The sound of the shower going in the attached bathroom answers the question of where Parrish might be. I decide to take Chasm’s query as an invitation and climb out onto the roof beside him.
He looks surprised but offers up the pack of cigarettes anyway. I wave them away.
“I don’t smoke,” I tell him with a shrug, and he cocks a dark brow.
“Oh, I’ll bet you don’t,” he says with a sharp laugh. Goose bumps pebble across my skin at the sound. Guys that laugh like that … I’d be better off with the cigarettes in regard to my health. “Bet you put on cheesy song and dance routines to warn your classmates against the dangers of nicotine.”
He snorts and glances up at the ascending parade of luxury homes that dot the hill. I still can’t for the life of me understand why Parrish wouldn’t want the room across the hall, with a view of the water. Maybe he can’t swim? Or has a crippling fear of sharks?
The thought makes me smile, makes him seem more human somehow.
Clearly that means it’s bullshit; he isn’t human. He’s a fucking demon dredged up from the pits of my own personal hell.
“I don’t judge people for smoking,” I tell Chasm, glancing over to find his brilliant amber eyes staring back at me. They’re so bright they look gold in the early morning light. “Actually, I think many of today’s anti-smoking laws are a violation of our constitutional rights.”
Chasm frowns, like I’ve surprised him—and not in a good way—and turns back to the houses above us.
“I’m supposed to have coffee with my sister today,” I say, unsure why I’m even bothering. Chasm and Parrish have made no moves to welcome me here. Then again, I highly doubt Chasm’s about to go running off to tattle to Tess. I may as well spill my guts. It isn’t like I’ve got anyone else to talk to here. “My real sister,” I add before he gets a chance to ask. “Pretty sure Kimber would rather throw boiling water in my face than gossip over a latte.”
“But you’re grounded,” Chasm fills in, smiling to himself as he studies the series of retaining walls that make up the backyard. Back home, we had apple and plum trees, a row of raspberry bushes and a garden surrounded by deer fencing. The woods were a natural fence, offering privacy but letting in dappled sunshine. I miss it so much that my heart seizes in my chest.
“That, and part of the plea deal that Tess offered my grandparents in exchange for their daughter’s guilty-time-served verdict was that we have no contact for a year.”
I choke on the words and look away so that Chasm won’t see the deep melancholy etched into my face. He doesn’t need anymore ammo. Parrish most definitely doesn’t need anymore ammo. He seems to know exactly how to hit me where it hurts already.
“I’ll drive you,” Chasm offers, still smoking his cigarette and leaning back on one hand, legs stretched out in front of him. The tops of his bare feet are inked, too. It’s very clearly Parrish’s work. I can see it in every perfect stroke of black, every white highlight.
Despite what I said to his face, I actually do admire his work. But, like with Tess’ books, it’s a bit hard to appreciate the art when the artist is an asshole.
“You’d drive me?” I scoff, giving Chasm a onceover. “Why?” I can barely keep the skepticism from my voice. Nothing in life is free. And if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. I do enjoy a good idiom.
I narrow my eyes as Chasm laughs and stabs his cigarette against the roof shingles to put it out.
“Chalk it up to natural curiosity,” he says, leaning far too close and smelling like tobacco and mint gum. I lean back because his face—and naked chest—are far too close for comfort. “Oh, and don’t tell Parrish or I’ll lie like hell about it,” he adds as he pulls back and climbs in the window. He offers out a hand and I take it, letting him pull me back inside. “Meet me downstairs in twenty.”
Chasm moves over to Parrish’s bedroom door, waiting for me to leave before he slams it shut.
I’m perplexed as hell, but too desperate to see Maxine to argue about it. This could be my only chance to see my sister for a while. Weirdly enough, my hand tingles in all the places he touched it. With a huff, I rub at the offending flesh and frown before turning away.
There’s a TV in my room, one that was there when I moved in. It’s mounted to the wall above the utilitarian dresser that has so much chrome, it looks like it belongs in a spaceship. I turn it on and crank the volume, leaving Uncanny Counter to blast into the room. Tess is unlikely to bother me for the duration of her workday. Once she’s sat down to write, she only emerges for lunch and is usually so far inside her own head that she mumbles plot points as she putters around the kitchen. I might find it endearing if I weren’t so angry with her.
