High - @((Y^!@ Allyvia (guided reading books .TXT) 📗

only then realizing she was still standing in her underwear, and used the skirt of her dress to cover her body. She felt a flush of emmbarrassment flood her body, and she meekly met his gaze.

 

 "Champagne and I aren't the best of friends," Darin groggily mumbled, rubbing his eyes and placing his feet on the floor. Amy offered him a weak smile and stood a little straighter when he climbed from the bed and crossed the bedroom. Three paces, and he would be standing in front of her. Two paces, and she would be able to feel his body heat. One pace, and they would be standing face to face.

 

"So, Scarlette, there's a bathroom through there, and-," he began, pointing to a tiny, closet sized room off to the corner of his bedroom.

 

Amy froze at the name she had given him, almost forgetting her lie. She was Scarlette Nichols, a college student visiting home while on some university holiday. She was twenty-something; she had an ugly, mangled shelter dog that no one else had wanted named Lucy, that lie brought her just the slightest bit of pleasure imagining the bitch in a muzzle; her favorite band was, oh-so-coincidentally, Dirty Green Vinyl too, which was so totally crazy and unexpected.

 

"Actually, I have to meet some family... for holiday gift exchanges," Amy lied lamely, tensing as his hand rested on her wrist. Jesus, his touch...! It made the hairs on her arm stand up in excitement.

 

"Right. What holiday are you celebrating again," he asked, the slightest tone of a chuckle in his voice.

 

"Uh... um... Christmas," she smiled, shrugging her shoulders and slipping on her dress. Darin chuckled, and looked at her strangley once her head had found its way through the hole.

 

"In Novemeber," he asked teasingly.

 

Amy just shrugged and gave him a smile. "College stuff is going to get in the way... So, I'm just-"

 

"Oh yeah," he laughed, grabbing a pair of pants that had been lying on the floor and slipping them on quickly. His room was lined with bookshelves, full of Shakespeare and Charles Dickens; he was a newly graduated drama teacher. The place was a cool, renovated loft, full of bookshelves and quirky things like a Shakespeare bobble heads and street signs tacked to the walls.

 

His bedroom made Amy remember Darin Brighton was like any other guy, littered with books and clothes. She could navigate her way through the room thankfully, and it wasn't so messy it was huge turn-off, obviously. The walls were a deep, thought-provoking shade of maroon, the beige shade drawn against the early morning sunshine, and the dark wooded furniture went perfectly with it.

 

"Before I forget," he jumped, grabbing a pen and a scrap of paper from the cluttered oak desk that sat against the farthest wall from his bed, and scribbled a number on the piece of paper before handing it to Amy. "In case you're ever in town again."

 

Amy smiled, and took the paper, despite everything that told her this would only lead to a lonely, drunken call at three in the morning on her part.

 

