The Host Page 2

  “Not at all,” she assured him. “You said exactly what I wanted to hear.” Ordinarily she would have kept her cards closer to the vest, but she felt safe enough to lay them out on the table. She told herself that if her honesty scared Logan away, then he wasn’t the kind of person who she should attempt to know better.

  Logan turned the bottle of beer up to his mouth and Imani peered at the label on the bottle. It read: Goose Island.

  “Goose Island? I’ve never heard of that brand of beer. Is it good?”

  “It’s a craft beer. Wanna try it?” he said, offering her the bottle.

  She accepted the bottle and took a swig. “Mmm,” she murmured approvingly. “Craft beer, huh? Don’t tell me you’re a beer snob,” she teased.

  “Hardly. I usually drink Bud, Heineken, Coors…or whatever’s on tap. Dr. Lowell is the beer elitist. He only drinks expensive brews. He introduced me to craft beer when I turned twenty-one, and now I treat myself to the good stuff maybe two or three times a year.”

  “I really like this,” Imani said, handing him the bottle of beer.

  “Would you like one?” he asked. “It’s not as strong as what you were drinking.”

  “Sure, I’ll have a beer.”

  “Okay, be right back.” He strode across the room, heading toward the home bar where a professional bartender was on hand. The ultra-modern bar was decked out in dark wood, animal-print bar stools, and was fully stocked with top-shelf spirits and high-end beer.

  Taking several steps to the right, she checked out her image in an ornate wall mirror and quickly rifled through her purse, pulling out a tube of lip gloss and swiping a pale pink shade over her lips. Next, she finger combed and fussed with her thick head of juicy curls that gave the appearance of carefree bounciness, but actually required a ton of hair product and a rigid haircare routine.

  She watched as Logan made his way back to her with a fresh beer in hand. He had an athlete’s physical ease with his body, and despite the layers of clothing he wore, she could see the play of muscles as he glided toward her.

  “Here you go.” He handed her the beer and their hands touched lightly, sending an electrical jolt through her system.

  “There’s a beer festival in town,” he said. “Live music, greasy food, and lots of beer vendors that are eager for you to taste their brew. If you’re not doing anything Friday night—”

  “I’d love to go!” Imani gushed, and then made a face. “Oh, God. I hope I didn’t sound too eager…or desperate.”

  “No, not at all. You sounded like a self-assured woman who doesn’t waste time playing games. I appreciate your honesty. It’s refreshing.”

  “Well, I have to say, my honesty with members of the opposite sex hasn’t worked out too well in the past,” she said. Feeling defenseless, she lowered her eyes.

  Logan grasped her hand. “Imani,” he said softly. She looked up. “I’m interested in getting to know you, and I’d like to see where this can go. I’ll take a chance if you will,” he said with a look of raw vulnerability in his eyes.

  “Okay,” she said softly. Just like that she had clicked with a total stranger and she had the distinct impression that she and Logan were on the brink of something meaningful. She wondered if she was being influenced by Waiola’s prediction that she’d find her soulmate soon, and she couldn’t help but laugh at herself for being pathetic and reading much more into this encounter than was actually there.

  Logan was a nice guy—a really hot, nice guy—who had asked her out on a date. He was not her soul mate. Waiola was a fraud and Imani knew with certainty that there was no close friend or relative that was out to ruin her life.

  Hope was her closest friend, and Hope was too wrapped up in herself to spend time trying to ruin Imani’s life.

  Pushing thoughts of Waiola and her predictions from her mind, Imani focused on Logan, taking in his nice features and gazing deeply into his warm, milk chocolate eyes.

  And she briefly allowed herself to imagine that she had actually found the man of her dreams.

  CHAPTER 2

  On a dark night in April, Tucker Jansen wrangled with the steering wheel of his blue Mustang.

  “Oh, shit,” he blurted as the car careened to the shoulder of the road and then zigzagged back and forth over the asphalt.

  His girlfriend, Mila Pemberton, let out a sharp cry as she was jostled about in the passenger’s seat. The neat bun at the back of her neck became undone and her crimson-colored hair fell around her shoulders.

  She shot him a look of contempt. “What the hell, Tucker?”

  “Buckle up,” he suggested with an apologetic expression after gaining control of the car.

  Mila made a contemptuous sound and rolled her eyes.

