Wicked Grind (Stark World #1)

Only his eyes reminded him of Kelsey. But where hers were as blue as the Caribbean, his seemed as distant and cold as a glacier.

Wyatt watched her face, now drained of the joy that had lit her from within only a few moments before. Bastard. He didn’t know what Leonard Draper’s problem was, but he knew it pissed him off. And that if the rules he made regarding his daughter denied Kelsey access to all the things she loved, then the rules were stupid.

And Wyatt didn’t have a problem breaking stupid rules.

“We don’t have to tell your dad,” he said.

Her eyes went wide. “If he ever found out . . . I mean, the dance competition was here. And he was out of town. And I could have just told him I got a ticket all on my own because I wanted to see the dancing. I would have gotten in trouble, but not for being with a boy. But this? If he finds out. . . .” She shuddered. “Not telling him would be as bad as going to the ballet in the first place.”

“What does he have against the ballet?”

“He . . . he just doesn’t think it’s right for me. Watching it is okay. But not watching it with a boy all the way in Los Angeles.”

“Do you have any girlfriends here?”

For a moment, she looked at him blankly. Then her eyes went wide, and she hugged herself, then looked at her watch. “I need to run. I’ve got to get Griffin.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, with a quick glance at his own watch. “You’ve got at least five more minutes.” But he was saying the last to the air. Kelsey had already sprinted away.

Damn.

He kicked himself for even suggesting it. He should have known she wasn’t the kind of girl who’d go against her parents, even if the law her parents set down was stupid.

He told himself he’d apologize when he saw her the next day, and then the next day he had to kick himself even harder, because she managed to avoid him altogether.

He’d screwed it up. He’d gone and completely screwed it up.

Two entire days later he still hadn’t seen her. He spent the afternoon swimming laps, and realized that she must have asked to switch her schedule around, because she didn’t wipe down one single table the entire time he was there.

He finally gave up and headed to his car, all the while wondering as to the best tactic for groveling his way back into her good graces. But when he arrived at the parking lot and saw her leaning against the BMW he’d borrowed from the fleet his grandmother kept in Santa Barbara, his heart skipped a beat as a flicker of hope settled in his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t screwed this up too bad.

“Hi,” he said, half-afraid he was hallucinating.

“My friend Joy lives here during the summers.” She drew a breath as if for courage. “I could say I was staying with her next Friday.”

“You’d be okay with that?” His heart was pounding so loud he was certain she could hear it. “You’re not exactly the rule-breaking kind, Kelsey Draper. And I don’t want—”

“What?”

It was his turn to suck in air. “I don’t want you to resent me if you get in trouble. Or even if you just feel guilty.”

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts and nodded. “That’s sweet.” She looked down at the pavement. “And—and well, I probably will feel guilty. But I think you’re worth it,” she added, tilting her head up to look at him.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, her entire face lighting up as she smiled.

“You can trust this girl?”

“Definitely. We go to school together. Brighton,” she said, referring to an exclusive girls’ school in Los Angeles. “I’m on scholarship.”

“I’m impressed. Brighton’s got a hell of a reputation.”

“I guess. I got in based on academics, but I applied because they offer dance for PE credit. It’s not a dance academy, but they support the arts, and so at least I get to study, you know?”

“And your dad’s okay with that?”

“Technically, my dance class is a gym class. So he copes. Mostly he likes being able to say that his little girl goes there on scholarship. And—” She cut herself off with a shake of her head.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Nothing. It’s petty,” she added when he lifted a brow and stared her down.

“So? I’m not going to think less of you.”

“He doesn’t let me dance—you know, not at a real studio. And he knows it bugs me. So I think in his mind I can’t complain since he’s letting me go to Brighton.”

Wyatt nodded, hoping she wouldn’t see the way he was clenching his fists to fight back the anger. Her dad was a piece of work, and the sooner she graduated and got out of there the better.

“I never asked where you go,” she said.

“Beverly Hills High School,” he said, then grimaced. “I fit the profile of a Hollywood cliché, but my mom and sister went there, so no one was going to rock the boat for me. But I’m doing my senior year in Boston,” he added. “I got into an exclusive photography academy.”

“I’m not surprised. And I bet you’re the top in the class. Your work is fabulous.”

He’d hooked his camera up to the computer at Patrick’s work station once between her shifts and showed her some of the images that were on the memory disk. It wasn’t his best work, and it was all raw, without any time spent cleaning up or enhancing at his own computer. Even so, he appreciated the compliment as much as the tone of absolute loyalty and certainty.

“Will you get to study only photography? Or do you have to do the regular school stuff, too?”

“A couple of classes, but mostly I’m done with all my academic requirements.”

Her sigh was filled with longing. “I wish I could go to a dance academy.”

He started to say something, but she shook her head, cutting him off. He knew her situation—even if she got a scholarship, her dad wouldn’t let her go. “Well, at least you have Brighton,” he said, lamely. “I can’t believe you’ve been going to school just a few miles from me all this time.”

“And now you’re going to Boston.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll miss you.”

“I probably wouldn’t have applied if I’d known about you. There are excellent photography schools around LA, too.”

“Really? Then why didn’t you apply to those? Boston’s all the way across the country.”

He considered giving her his stock bullshit answer about how the Boston program was the most innovative, had the most variety of classes, offered him an amazing scholarship. And all of those reasons were true. They just weren’t the reason.

And Kelsey deserved the truth.

“I want to get away from my family,” he said simply.

“You do? But you love your parents. And you’ve said yourself your grandmother’s amazing.”

“She is. And I do. But—oh, hell. I want to be a photographer. More than that, I want to be a successful one. I don’t want to be a starving artist. I want to make a real living.”