Spencer rocked coyly from side to side. “Just to study. And it’s fun at parties.”
“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”
“I’ve got it under control, Hanna. Promise.” Spencer rolled her eyes.
Hanna was about to say more, when suddenly she got a prickly feeling that someone was watching her. Kelsey stood a few paces away, her eyes fixed on Hanna.
“Uh, hey,” Hanna said awkwardly, waving.
Kelsey didn’t say hello back. She stared as though she could see right through her.
Slowly, Hanna backed away, unnerved by both of them. As soon as she did, Kelsey rushed to Spencer’s side and started whispering. Spencer glanced at Hanna and laughed. It wasn’t even her normal laugh, but something that sounded harsh and ugly and mean.
Maybe that was why, a month later, Hanna hadn’t felt so bad about framing Kelsey. Surely Kelsey had been the one who’d introduced Spencer to drugs, meaning Hanna was saving the next girl Kelsey tried to get hooked. It was exactly how she’d rationalized it when they thought they’d killed Ali in Jamaica: If they hadn’t killed her, Ali would have gone on to kill again.
But Tabitha wasn’t Ali. And now someone might know what she had done to Kelsey, too.
A figure appeared over her, and Hanna looked up. There, also looking more gorgeous than he had at the flash mob, was Liam. He wore a pinstriped shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly. His wavy hair was pushed back from his face, showing off his amazing bone structure. Just looking at him sent ripples of pleasure across the surface of Hanna’s skin.
“Hey,” he said, grinning a bright, excited smile at her. “You look incredible.”
“Thanks,” Hanna said, feeling bashful. “So do you.”
She slid over on the couch so that Liam could sit right next to her. He put his arms around her, pulling her into his side for a hug, but it quickly turned into a kiss. The background music, some electronic song, thumped a few measures. A few fraternity guys in the corner laughed raucously and downed shots.
Finally, Liam pulled back from Hanna and let out an embarrassed laugh, running his hand through his hair. “Just so you know, I’m not usually the kind of guy who drags girls into alleys to make out with them.”
“I’m so glad you said that,” Hanna breathed out. “I’m not that girl, either.”
“It’s just, when I saw you, and when we talked . . .” Liam grabbed Hanna’s hands. “I don’t know. Something magical happened.”
If any other guy had said it, Hanna would have rolled her eyes, thinking it was a cheesy pickup line. But Liam seemed so earnest and vulnerable.
“I don’t even know what made me go to the quad yesterday,” Liam went on, his eyes squarely on Hanna, even when a group of three very pretty, very thin coeds in barely there dresses swept through the revolving door and shimmied up to the bar. “I had to get out of my dorm. I’d been holed up there for days, getting over an ex-girlfriend.”
“I recently broke up with someone, too,” Hanna said quietly, thinking of Mike, although now when she tried to imagine his face, all she could see was a big crayon scribble.
“Then we can get over them together,” Liam said.
“Have you had lots of girlfriends?” Hanna asked.
Liam shrugged. “A few. What about you? I bet guys love you.”
Hanna wanted to snort. She wasn’t about to tell him about her disaster with Sean Ackard or how she and Mike had crashed and burned. “I’ve done okay,” she admitted.
“But no one’s as special as me, right?” Liam grinned.
Hanna touched the end of his nose playfully. “I think I need to know a few more things about you before I can be the judge of that.”
“What do you want to know? I’m an open book.” Liam thought for a moment. “I’m like a girl with PMS when it comes to Dairy Queen brownie blizzards. I cry at romantic comedies and when the Phillies won the World Series. The saddest thing in the world was when I had to put my twelve-year-old mastiff to sleep, and I’m really, really afraid of spiders.”
“Spiders?” Hanna giggled. “Aw, poor baby.”
Liam traced a swirl on the inside of Hanna’s wrist. “What are you really afraid of?”
All at once, every light in the bar seemed to dim. Hanna felt someone’s gaze on her from across the room, but when she raised her head, no one was looking. A, she wanted to say to Liam. The feeling I got when Tabitha was about to push me over the roof. The fact that I actually killed someone . . . and someone knows. But instead she shrugged. “Um, I don’t like enclosed spaces.”
“What if someone you really, really like is in the enclosed space with you?” Liam snuggled up to her, gazing into her eyes.
“I guess that’s okay,” Hanna whispered.
They started to kiss. Hanna wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed, and she almost didn’t hear Liam’s phone bleating in his pocket. Finally, he pulled away, checked the screen, and winced. “It’s my mom.”
“Do you have to take it?”
Liam looked conflicted, but let the call go to voice mail. “She’s going through some stuff right now. It’s pretty intense.”
Hanna scooted closer to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She figured Liam would say no, but he swallowed hard and looked at her. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone this?” Hanna nodded. “My mom caught my dad having an affair last year. He got the woman pregnant, and he bribed her to have an abortion and go away.”
A sour taste welled in Hanna’s mouth.
