A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(8)
Author: Suzanne Young

I lay my injured arm on the table, tracing the slightly raised lines. For a second I’m reminded of how Abe touched them, so gently, almost like they hurt him, too.

“You’re smiling,” my father says. “Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Only I say it like there are millions of devious and unacceptable reasons. He groans.

“Does that mean it’s none of my business?”

“Exactly!” I hold up my finger, letting him know he’s on to something.

“Fair enough. But”—his face becomes serious—“I’d like to hear more about today. About the woman. I really think we should file a report.”

“No,” I say quickly. “Abe told her not to come back. Let’s not start lining up creepy old women for me to identify. I just want to forget the entire thing happened.”

“Sounds like denial.” My father reaches to put his hand over mine, and I meet his eyes. I’m suddenly eight years old again, standing outside of a funeral home, refusing to believe my mother is gone. He knows denial is my natural instinct.

“Something else happened today,” I murmur, forcing myself to confront my fear. My father tenses but doesn’t speak. “There was this guy,” I begin. “And when he walked into Santo’s, my fingers got all tingly. I started seeing images of him, his life—but it wasn’t stuff I could have known before. It was like an out-of-body experience.” I pause, trying to gauge my father’s reaction. “Have you heard of anything like that before?”

My dad stares down at my hand before letting it go. He pulls his brows together in thought. “No, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a rational explanation. What happened after that? Were you dizzy? Nauseous?”

I shake my head. “Well, it only got stranger from there. I remembered something then, only it wasn’t my memory, even though it felt like it. For a second, I was somebody else.” I stop, lowering my head. “I sound crazy.”

“No, you sound scared,” he says. “And believe me, Elise, I’ve heard stranger.” He pats my hand reassuringly. “I don’t want you working yourself up over this. I’ll do some research, okay? We’ll figure out what’s going on with you.”

Lucy walks in just then, carrying a humongous pizza box, a two-liter bottle of Diet Pepsi under her arm. “Missed it, Elise.” She beams, oblivious to the seriousness of the moment. “Pizza guy was so hot.”

My father smiles at me. “And while I’m at it, I’ll find out what’s wrong with your sister, too.”

I thank him, feeling a hundred times better. It can’t be that bad if my father isn’t more worried. Then again, he’s also a crisis counselor, so he knows how to handle high-stress situations well.

“Elise?” my sister says again. “Did you hear me? Hot. Super hot. He even wrote his number on this napkin.” She waves it in front of me until my father casually plucks it from her hand, wiping his mouth on it before folding it in half.

“Thanks, Lucy,” he responds. “I needed a place to spit out my gum.”

“Dad!” My sister laughs and lightly taps my dad in the back of his head as she passes behind him to set the pizza on the counter.

I stand to grab the plates, the bright spots of my day finally seeming worth mentioning. “Yeah, well, I met two cute guys today,” I say quietly.

Lucy spins to face me. One of my sister’s favorite pastimes involves spotting good-looking men, and then making sure to mention them to me.

“More information needed,” she demands, as if I’ve been holding out on her.

“Well, the first was just a customer—so hot. I’ll probably never see him again, though.” I pout my lips for dramatic effect. “But the other,” I say, bringing the plates to the table, “is a guy I work with. He’s not really my type, but he is an amazing specimen.”

“Oh, please,” Lucy says. “Like you have a type. Now who’s the specimen? I must track him down and study him.”

“Your sister is very picky,” my father answers for me. “She doesn’t need a type. She’s waiting for the—”

“Gross, Dad. Spare me,” Lucy interrupts. “Elise,” she says. “Tell me more about this cute boy from work.”

I grin. “His name is Abe and he—”

Her blue eyes widen. “You don’t mean Abe Weston, do you?”

“Um, maybe. I didn’t catch his last name.”

“Holy hell, Elise! I so know him.”

“Lucy, mouth,” my father warns, but he sounds like he’s given up on being included in this conversation.

“Really?” I ask as my sister drops a slice onto the plate I’m holding. I should have figured that Lucy would have heard of Abe. She has the scoop on everyone.

“Well, not really really,” she says. “But I know who he is. He’s from Yuma, and you’re downplaying. He’s incredibly cute. And from what I hear, a total slut.”

“Lucy,” my father says more seriously.

My sister snatches the plate from my hand and sets it in front of my father, smiling sweetly. Then she comes over to take my uninjured arm, lowering her voice. “He probably thought you were adorable. Did he ask you out?”

“Well, he did try to corrupt me out in back of Santo’s,” I say, earning a look from my father. “He asked if I wanted to go to a party with him tonight. Probably not as a date or—”

“Why are you here?” Lucy asks incredulously. “You didn’t say yes?”

I shake my head, and my sister looks offended on behalf of the entire female species. “I’m sorry to say this, Elise,” she states, taking out a slice and biting off the end. “I think you need therapy.”

I hand her a plate, but she pushes it away, instead using her other hand to catch any grease that might drip. I must have thoroughly bored her, because she wanders back over to where my father is sitting.

“Can I go out for a bit?” she asks, her eyes innocent. “I’ll be back at a decent hour.”

“It’s already past a decent hour,” he answers, glancing at her above his glasses. “And you just got home. Maybe tomorrow would be better—when there’s daylight?”

Lucy’s jaw clenches and I feel my own anxiety spike. “I’m eighteen, Dad,” she says in a controlled voice. “You can’t keep me an infant forever.”