finding Noah was starting to seem like the whole needle in a haystack challenge.

  “Oh . . . my . . . hell.” She nudged me. “There’s Lucas. Act cool.”

  So . . . maybe not a needle. And since when did Emerson start searching for guys anywhere? Usually they were the ones hunting for her.

  “As opposed to . . . ?” I asked.

  “You know what I mean.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and flashed them at me for a lipstick check. I gave her the all-clear nod. “I don’t want him to know I noticed him.”

  “But . . . you did . . . ,” I prompted.

  “Yeah. But I don’t want him to know that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re so weird.”

  Lucas strolled up to us then, wearing just a pair of shorts and his Casanova smile. “Hey, ladies. Great party, huh? I was hopin’ I’d bump into you here.”

  “Really?” I asked, a little too enthusiastically. “Em here was just saying the same thing.”

  Lucas’s bare chest puffed up. “Yeah?”

  Emerson’s foot came down on mine, her warning to be cool. Seriously, I’d never seen her so worked up over a guy before. She’d changed outfits three times tonight, which was two times more than I’d ever seen her change before.

  I sidestepped her before I answered him. “She was just commenting on how lucky we were to have you as a neighbor. How . . . considerate you were to help us get our keys the other night.”

  He grinned, his focus completely shifting to Emerson. “I was just happy to help. You know . . . ,” he said, talking only to her now, and just like the other night, it was like I had disappeared. “If you ever need anything . . .”

  Em let out a soft sigh. “Like what?” she teased.

  He closed the distance between them and took the drink from her hand. “I can think of a few things.” And then his mouth was covering hers.

  You’re welcome, I told Em silently.

  I slipped away, even as I realized I’d just lost my “date” for the party. It wasn’t the first time I’d lost her. Em was a great wingwoman, but she was also easily distracted by shiny objects. Case in point: Lucas Harper.