Chapter One

 

Elle

 

 

 

I shouldn’t have drunk that second glass of prosecco on the plane, because now I’m seeing things. Not weird things like ghosts or dead celebrities. More like my best friend looking oddly masculine, at least from where I’m standing.

I know it’s been a good year since I’ve seen Maggie, but just how much can someone change in that time? And when did she stop shaving her legs? I can’t see the rest of her body as the cardboard sign she’s holding is blocking her from the knees up. The big, manly-looking knees. Huh.

I’m not the kind of girl who’d body shame her best friend for letting her leg hair grow wild, but I’ve never once seen Maggie in all of her untrimmed glory.

An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach, and I pause for a moment as other arriving passengers walk past me. Maybe the sign isn’t for me and that’s not Maggie at all. It would certainly explain the muscular, hairy calves and ditto the knees. Then again, who else would it be for? It’s got “Welcome home, Elle,” written on it in bright pink letters and the sign is doused in glitter, complete with unicorn stickers and colorful doodles. If that doesn’t scream Maggie, I don’t know what does.

“Maggie?” I ask cautiously when I’m a couple of feet away from her.

My best friend slowly lowers the sign, but instead of Maggie’s cheerful face, I’m met with blue eyes and knee-buckling dimples.

There’s no doubt about it now. I absolutely shouldn’t have drunk that second glass of prosecco on the plane. Maggie doesn’t have dimples and she certainly doesn’t have a squared jaw. I tricked myself into believing it was her.

“Maggie couldn’t make it,” Dimple-Face says, “But don’t worry, I’m here and I can’t wait to drive you home.”

“I’m sorry, this is… No,” I mumble and walk away at a pace that would make a professional speed walker jealous.

I frantically look around for the real Maggie, while trying to wrap my head around the fact that some handsome stranger is holding up a sign with my name on it, in my best friend’s handwriting no less.

“Hey, wait up,” I hear a deep voice calling after me. “Stop running.”

I quicken my pace. All I can think about are the words stranger danger flashing in front of my eyes. I don’t normally get spooked this easily, but the prosecco is making me paranoid, something that often happens when I have a drink. One time, I ducked under the table of a restaurant when I heard what I assumed were gunshots. Turned out it was nothing but some good old thunder. My friends had tears streaming down their faces from laughter.

“Hey, stop! Seriously, you can’t escape me, Eloise.”

Eloise? No one ever calls me that. I go by Elle, not by the name on my passport.

As I turn around, I see the mysterious sign-holder running after me. It’s only then that I put two and two together.

Oh. My. God.

He’s going to kill me. He probably locked Maggie up in the trunk of his car, stole her sign, and is out to get me next.

I run toward an older couple studying an old-school map. “Please, you must help me get out of here ASAP. I’m being chased. If anyone asks, I’m your daughter, okay?”

The gray-haired man frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t let him catch me,” I plead. “Just play along.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” his wife asks. “Should I use my whistle? I’m not afraid to use my whistle, you know!”

To show me she’s not bluffing, she grabs the red whistle dangling from her neck and wraps her hand around it so tight, her knuckles turn white.

I bite my lip and look over my shoulder. I have to get out of here. Now.

Before I can convince the old couple to not use their whistle, but instead sneak me out of the airport, someone’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I stiffen.

It’s him. The stranger putting me in danger. The stranger… smelling like testosterone on a stick. I take a deep breath before reprimanding myself. I can’t let his man musk fool me. Serial killers can be both deadly and good-looking.

“Eloise, please turn around and come with me so we can get this over with.”

What does he mean, get this over with? My murder? He’s probably got a fresh roll of duct tape ready to be put to good use.

I let out a nervous laugh. “Who, me? I’m with them,” I say, pointing at the couple. “My sweet parents. Right, Mom? Dad?”

The woman’s lips are now only inches away from her stupid whistle. Why won’t they cooperate?

“Let’s get out of here, Geraldine. This girl has clearly lost it,” the man says to his wife, and the two of them scurry away.

“Eloise, what’s wrong?” The handsome stranger’s voice is softer now, and hypnotizingly charming.

I slowly turn around. “Look, I don’t know you. You’ve got the wrong girl. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone you chased me. I promise.”

The guy crosses his arms over his chest, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Chased you? Gee, Eloise Miller, it’s nice to see you too.”

I look up and study his face. Up close, he doesn’t really look like a killer. In fact, he looks kind of familiar. He’s got the same nose and dark hair as Maggie, almost as if he could be related to her…

Okay, so maybe I overreacted to this whole stranger danger situation. I guess that’s what some alcohol, lack of sleep, and an intercontinental flight after your life’s dreams have gone down the toilet will do to a girl.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He extends his hand. “I’m Colton.”

I frown. “Maggie’s brother?”

He nods. “Bingo.”

I extend my hand as well, and he gives it a firm squeeze. I notice how my palm almost disappears in his. It’s an oddly comforting sensation.

I should start running again. Not because of some guy chasing me, but because I’ll die of shame if I stay put. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him. I mean, it’s been years since I’ve seen Colton. He used to look way different. Less… sexy as hell.

“You probably think I’ve lost it,” I say.

Colton laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Maggie told me you’re going through a difficult time.”

I wave his all-too-true remark away. “Nah, I’m good, yo.”

