Malibu Rising: A Novel - Taylor Reid (top 10 motivational books .TXT) 📗

Kit found herself distracted by the commotion around the pool. She couldn’t see what was happening but it seemed like things were getting loud.

Ricky held up a card from the top of the deck with flair. “Is this your card?” he asked. A three of clubs.

Kit shook her head. She had wanted him to get it right, she realized. She had wanted him to dazzle her. “No, sorry.”

Ricky smiled. “Oh, OK.” He flicked the deck like his finger was a magic wand and picked up the card again. It was now an eight of diamonds.

The tiniest charge ran through Kit. “Wow,” she said, genuinely impressed. She did not know how he had changed the three of clubs into the eight of diamonds. She knew it must be something simple but she couldn’t begin to suspect what it was.

“Do you want to know how I did it?” Ricky asked, pleased to have pleased her.

“Aren’t you supposed to never reveal it?” Kit asked.

Ricky shrugged and so Kit stepped in closer, shortening the distance between them.

“All right,” she said. “Show me.”

Ricky pulled the deck out again and did it in slow motion. When he revealed the true sleight of hand necessary for the illusion—picking up two cards and making it look as if they were only one—Kit was close enough to notice that he smelled like fresh laundry.

“That’s all there is to it,” Ricky said, showing her the way he held the cards. “It’s called a double lift.”

“That’s rad,” Kit said. He smelled really good. How did he do that?

“I can show you how to do it,” Ricky said. “If you want.”

“Nah,” she said. “But do it again. I want to see if I can spot when you do it.”

She did not actually care. She just wanted to smell the sleeve of his T-shirt. She just wanted to feel the thrill of his interest.

It was then that Ricky took a step closer, and with haste and trepidation, kissed her. His lips were soft and gentle.

But as his body moved against hers, Kit knew in her gut this was all wrong. This wasn’t it. Whatever “it” was supposed to be.

Because she liked Ricky—she did. He was sweet and sort of embarrassing in a lovely way. But the second his lips hit hers, she knew that she had never truly wanted to kiss him.

She was pretty sure she did not want to kiss any guy at all.

Suddenly, Kit felt desperate to quiet the voice that she now realized had been calling to her for years. And so, she kissed Ricky Esposito harder. She put her arms around him and pushed her chest against his, as if, if she really tried, she could deny everything she knew was true.

Tarine had gone in search of a good joint so Nina hung out in the kitchen, talking to a couple of movie producers. She was almost positive that both of them were named Craig.

“Your 1980 calendar is hands down the greatest calendar of all time,” First Craig said. He was stockier, meatier, but strong. He looked like he probably worked out two hours a day.

Nina smiled, acting flattered, pretending she cared.

“I mean … July?” Second Craig said. He was blond with a square jaw, even his posture was arrogant. “The one in the white bikini …” He whistled.

“I still think about it,” First Craig said.

“That’s nice,” Nina said dryly. And then she quickly added a “What?” in the opposite direction, as if she heard someone calling to her from the stairs. “I’ll be right there!” And then she smiled and left them in the kitchen.

When she got to the stairs, she saw Brandon out by the front door talking to some Olympic runner Nina knew she was supposed to remember. But instead of going to join the conversation, she turned and went up the steps, looking for a moment of peace. That was all right, wasn’t it?

She walked past a couple making out against the wall of her hallway. She smiled at the two former child stars sitting on the floor rolling a joint.

When she got to her bedroom, she shut the door behind her. She went into the master bathroom and stood at her mirror. She reapplied her lipstick and smacked her lips.

Was Tarine right?

How do you live a day for yourself? Nina didn’t know. She imagined what a day of her life would look like if she were living only for herself. Maybe going somewhere on her own. Like the coast of Portugal. Just her and the sunshine, a good book, and her Ben Aipa swallowtail surfboard. Small pleasures. She’d spend her time surfing and then eating good bread. And cheese.

But really, Nina just wanted peace and quiet so long-lasting and secure that it might even settle into her bones.

“Excuse me?”

Nina turned toward her bedroom door, the one that had been closed just a moment before. Now it was open and there was a young woman standing in the hallway, one hand on the doorknob.

The girl in the purple jersey dress.

“Nina?” the girl said.

“Yes?”

The girl was short—and young, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Her hair was dark blond, her skin was alabaster and perfectly clear, as if she had never spent a day in the sun.

“I was wondering if I could …” The girl’s fingers were shaking. And with each word the girl said, her voice became more uneven. “I was wondering if I could talk to you. Just for a moment.”

“Um,” Nina said. “Sure, come on in. What can I do for you?”

As Nina was looking at the girl standing in front of her, the answer was already beginning to come to her. But she couldn’t quite grasp it yet.

“I wanted to … well,” the girl said, wringing her hands and then catching herself doing it. “My name is Casey Greens,” she said.

“Hi, Casey.” Nina could hear the slight edge in her own voice. She tried to hide her wariness better. “You seem like you