Page 21 of Sanctuary (Deviant Hearts #0.5)

Outside, the sky looms gray and metallic, squeezing light into dull shapes. It smells like damp grass and concrete, and the scent clings to my thin shirt as sleep clings to my brain.

I still don’t know where that "okay" came from.

Cruz Velez is way out of my league. I don’t normally aim big.

At least, not on my own. The plan was always to do it with Jett, but the last twenty-four hours of being his girlfriend only solidified my decision to leave him.

I knew it deep in my gut last night when he was pretty much ready to exchange me for an investment in his vodka brand.

And now that I stand face to face with the man who actually seems to give a shit, I’m not feeling guilty anymore for being a shit ride or die. Because I was never one to begin with.

The memory punches to the forefront of my mind—Jett looking back over his shoulder after we had that nasty fight outside the crew bus yesterday, then strutting away drunkenly.

Nothing I hadn’t seen before. That look.

The same cocky smile on the face of some skinny blonde groupie who thinks she won the lottery.

Good luck, ho. The prize is rotten.

I can't remember if he said it was over or just that I was fucking crazy.

I wasn’t exactly in my right mind and was still reeling after that kiss.

In any case, we were both drunk, and I won’t be surprised if the asshole comes back with a dozen roses later today, asking for forgiveness. That’s his thing.

Some things shouldn’t be forgiven, though.

"Cool," Cruz says softly, his intense gaze never leaving mine.

"I have to brush my teeth and change," I add. "I have your jacket too. Remember?"

"Yeah." He nods. "So I’ll find out about a rental, then. Thirty minutes?"

"Should be enough."

"I’ll come back."

"I’ll just meet you at the parking lot." I don’t want anyone from Sonic Trash to see me leaving with Cruz.

Who knows how Jett would react. I really don’t want another scene.

It’s a small circle of people, smaller than some would think.

Gossip spreads. Being crowned as a drama queen isn’t what I need right now.

Five minutes later, when I’m back inside, my suitcase is already open on the floor.

I grabbed it from the band’s bus yesterday after Jett left with that skank.

I fish through the clothes I packed, wondering if this is stupid, if I should just wait until the end of the tour before I actually allow myself a bit of freedom, before I tell Jett I’m done with his bullshit.

It's another four weeks, though. I’m not certain I can wait that long to break up. On the other hand, waiting would give me more time to figure out my living situation.

It’s not as easy as it seems in a city like LA. Rent is expensive. So is beauty school.

All this is going through my head as I strip the shirt off my back and pull on my fishnets and a long black tee that I secure around my waist with a worn leather belt. Boots next. My fingers touch the scissors and flowers on my arm as I stare into the mirror. I think I look hot.

Then I breathe out slowly and try not to remember the hurtful things Jett said, try to let it roll off my skin the way he does. It all floods back anyway. His face and then his back. His rage and then that other thing, the thing I hate more than the anger. The disregard.

I'm angry again. Furious even. To the point I'm shaking.

It wasn’t the first time. Won’t be the last, just not with me. "Get out. Just go, then," I tell my reflection in the mirror, taking my makeup out of the bag. I work my lips back to cherry red. Scrub the black liner around my eyes until they look like they belong to me again.

When I’m done, I sit on the empty bunk and touch my hand to my cheek, let my breath slow and the morning quiet sink back into me.

I’m going to have one good day before I get on the flight back to LA.

I deserve it.

As agreed, Cruz is waiting for me by the artists' parking lot entrance. He’s leaning against a flashy red BMW, all smiles, and is wearing a black baseball cap, something I’ve never seen him do.

"Is that your disguise?" I point at the cap, then hand him his jacket.

He takes it and puts it on. "What? You don’t think it works?" He pulls the visor down, and his eyes almost disappear underneath it.

"The hair is a dead giveaway." He’s got the most gorgeous hair I’ve ever seen on a man. Long, silky, and taken care of, and it streams down his back like a shimmery curtain of midnight. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. I work with hair. I know.

We drive with the heat on, our bodies close while the rain patters softly on the windows.

The inside of the car smells like old leather and something sweet, and it's holding us like a huge hug.

My finger finds a loose thread in my fishnets and works it, pulling at it with a casual hand, not caring what unravels.

"Nice rental," I comment.

Cruz steps on the gas and shifts gears. The car jerks forward. "We got lucky."

