Page 26 of Ordinary Secrets

“Fuck off.”

I wrench my eyes open just enough to see Dex’s giant frame bend forward as he grunts. His head snaps back as the other guy punches him again. With a growl, Dex swings his fist at the smaller man, who ducks and strikes Dex in his jaw.

Vomit is coming. It’s slowly creeping up my throat.

Someone lets out an ear-piercing scream, then wails. I think it’s Dex. At least, Ihopeit’s him.

The door flies open. Someone’s warm palm cups my cheek. “Are you okay?”

I try to force my eyelids open, but they don’t budge.

8

ARELLA

The blindingsunrise shines through my tinted windows. I drag my blanket over my face.Why does my blanket smell like a man? And since when are my windows tinted?

I jolt upright. The blanket I don’t recognize slides down my front.

Whose bed is this?It’s king-size, I think. I can’t tell for sure; I’ve never been on one. The sheets are gray and silky, not purple and cotton like the ones at home.

I’m alone.Is that a good thing?

The denim shorts I wore last night are still on. As is my shirt.Good sign.

The other side of the bed looks slightly made.Another good sign.

On the nightstand are three bottles of cologne, a lamp, and a book with a dragon on the cover. Visions of a scruffy-bearded guy sipping beer zip across my mind like flashing lights. He went on and on about his dragon tattoo.

What happened last night?I try to remember, but my memory fails me. Everything beyond dragon talk is a blur. Am I at that guy’s house?Oh, god. I hope not.

This bedroom is twice the size of mine. Maybe triple. The white walls are bare.How am I supposed to figure out whose house I’m in if they don’t have any personal pictures hanging up?

After scooting off the gigantic mattress, I peer into the walk-in closet. Dark jeans and plain T-shirts are hung in neat rows. Whoever’s closet this is doesn’t wear any color.

The master bathroom is complete with a jacuzzi and a shower as big as my entire bathroom. This house belongs to someone with money, that’s for sure.

I press my ear against the bedroom door. Silence. No movement, either. After taking the lampshade off the lamp, I unplug the lamp and grip it tightly. Anyone I feel threatened by is about to become a victim of my lamp bat.

As softly as I can, I open the door and tread down the hall with sloth-like footsteps. Maybe I’m inhishouse. Then again, he could never afford something this nice. Not without Daddy’s money. Nor does he read.

I keep tiptoeing over the soft carpet. Sunlight gleams from the other end of the hall. A familiar scent floats up my nose. I’d know that smell anywhere.Bacon.

When I round the corner to where the sizzling is coming from, I raise my lamp bat, ready to strike.

The tall man in front of the stove jumps. “Shit!” His spatula somersaults onto the hardwood floor with a clank.

I freeze with my weapon up. It’s not the man I was expecting.

Trey scoops up the spatula, then wipes the floor with a towel. “Dammit. You’ve really gotta stop scaring me.”

Trey Grant? That’s who lives here?

“What’s with the lamp?” he asks. I’d like to think he feels intimidated, but the knitted brows and hint of a smirk on his lips tell me he’s more amused than anything.

I keep my lamp bat held high and muster up the sternest voice I can. “What happened?”

Nonchalantly, Trey slides two slices of bread into a toaster. “How do you like your eggs?”

---