Page 25 of Knight

Turning up the volume on my speaker, I try to get lost in the music, but my eyes keep glancing at my watch. Inhaling, my breath is short, my mind racing way too fast to slow down.

Fuck.

Reaching for my phone, I dial Allie. She picks up on the second ring while I rummage through my drawer of socks for the key. How did Holly find this many different types of socks?

“Oh, thank god,” Allie says when she answers. “Just one second.” Her voice gets muffled. “Mom, I have to take this.” Her weird answer stalls me as I try to make out the sounds in the background. I hear the chime of a door before the rustling wind. “Thank fuck!”

This gets me to stop moving, the phone sandwiched between my ear and shoulder. “You alright?”

“No! God, my mom wants to spend quality time but it’s just an excuse to take herself shopping.”

Glancing at the time on my watch again, I confirm, “It’s past nine. Aren’t stores closed right now?”

“Not for the wife of Hugo Perez,” she sighs. “We could be here for hours and no one would say anything.”

“So, you’re not free tonight?”

“‘Fraid, not. Why? What’s up?”

Shit. If I’m doing this, I need backup. “Where’s Nate?”

“With Carlos. They’re going off on a volunteer mission so they’re getting prepared. Though saying that now, I think getting prepared means boning.”

I’m about to give up, my fingers grazing the key. Willow should be able to have her fun without her social outcast older sister intervening. And it looks like the universe agrees. Even if being at that mansion would give me a chance to figure out if this key belongs where I think it does, none of my friends are available. I should take this as a sign to resign to my bed and ease my mind for tomorrow.

“Jo?” Allie shakes me out of my thoughts as a beep chimes through the phone.

Christian’s name comes across the screen and maybe I judged the situation too soon, “I gotta go.” Hanging up Allie’s call, Christian’s voice comes through the phone, hip-hop playing in the background.

“Oh, shit, hey,” Christian’s voice sounds distant before I hear a bit of shuffling around. “Didn’t think you’d pick up.” His voice is clearer now, smooth and deep through the phone.

“What’re you doing right now?” I ask.

“I … well, I’m getting ready to go to King’s,” Christian sighs. “He’s having a—”

“Party,” I finish.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“My sister just left in a Maserati with Bella and two jacked guys from your circle.”

Christian pauses, mumbling, “Maserati … Maserati … wait, the Hawthorne brothers? From the team?”

“I knew they were seniors!”

“So, you want me to keep an eye on her?”

“No, come pick me up.” I’m already out of my joggers, one long leg through a pair of ripped jeans. “You just got yourself a date, Perez.”

Six

Christian smells like a mix of wood and fresh cotton.

Like what I imagine an Old Spice commercial to smell like.

While my anxiety is higher than the President’s blood pressure, the smell of his cologne is calming. My thoughts are moving way too fast to comment on his crisp white sweater or his white as fuck Converse.

I’m focused on one thing. My sister.

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