Page 20 of Hooked on Trouble

Without a backward glance, I slip into my apartment.

Six

Nico

I should be hitting the streets and using any free time to search for possible leads. Instead I’m up at the crack of dawn, hoping for a chance meeting with Raven.

When I was a kid, my mother would yank off my covers, toss clothes at my face, and shove me out the door so I wouldn’t miss the bus. Now, the second my alarm blares, I shoot out of bed. The possibility of seeing Raven is the only motivation I need to slap on my running gear and head to the beach before the city rises. It’s been a week since I drove her home, since I touched her thighs and felt her breathy voice by my ear. Since she told me she likes to photograph the sunrise. I’ve jogged this route each morning, desperate for a glimpse of her. So far my efforts have been for nothing.

The air is damp as my sneakers hit the pavement, the humidity dripping down my back. My lungs ache in that good way, my thighs burn. Working my body is the best natural high there is, the best form of therapy. The day I arrested my father for dealing drugs, I hit the gym for five hours. When I found out Nikki got knocked up at sixteen, I ran across the city and back. The night I rushed her to the hospital, a needle hanging from her arm, I worked the punching bag so hard, my knuckles bled. Learning Josh got arrested while I was in Aspen had me tied in knots. I had no outlet, no release for my anxiety and anger. I sat in a cramped airplane seat for two and a half hours, mind racing, jaw clenching, as I imagined the little boy I’d carried on my shoulders living behind bars.

Each heavy fall of my foot strikes the unpleasant thoughts from my mind, blood pumping through my limbs. The clouds above shift, the sun just rising. As soon as I stepped outside this morning, I knew the sky would be spectacular—the clouds hung low in rippled layers with breaks at the horizon. It set the stage for the type of sunrise Raven would photograph.

I pick up speed down Alma Street and hit the beach as the sky burns pink. I stop at the sight, hands on my knees, heart pounding in my ears. The colors intensify, coral deepening into red. The calm ocean looks like a river of blood. I grab my T-shirt by the back of my neck and yank it off, using the drenched fabric to mop the sweat dripping into my eyes. The few people out at this hour have stopped, too, mesmerized by the glowing sky, and disappointment fists my gut.

No sign of Raven. No girl with a camera stuck in front of her face, snapping frames.

Lungs still on fire, I walk closer to the water’s edge. If I’d called her after Aspen, even sent a stupid text, she wouldn’t have turned me down. She’d let me take her to dinner, a movie, a picnic on the beach. Defeated, I grab a rock and skip it into the water. It bounces twice then sinks.

As I reach for another one, my pulse picks back up. Raven. She’s sitting on the sand, resting against a large log, one of many lining the beach. Her camera hangs loose around her neck, a faraway look on her face. She’s in her usual black shorts, tank top, and tall boots. Boots I’d like to undo one lace at a time. Her arms rest on her knees, her face so open I want to take that camera from her neck and snap shots. Like this, quiet, the red sky reflecting off her inked skin, no sarcasm barrier, she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

I approach and gesture to the empty place beside her. “This seat taken?”

She startles at my voice, her charcoal eyes going wide then falling heavy with longing as she soaks in my sweat-slicked body. My heart kicks against my ribs.

Just as quickly she purses her lips. “Does looking at a picture of the sun hurt your eyes?”

I almost ask her what she’s talking about, then I remember her stupid-question rule. The sarcasm is back. I lift my shirt to put it on as I think of a witty reply, but her eyes keep darting to my chest. I drop my shirt on the sand and sit beside her. “If olive oil is made from olives, what is baby oil made from?”

We sit side by side, arms stretched over our bent knees, the bloodred sky above us. She glances at me, smirks, then focuses ahead. “How do you spell ESPN?”

“Do they hurl compliments in a civil war?”

She tips her head back, chuckling. “You’re pretty quick for a big guy.”

For a big guy. Most people assume I’m a dumb jock, a gym rat who builds muscle to compensate for something. Can’t say they’re all wrong. When my father would tell me I’m no good, that I’m a waste of space and a stupid loser, I’d lift weights. I found barbells at the dump, and I’d pump them daily, tearing my muscles until I felt bigger, stronger, invincible. One day I wanted to be so tough his words would bounce off me.

I also like knowing I can keep a girl like Raven safe. If she were in trouble, I could protect her with my body or my badge.

If she’d let me.

She rests her head on the log at our backs, the length of her neck close enough to taste. I swallow. “Thought I’d try to get you smiling, maybe see those teeth of yours.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth, as if embarrassed, and faces me. “What do you mean, my teeth?” she asks through her fingers.

“The gap in the middle. It’s sexy.”

Still covering her mouth, she says, “Maybe you have cataracts. There’s nothing sexy about my teeth.”

Everything about her is sexy. The vines and feathers inked up the side of her left leg, the way her dark eyes narrow when she scowls at me. Her independence and defiance and spirit. Those teeth of hers add innocence to her wildness. “Whatever you do, don’t smile.” I grab her wrist and lower her hand.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not five. Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me.”

“Then do smile.”

Her cheeks crease as she shakes her head and rolls her eyes again, the inevitable smile spreading across her face. Tentatively, she widens her mouth. I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, and she sucks in a breath. “Yep,” I say. “Definitely sexy.”

Sexy as hell. That mouth of hers fit perfectly against mine in Aspen, nothing about her shy or bristly back then. If I lean forward now, I could kiss her senseless and pull her onto my lap and remind her how good we feel together, show her how much she turns me on. My dick nudges me to make the move, my bent legs thankfully hiding my growing hard-on.