Liam closed his eyes. “I’m sorry to unload that on you. I just don’t have anyone else to talk to about it.”
“It’s okay.” Hanna touched his leg. “I’m glad you told me.”
“They hate each other now. It’s a horrible thing to watch. I remember when they only had eyes for each other. I learned all of my lessons about love from them . . . and now I feel like they were all lies.”
“People fall out of love,” Hanna said sadly.
Liam looked at his phone, then tossed it back into his pocket and took Hanna’s hands. “I have an idea. Let’s get away from all this for a while. How about South Beach? I bet you look gorgeous in a bikini.”
Hanna was surprised at the abrupt change of subject, but did her best to play along. She ran her hands over Liam’s shoulders. He had the strong, taut body of a swimmer or a tennis player. “Sounds great. I love the ocean.”
“I could book us our own private bungalow right on the water. We could have a private butler who serves us all of our meals in bed.”
Hanna blushed and giggled self-consciously at the word bed. But even though it was crazy, she was half tempted to take Liam up on the offer. Not only was he gorgeous, Miami was a zillion miles away from A.
Suddenly, as if on cue, her cell phone beeped loudly in her bag. Irritated, she reached into the pocket to silence it, but then she noticed the alert on the screen. ONE NEW TEXT MESSAGE. Her heart began to pound. She glanced around the bar to see if anyone was watching. A bunch of girls giggled in a nearby banquette. The bartender handed a guy a drink and some change. And then she noticed a figure slipping behind the curtains at the back of the room. Whoever it was wasn’t very tall, but Hanna could sense that he or she had been watching.
“Just a sec,” Hanna murmured, tilting away from Liam and opening the text. Her stomach sank when she realized it was from the person she dreaded most.
Hannakins: Before you two get too comfy, better ask to see his driver’s license. –A
Hanna frowned. Driver’s license? What the hell would that tell her? That he wore corrective lenses to drive? That he was a resident of New Jersey, not Pennsylvania?
She slipped the phone back into her bag and turned to Liam again. “Anyway, you were talking about South Beach?”
Liam nodded, sliding closer to her. “I want to have you all to myself.”
He bent to kiss her. Hanna kissed back, but A’s message needled her. A was horrific and scary, but Hanna knew better than anyone that A’s information was usually right on. What if Liam had herpes sores all over his mouth in his picture? What if he had a different nose? Or what if—horrors—Liam was freakishly young-looking for his age and was actually in his forties?
She pulled away. “You know, I technically have a rule,” she said shakily. “Before I go on vacay with a guy, I have to see his license first.”
A bemused smile appeared on Liam’s face. “Luckily my license picture is awesome.” He reached into his wallet. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Deal.” Hanna grabbed her Louis Vuitton wallet from her bag and handed him the new license she’d gotten only a few months ago. Liam handed Hanna his license in exchange. When Hanna studied his image, relief flooded her. He looked gorgeous. No herpes sores. No altered nose. And he was two years older than she was, not in his forties. Her gaze traveled over the rest of the license. When she noticed the name, her eyes skimmed right past it. But then she stopped and looked again.
Liam Wilkinson.
Hanna’s heart leapt to her throat. No. It couldn’t be.
But when she looked at Liam, the evidence was all there. He had the same brown eyes as Tucker Wilkinson. The same lazy, people-love-me smile. Even his thick eyebrows were identical.
Liam’s head shot up, Hanna’s license in his hands. His face went pale. Hanna could see the connections forming in his mind. “You’re related to Tom Marin,” he said slowly. “That’s why you were at Hyde last night.”
Hanna lowered her eyes, feeling like she was going to vomit all over the velvet couch. “He’s . . . my father,” she admitted, each word filling her with pain as it spilled out of her mouth. “And your father is . . .”
“Tucker Wilkinson,” Liam finished dolefully.
They stared at each other in horror. And then, over the sounds of the frat boys chanting Chug chug chug, the music, and the ice clacking together in the martini shaker, Hanna heard a far-off giggle. She turned and stared at the long glass window that faced the street. There, plastered on the window, was a ripped, neon-green piece of paper. It didn’t take Hanna long to realize it was a piece of a Tom Marin flyer her dad’s aides had passed out at the flash mob last night. The edges were raggedly torn so that only her father’s face and a single letter from his name remained.
A lone, bold A.
Chapter 14
SPENCER FREES HER MIND
The following afternoon, which was gray and cold, Spencer pulled a plaid scarf around her neck, stepped onto the curb on a side street in Old Hollis, and stared at the rambling Victorian house in front of her. Frowning, she checked the address on the drama club call sheet one more time. She was standing in front of the Purple House, aptly named because of the brilliant purple paint that covered every inch of its siding. The house was an institution in Rosewood—when Spencer was in sixth grade, she, Ali, and others used to ride bikes up and down this street, whispering the rumors they’d heard about the people who owned the place. “Someone told me they never bathe,” Ali said. “The place is crawling with bed bugs.”