"So you’re the kind of guy who likes driving fast?"

"Not always. Just when the situation allows."

"Where are we going?"

"Well, I thought we’d grab some breakfast first. There’s a lake nearby. We can hit that later."

"In this weather?"

"What’s wrong with it?" He glances at me very briefly, and I catch a flash of a smile from the corner of my eye. I find myself smiling too, like he’s infected me with his happiness over something so basic as seeing a body of water.

"You know what?" I say. "You’re right. Nothing wrong with it. It’s just a little bit of rain."

He reaches out for the radio and turns up the volume. Some German tune crackles through the speakers.

"The only German band I know is Rammstein," I admit.

"What about Tokyo Hotel or Scorpions?"

"Oh yeah. I don’t know how I forgot about them."

"If you want something a bit more hardcore, Kreator or Destruction. We’d always spin that shit in the backyard on a Saturday night. Sneak some beers from our parents. Or weed."

"Ha, we did that too. Different music."

"You know Milli Vanilli was also from Munich."

"Ohmigod, I forgot about those guys. What a disaster."

"Yeah, that was a total bust. You remember the scandal? You were like what? One?"

I laugh. "Two." I clear my throat. "I obviously don’t remember anything in real time.

I found out later. Saw a documentary on MTV.

I think I was twelve or thirteen. It was so disappointing because my mom loved ‘Girl You Know It's True.’ But I suppose the key takeaway after watching the documentary is not to lip-sync. People will find out sooner or later."

"Why are you looking at me?" Cruz frowns playfully. "I just play bass. You saw our show. We’re fully authentic."

"Authentic, haha. You’re totally out there."

"That’s right. The best damn live band in the world today."

"Arrogant much?"

"That’s not arrogance," he counters with a smirk. "That’s a fact. Just read any music magazine or ask the critics."

We continue to spar words for a few more minutes until we take an exit and head toward what appears to be a diner.

It looks like a windmill-style house made of dark-red brick.

It’s weathered, and the windmill is spinning slowly.

Cruz points at it as he pulls into the parking lot.

It’s full of potholes and he takes a moment to maneuver the car into a less bumpy spot.

"Sorry, I don’t have an umbrella." He kills the engine.

"I’m sure we’ll be fine."

"For you. Not for me."

"Just because I’m short doesn’t mean I’m weak." I push the car door open and rush over to the building, water splashing underneath my boots and across my ankles.

"Wait up!" Cruz shouts, then falls into step behind me.

No one pays attention to us as we walk inside. The woman behind the counter gestures for us to sit anywhere we’d like.

I flick back the hood of my sweatshirt as I slide into the booth in the corner. The old vinyl feels cool against my legs.

Cruz’s hair is a wet mess under his cap, dripping into his eyes as he looks at me. Then he glances at the menu, shakes his head, and gives me a small, easy smile.

"Hope you like sauerkraut."

"Only if you’re buying," I say.

The place smells like pancakes, sausage, and cold cuts, and I realize I’m super hungry.

The waitress comes over and speaks in broken English to take our order. Cruz asks for coffee, and she brings a pot almost immediately.

He picks it up, pours, and sets the cup in front of me while I wipe the rain off my face.

"They got good coffee here," I say after taking a couple of sips.

He grins. "You thought they’d have shitty instant?"

"You never know," I say.

"Food in Europe is way better than back home."

"Yeah?"

"You’ll see."

A couple of minutes later, the cook shouts something in German in the background, and it sounds like it could be our order. Cruz looks at me, serious, then amused. I watch his dark eyes, wondering what’s really there, what he wants.

"I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry as hell," he says as he pats his stomach.

"Same."

"Nice."

The waitress brings our plates, and we fall into comfortable silence while we poke at our food with forks and dig in.

The place feels like home in a weird way.

I wonder if this feeling has anything to do with the fact that he’s here, sitting a couple of feet away from me, his knee almost touching mine under the table.

The space between us is still big enough, but it’s getting smaller every second.

"This is pretty damn good," Cruz mutters around a mouthful of eggs, bobbing his head in approval.

I wait a couple of moments, savoring the taste of warm cheese and deli meat on my sandwich. "Why are you spending time with me, anyway?" I ask eventually.

He doesn’t pause, just gives me a long, serious look. "Cuz I like you."