Yo? Maybe having my mouth taped shut with duct tape wouldn’t be a bad thing after all.

He glances at his smart watch. “My ride is parked at the short-term parking lot, so we better hurry. Or are you afraid I’ll do something bad to you?”

The way he says bad lights my cheeks on fire.

I bite my lower lip. I’ve got to get it together. If I can get to Maggie’s beach house without making a fool of myself again, I can sleep off my exhaustion and then my physical reactions to this guy will likely simmer down as well.

I shake my head. “It’s all good. Let’s go, bro.”

“Okay, calm down, Jay-Z,” Colton says with a laugh. “You don’t have to call me bro.”

The guy is right. First yo and now bro… What is wrong with me?

“I won’t,” I say. “But you have to stop calling me Eloise. It’s Elle and it has been for a long time now.”

He grabs the handles of my luggage – a faded old baby blue sports bag that magically survived both high school and college. “All right, Elle.”

I glance up at him while we silently walk back to his car. We cross the carpeted area of the airport, step through the sliding doors, and walk straight past the taxi pickup zone. Then we get into the elevator leading us into the underground parking garage, all without speaking a word.

Maggie and I have been best friends since high school, but Colton is five years older than us. By the time Maggie and I were so close that we hung out at each other’s houses all the time, he had already gone off to college. I think I’ve only seen him once or twice over the holidays, and I don’t even know her two other brothers. I know one of them is a doctor and the other is a teacher. I think. Maggie never mentioned Colton had turned into a hot stud. Then again, saying that about your sibling would be weird, so I can’t blame her for hiding this crucial information from me.

When we reach a row of sloppily parked bikes, Colton stops walking, and I stumble against his back.

“Why are we stopping?”

“Because you want to get to Summerville Creek, right?” He hands me a motorcycle helmet.

“I do, but what is this?”

“This is what they call a motorcycle. And this right here is the helmet you need to ride with me,” he says, giving it a gentle knock. “We’d better hurry, because I need to be at work by nine thirty.”

I walk around the bike, taking in its size. There’s no way I’m getting on that thing. I’d rather walk the twenty miles home than climb on this dangerous-looking machine.

“Yeah, I’m afraid my luggage won’t fit on your beast of a vehicle, so I’ll just get another ride. Speaking of which, where is Maggie? She was supposed to pick me up in her safe, closed-off, reliable car that can’t go any faster than forty-five miles per hour,” I ramble.

Colton’s mouth twitches at the corners, as if he’s having a hard time not laughing at the silly things his sister’s best friend is saying. “Maggie had a last-minute work crisis to deal with. I don’t know the details as she never talks about what her office job entails. Also, I didn’t ask.” He eyes my bag. “And your luggage will fit, trust me. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Oh yeah? You pick up girls from the airport every week or something?”

“Or something,” he says with a shrug before he secures my sports bag with a couple of swift moves. “Hop on, Elle, I haven’t got all day. I don’t want to pressure you, but…”

“Right, work.”

I can’t let the guy be late for work. He’s been kind enough already by giving me a ride home. I should just suck it up. I mean, how bad can it be? People ride motorcycles every day. I swallow. People die horrible deaths on motorcycles every day.

With the grace of an elephant in labor, I swing my leg over the passenger seat and push the helmet onto my head.

“Make sure to hold on tight or you’ll fall off,” Colton says. “And don’t let your legs touch the exhaust pipes. I don’t want you to get burned.”

He takes the bike off its side stand and revs the engine. I put my hands in my lap, but he turns around and shakes his head. He grabs my arms, forcing me to wrap them around him.

Wow. Okay. Now I really can’t think straight anymore, and it’s got nothing to do with the drinks I had on the plane or the fact that I haven’t slept since leaving Paris. I’m all too aware of my hands touching his abs, and his manly scent setting my insides on fire. I know it’s wrong, with him being my best friend’s brother and all, but it feels so good to touch an actual human being. My goodness, it’s been ages since I’ve held someone close to me.

Colton revs the throttle and the bike’s vibrations rush through me as we idle. Once he puts the motorcycle into first gear, my legs start to shake.

“This is my first time,” I yell so he can hear me over the roaring of the engine. “Be gentle.”

He turns around and throws me a cheeky smile before flipping his visor down. For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to go extra fast, just to mess with me, but to my relief, he starts out at a slow pace. This is quite nice. I can do this without wetting my pants from fear.

As soon as we exit the airport parking garage, I swallow my words. This isn’t nice at all. Why is he picking up speed? We must be driving five hundred miles per hour, if not more.

I close my eyes. At least I don’t have to see everything whiz past us that way.

After a while, I start to relax and muster a peek here and there. As the familiar surroundings of my hometown of Summerville Creek come into view, I can’t help but sigh.

Coming home is always fun, but this time it is anything but. All that’s left of my big dreams is shoved into the sports bag that’s now strapped onto Colton’s motorcycle. I don’t even know how I’ll face everyone after leaving for France with whistles and bells, confident I’d make it big out there. I cringe thinking about all the pictures I posted of me and Paul. There’s going to be so many questions.

At least I get to ride into town like a badass. It might stop people from asking those hard questions. As far as I’m concerned, no one needs to know the truth… That I’m a big failure who couldn’t make it on her own and wouldn’t even have been able to go back home if it weren’t for her best friend’s generosity.