SwitchBack: A Paranormal Werewolf Romance (Knightsbridge Canyon Series Book 1) (11 page)

“You are such a bitch,” I hissed at her as I held one hand over the speaker.

“Grow up, Ashlee,” Amber tossed over her shoulder as she turned and flounced off.

“Why should I bother, since it seems that you are mature enough for the both of us?”

Weak, Ash, weak, but I was never as good at the repartee as she was.

She shrugged and kept walking.

“Hey…Shane.” While fuming at my sister, I still felt bad for the guy. “I’m sorry Amber did that to you. But the good news is, I’m not allergic to shellfish.”

And with that, it looked like I had a date.

My sister spent the rest of the day in bed with a migraine. Serves her right, I thought, if it’s real. Third Date Termination Clause Punishment. And yet, when I looked in on her before running off to volleyball practice, she was tossing and turning with cold sweats and fever. I put our tiff aside and went in to comfort her.

“Don’t go, Ash,” she said, her eyes unnaturally bright in the room’s dimness. I could see her pupils dilated so far her irises seemed almost black, a deep shiny obsidian.

“I wish Mom were here,” I told her as I stroked her hair, so like my own. “She was always so much better at this.”

Amber grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. “Ashlee, don’t go!”

“Oh come on, Amber,” I said suspiciously. “You’re not going anyway, and the guy bought a hundred bucks of seafood for you. Don’t be like that. I’m sorry you got a migraine.”

“I’m not being like anything,” she said, angry. “I just have a bad feeling about this, that’s all.”

For some reason this pushed my buttons and pissed me off more than it should have. Amber was always trying to control me and my life, and now she just wasn’t going to let me enjoy myself out of some twisted passive-aggressive impulse, I figured.

“Forget it, Amber. I’m going, and that’s that.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead while prying my wrist out of her grip. “Get some rest.”

She closed her eyes and whimpered, rolling over and pulling the blanket over her head.

A part of me was glad she was suffering. I’d sure suffered during the last few years from her bitchiness and rivalry. This was one of the rare times that it looked like I was going to come out on top, to get the guy, to be the winner in one of the innumerable ongoing string of sisterly contests I called life.

I made sure to tell Dad how Amber was doing, and that I was going to go to practice and then out until my curfew at eleven. He nodded absentmindedly and kept grading papers from one of his classes, as he usually did in the evenings. Ever since Mom died, he’d seemed to live in kind of a daze, even after years, like he was stuck in the denial stage of grief or something.

As I went out the front door I made sure to lock it, the glass reflecting me as I did. And though it seemed to be a trick of the light, I thought I saw my sister’s face instead of my own.

Sure wish I’d listened to her.

“So, are you horribly disappointed?” I asked Shane as he picked me up from the school gym parking lot after volleyball practice that evening. I’d dressed in jeans and a layering of sports bra, cotton short-sleeved white button-down with epaulets and a sweater over it all. Instead of a pony tail I opted for a French braid so that the one-carat princess cut diamond earrings showed, compliments of a comatose Amber and her jewelry box.

Shane was in the typical uniform of jocks at our school – jeans, white high-tops and a baseball jersey. The car gleamed as if he’d polished it since I saw him last.

“You know, I kinda knew I was hangin’ by a thread anyway. All the guys warned me about the Third Date Termination Clause, but I’m actually not disappointed at all.” It was the kind of humor that could hide a lot of hurt behind it. “I mean, you are the spitting image of each other.”

“Maybe, but we’re not interchangeable, you know.” I frowned. Guys say the stupidest things and I was really hoping that Shane was more than another dumb jock with threesome fantasies of identical twins running through his head.

“Right. Yeah. No. I mean, I know that.” He held the door open for me, smiling. “Your chariot awaits my lady.”

“You’re such a dork,” I told him, and threw my gym bag in the back seat, then settled myself in the already warm car.

It was wasteful, but there is nothing more comforting than driving out into the country on a nippy night with the windows open and the heater blasting. My feet were warm and my face was cool, just like I liked it. I pulled out my cell to check in with Amber. She was my sister. Though I hated her, I loved her.

“Please don’t tell me you’re texting.”

“Amber’s sick.”