"Thanks," she smiled, before wondering if she should kiss his cheek or shake his hand, then settling on walking straight out the door with as much dignity as most one-night-stand manage.

 ~~~

 

 Amanda woke up on the couch of an unfamiliar home, her head resting on someone's chest. No, not someone, Kingsley Abraham's. Her eye widening in initial shock, she managed to scrambled from her spot, only to recieve a whamming headache when she sat up.

 

"Ugh," she moaned, looking around the living room to see everyone else had left their make-shift beds and helped finish cleaning, and grasped her temples.

 

"Rough night," that raspy, thick voice said from underneath her, peeking open one brilliant blue eye, a smile creeping up on his features. Amanda nodded, and lay back down on his chest in hope to let the swelling in her brain calm. She didn't even care she was lying on Kingsley; if she hadn't, her head would probably have exploded.

 

"Very. Remind me to never take a virgin drink from you again."

 

The beating of his heart was slow and paced, nothing like the night before when she had woken up to his screams. He had been screaming; she remembered that much in her groggy, hung-over phase. His heart had been pounding so quickly, she wondered if he was part rabbit. He had been sweating, and when she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, she saw he was pale.

 

Pity lacing her thoughts, she found herself snuggling into him, despite the strange look he gave her.

 

"Panda, for a lightweight," he said, his voice rumbling in her ear, "I was very impressed with you. I mean, you've been spewing straight liqour for the past twelve hours, but I'm still prety impressed. Lucy's first time resulted in her mom catching us trying to sneak her through the window. We were both grounded for a month."

 

Thinking of home, Amanda cringed. "Shit," she sighed, raking her fingers through her hair and sitting up so her palms were pressed flat against his chest, "my mom is going to kill me. She thinks I went home with Erica... and Erica left. How am I going to get home?!"

 

Kingsley sighed and looked her in the eyes, a smile quirking on his lips. "I'll give you a ride. I'm the one who adultered you, I'm the one who'll help you lie to your mother."

 

"Lie... to my mother," she repeated, as though the thought was so foreign and new to her. Shaking her head, she sat up. "No, Kingsley, I can't lie to my mom. We're really close, and if she finds out-"

 

"If she finds out," he insisted, rolling his eyes, "she'll probably think you've finally had a high school exsistence." 

 

"You don't get it. My mother's a Southern belle debutaunte. She raised me to be a lady, not sleep on some random guy's chest because she's too tanked to find her way home."

 

"Hey, I'm not just some random guy-- I'm also your new party animal mentor. And I don't see you complaining," he teased. Amanda blushed, thinking of how silly she seemed, and sat up.

 

"I don't know... I don't want to lie to my mom, but I really don't want to get caught.... What would you tell her, if you did help me?"

 

Kingsley shrugged. "Only a little white lie."

 

Sitting up, Kingsley grabbed hold of her hand and lead her through the conjoined kitchen. The place smelled of coffee, which made Amanda smile and take a deep breath. Nix and Lucy were having an obvious-to-everyone-but-them romance moment, talking with their heads bent down close to each other, and Slater was stuffing his mouth with Cheerios. When Amanda reached for a mug on the counter, Kingsley slapped her hand away.

 

"Alright, kiddies, I'm taking Puke Princess over here home. Save me some coffee," he grinned, Lucy eyeing him, a teasing smile tugging on her lips. He simply rolled his eyes and lead Amanda away like she was a puppy or something. Only after they settled in his nice, leather-seated sports car parked on the curb at the end of the cul de sac did Amanda actually say something intelligent. Taking in the black leather seats, and the shiny rims that glinted in the sunlight, he looked like a child in a candy shop.

 

"You like cars," Amanda asked, although it was more of a statement, taking in his expression with a hint of amusement lighting up her features. Kingsley nodded, and chuckled slightly.

 

"Yeah... My mom," he voice growing thick momentarily before his cleared his throat, "had this awesome red classic muscle car. I used to, uh, sit in the front seat. I mean, I don't remember it-- I was only four or five-- but my dad used to tell me the story all the time."

 

Amanda smiled, picturing a little curly-haired, blue-eyed, rose-kissed toddler. She could almost feel the soft little dimples on his chubby thighs, and watch him in amusement as he tried to steady his little waddle. The thought made her want to coo over him, but then realizing the silliness, simply grinned.

 

"What happened to it," she asked, smling as he pulled off the curb and onto the street.

 

Kingsley, seeming distracted and trying to avoid the topic, swallowed so hard his Adam's apple bobbed. "Um, we sold it, after she died."

 

"Oh. I'm sor-"

 

"Please don't say it," Kingsley insisted, holding up a hand in refusal, never taking his eyes off the road. Amanda, looking to see they were on Parker Street, pointed left. Kingsley obliged before continuing. "It was almost thirteen years ago. I hardly remember her."

 

It was a lie. He didn't remember what she looked like when she was alive-- he didn't remember her laugh, or the way she cried late at night, or how happy she'd get after some of her friends would come over, locking the door behind them and leaving Kingsley alone in his toy room-- but he would never forget what she looked like lying on the bathroom floor.

 

"Right... sorry. I mean....- Oh, take a right up here."

 

"I know," he said simply, taking a right, like she said, on Turner Street. Confused, Amanda furrowed her brows.

 

"How do you know?"

 

"Everyone knows where the famous Amanda Nichols lives," he insisted, as though the answer was obvious, shrugging his shoulders. Amanda snorted, and shook her head.

 

"What exactly am I famous for?"

 

"I don't know. Being the head cheerleech, captain of the Bulldrags-"

 

"Co-captain" she insisted with an eyeroll, before slapping his shoulder lightly and narrowing her eyes at him. "And it's the Bulldogs."

 

"Right, bitches," he shrugged, catching sight of her scowl and grinning bemusedly before continuing his earlier roll, "-and, for being the walking social stigma of skinny, blond girls everywhere. Every girl wants to be you; every guy wants you. Isn't it all obvious and very stereotypical," he asked, a brow quirking in her direction before he pulled onto Olive Street.

 

Amanda frowned, anger making her purse her lips, and glared at him. She was not steroetypical! She was a unique person, all her own. How dare he-

 

"And you're the class stoner who will flop out of high school, and end up at Dairy Queen, serving frosties until you're thirty-five."

 

 Kingsley laughed, and wagged a finger mockingly in her face. "Ah, Amanda, sweet, niave Amanda. See, I'm not exactly stereotypical," he insisted, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, "because  I am a rich stoner. I can work at Daddy's firm, and get as high as I want without having to worry about working at said Dairy Queen. I can afford my lifestyle."

 

"Whatever. Turn up here," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring out he window as he pulled up in front of her house. The old, stone mansion loomed over them, and the anger Amanda had been harvesting seeped a bit, fear replacing it. She grabbed hold of his hand, tightly, and looked into his blue eyes. "What are you going to say? She won't possibly trust a guy to bring me home from a party-"

 

"Amanda, calm down. Look, I've got this in the bag," he insisted, opening his car door and stepping out into the early morning sun. Reaching into his pocket, he held out two Aspirins for her presumed headache. Amanda took them, and searched through her purse momentarily before finding the water bottle left over from cheerleading practice. Swallowing the pills, she gave him a watery smile as they began walking up the path to the front door. Right before they reached the door, Amanda felt her fingers curl around his. She needed strength; appearantly, Kingsley Abraham was a secret Superman.

~~~

 

 Lucy glanced over at him once again, the syrupy sweet feeling in the pit of her stomach blooming as his fingers brushed against hers. Mind you, he was simply grabbing her coffee cup and placing it in the sink, but she still smiled. The next morning had been kind of weird, waking up to Nick Keatings spooning her backside. After crawling out of her make-shift bed, Lucy had walked into the kitchen, her stomach growling for hot coffee and