“Aw, tell me you’re not texting the evil twin. That would just be adding insult to injury.”

Crap. He was right.

“You know what? You’re right. Cell phones off,” I said, and hit the power button, then made him turn off his.

“Satisfied?”

I smirked.

He laughed and pulled away from the school, my volleyball teammates watching. “So, tell me about yourself.”

An open-ended question.
Point in favor, Shane Macdonald.

“Well, let’s see. If we’re talking stereotypes, then I’m the tomboy and Amber’s the vapid cheerleader.”

“And…?”

Score another point for Shane Macdonald.
“Well, while I’ve got my sights set on being valedictorian, Amber is busy securing the popularity vote for Homecoming Queen.”

“Ouch!” He laughed. “Sounds like a little sibling rivalry run amuck. Must be weird having a twin. Well, if it’s worth anything, I think maybe I got the better deal.” He motioned. “Oh, and your cash is in the glove box, as I didn’t need to buy anything after all.”

“Thanks!” I pulled on the handle and the envelope flopped out. I took it and slid it in my back pocket. I’d thrown my gym bag in the back seat and I was
so
not carrying around a purse.

He looked at me funny.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re not going to count it?” he teased.

“No. Should I?” The verbal sparring was kind of fun. It was the kind I did with my dad and my brother Adam before Mom died of cancer a couple of years ago. The family had seemed to lose its center, flinging us all away from each other. I winced and tried to put it out of my head.

Shane laughed again, bringing me back to the now. He had a nice laugh. Musical, I thought.

“So, what kind of music do you like?” he asked before I could.

“Believe it or not, I’m kind of a country girl,” I told him. “Oh, I like most genres, not really into rap or hip-hop unless it’s got a melody you can sing to. And though I like alternative rock and contemporary Christian when it’s not all ‘Jesus is My Boyfriend,’ I also like pre-80s classic rock.”

“Wow. And here all I wanted to know was what station you wanted to listen to.” He hit a few buttons and some crossover country sprang from the speakers.

“Oh.” I looked sheepishly at him as he slid his hand into mine. Amber says guys don’t like girls who are chatty, but I’ve got a lot of guy friends, emphasis on the friend instead of the guy, and I was comfortable with them, mostly. Unless things became all, you know.

“Aw, now you’re turning red,” he needled.

“It’s dark, nimnoid. You can’t possibly see my cheeks.”

But the funny thing was, I could, just fine. See his cheeks, I mean. Over the course of our drive through town and up the Canyon, my vision had taken on an incredibly acute clarity. What had seemed only a pale wash of illumination before had taken on a solidity of the full moon’s beams in patterns that I could easily discern. The stars seemed to wink at me, dazzling to my eyes as I gazed out the window and yet when I focused, I could see eerily into the underbrush as it sped by. My senses opened, and I could smell Shane’s musky scent overlaid by the acrid tang of evaporating alcohol.

Evaporating alcohol? Huh. Mexican beer is more like it. Corona by the smell, I concluded as I tried to get the cloying taste of it off my soft palate with my tongue. I sneezed, reflexively pulling both our hands toward my face.

“Ew!” He pulled his hand from mine and wiped it off on his jeans. “Bless you!”

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry.” Mortified, party of one.

Shane laughed and yanked some tissues from the glove box and handed them to me, taking some handy-wipes for himself. How guys manage to multitask in vehicles when their hormones are cavorting is beyond me. After using the lemon-smelling towelettes, which he told me his mom made him take along, he held out his hand again for me to hold. Good hygiene but not freakishly OCD about it. I chuckled. Gotta give the guy props.

His hand was huge in both of mine and for some reason I became fascinated with it, running my fingers against his palm, exploring every crack and crevice of his skin. His palm was both smooth and rough, a mixture of textures that told a story with every scent and taste that came with my indrawn breath.

“Ashlee, what are you doing?” I realized that we had stopped and I was nuzzling his palm with my face. He stared at me and pulled his hand away.

I wondered what the hell was wrong with me, and pulled an Amber.

“Sorry. I just think hands are fascinating, don’t you?” I giggled and exited the car before he could respond. I think hands are fascinating? OMG! Again, what the hell is wrong with me?

“I think you’re kind of kinky is what I think.” Shane said it as he joined me in leaning against the hood. “It’s all right, it’s cool. I like it,” he continued, as if he was such a worldly senior.

I took a few deep breaths and we watched in silence as the clouds passed patches across the moon. A mouse looked at me from the shadows and my lip curled up in a snarl. Better run, little morsel, I thought as I watched him scamper away.

Shane caught me by my arm and wrenched me to a stop. I was actually moving to follow the mouse. What the – was I insane?

“Hey, Ashlee. Where you going? Camper’s over here.” He pulled me toward him and it was then that I noticed our now illuminated dining spot. It was enchanting, really. They’d done a good job. Then my stomach began to growl

“Oh good,” I breathed. “I’m starving.”

Later I found out that Amber had woken up screaming, my Dad and brother at her bedside holding her down. She was babbling about blood and death and wolves and Ashlee and danger. When she’d calmed down sufficiently she dialed my number, which of course went straight to voicemail.

Sure wish I hadn’t turned my phone off.

Shane held the door open for me and I entered the camper. I have to admit, the place was cozy, like a redneck version of a Moroccan restaurant. No chairs, just a couple of matching futons, throw pillows, a fabric-covered makeshift table in the middle and a small refrigerator against the wall. A mass of Christmas lights followed the lines of the flexible A-top and he lit a few candles that let out a waft of evergreen and bayberry. A picnic basket sat on the table waiting and there really was a bottle of Dom Perignon chilling in the cooler on melted ice. A mass of Christmas lights followed the lines of the flexible top and he lit a few candles that let out a waft of evergreen and bayberry.

I promptly blew them out. “You don’t use scented candles when you’re eating doofus.” I told him. “Messes with the palate.” I cringed inwardly as it came out sounding like something Amber would say.

 “Duly noted. Now, get comfortable,” he told me, handing me a flute. After popping the cork on the champagne, he caught the foam in my glass.

“To Plan B,” he joked, and we toasted.

We dug into the smoked salmon with gusto and polished off the champagne with abandon. Maybe I was trying not to feel so guilty about being here with Shane instead of Will because I drank more than the two glasses we were allowed ever since we turned sixteen. Dad was pretty cool that way, but had warned us never to come home drunk unless somebody else drove.

Funny thing is, I was actually enjoying myself. Shane was cute, kinda dorky, very jock-hunky and we were funny together in a city-boy-meets-small-town-girl kind of way. Don’t ask me what we talked about, but I seem to remember a similar taste in science fiction versus science fact. The champagne was nice and bubbly, but to be honest, a bit dry for my taste and I kept downing bottles of water like a reverse fire hydrant.

“Damn, Ashlee, you’ve gone through six of those in the last half hour!” Shane laughed as he threw me another that I caught deftly out of the air.

“I’m sorry! I love seafood, but the salmon is incredibly salty. And it’s a bit stuffy in here.” I motioned around the cloth-top camper. We sat across from each other, our dwindling gourmet feast between us.

“I can fix that,” Shane said as he pulled back the blinds and left the fabric screens in place. I still decided to peel out of my sweater and maneuvered around him to the door.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air. Join me when you’re done,” I teased as I slipped down the steps and out into the night. I pulled the shirt-tail out of my jeans and unbuttoned my button-down, tying it in a knot at my sternum. I still had my sports bra on so I was perfectly covered, I told my inner critic who sounded just like Mom.

In fact, besides hearing her in my head, I could almost see her ghostly form walking down the trail. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, but she wasn’t there, thank God.

The night blazed stunningly clear; the pine trees and eucalyptus opening up into a vast expanse of velvet sky. The breeze felt cool against the patches of my bare skin and my head throbbed with a twinge of a headache. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to draw in the serenity.

I felt a cold wet trickle of water against the skin of my arm and gasped, then laughed aloud as Shane handed me another bottle of water. I turned to look up at him.

He was so beautiful.

“Are you sure you’re okay, ’cause you look a bit flushed.”

“I know it’s considered cool to be doing it, but I’m really not much of a drinker,” I confided.

“Yeah. Unless you count spring water. Wanna walk a bit? Might cool you off. Clear your head.”

“Sure,” I said, and then immediately strode away, suddenly eager to see if I could find the mouse I noticed earlier.