  “Sorry, babe. Something darted in front of me.” Taking his own advice, Tucker hurriedly pulled his seatbelt across his chest and drove with his gaze focused intently on the darkened road.

  Mila tugged on her seatbelt and cursed under her breath when the strap of the seatbelt refused to give. “When are you getting this stupid seatbelt fixed? I shouldn’t have to ride around unprotected whenever I’m in the car with you.” Scowling, she yanked on the seatbelt twice more before giving up with a sigh.

  “I’ll work on it first thing tomorrow.”

  “Remind me not to hold my breath,” she muttered sarcastically, twisting her vividly-hued tresses back into a tight knot.

  Taking his attention away from the road, Tucker focused his gaze on Mila. “What’s with the attitude? You’re acting as if I deliberately caused the car to swerve. A raccoon or something shot out in front of me. Didn’t you see it?”

  “I didn’t see anything,” she said, shaking her head adamantly.”

  “Well, I saw it,” he insisted.

  “Why don’t you pull over and let me drive.”

  He gripped the steering wheel possessively. “No! I got this. And if you’re insinuating that I’m impaired, you’re wrong.”

  “Listen, Tucker, I’d like to make it home with all my limbs intact, so stop being a dick and let me drive.”

  Tucker tightened his jaw and shot her a hard look. “I swerved a little…so what? Why do you always have to make a big fucking deal out of everything?”

  Realizing that Tucker was gearing up for an argument, harsh, retaliatory words began lining up on Mila’s tongue, but she held them back. She’d give him a piece of her mind after they made it home safely. Refusing to get into a yelling match while Tucker was driving, Mila used her better judgment, ignoring him as she silently stared out the window.

  “I don’t wanna fight, okay?” Tucker said, his voice softening. “Trust me, I wouldn’t risk your life or mine if I weren’t okay to drive.”

  “But you’re not okay. You had too much to drink, and…” She paused and stared at him incredulously as he took a pair of sunglasses from the console and put them on.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Are you seriously going to try to drive with shades on…in the middle of the night?”

  “I drive better with them on,” he replied flippantly.

  “You’re a fucking lunatic!”

  “Chill out, Mila.”

  “I’m not kidding, Tucker. Stop the car and let me drive.”

  “Chill! I got this,” he insisted, pressing down on the gas pedal.

  He was behaving like a psycho, and Mila couldn’t wait to get out of the car. Exasperated, she tugged on the jammed seatbelt, again. And once again, it wouldn’t budge. It angered her that Tucker insisted on driving, and it took all of her willpower not to make a cutting remark about his lack of maturity. But what was the point? Her days with him were numbered. She’d already told him that she was moving back home with her parents, but he didn’t believe her. He thought it was another empty threat. But she was serious, and she promised herself that if she made it home unscathed, tonight would be the last night that she spent with Tucker. He was an overgrown, spoiled brat who desperately needed the help of a therapis
t.

  Tucker accelerated and the Mustang pitched forward as the numbers on the odometer swiftly climbed to ninety.

  “Slow down, you drunken idiot,” Mila yelled. “Are you trying to kill us? Had I known you were going to drive like a maniac I would have Ubered home,” she spat.

  Tucker’s voice took on an edge, as he said, “I’m not drunk!” Then he took a deep breath and switched to a cajoling tone. “I had four lousy beers. Believe me, it takes a lot more than a few beers for me to get wasted.”

  He eased his foot off the gas pedal, and Mila sighed in relief.

  He glanced at her and smiled as he placed a hand over hers.

  Mila snatched her hand from beneath his and stared sullenly out of the window.

  Tension mounted as they rode in silence. Attempting to lighten the mood, Tucker looked at Mila and tossed her a charming smile.

  “Keep your eyes on the road, please,” Mila said, icily.

  Dating a musician had been exciting at first. Both Tucker and Mila were exceptionally good looking, and they made a striking couple. From the start of their relationship, they’d been inseparable. She’d gone to a pub near her college campus, and Tucker was on stage with his band when their eyes locked and he smiled at her. God, he was so cute with those panty-melting dark eyes. The way he made love to his guitar was a tipoff that he’d be good in bed.

  And he was. Making love with Tucker was the best sex ever. They clicked on so many levels, and in less than two weeks she found herself in the midst of a whirlwind romance. Tucker’s band had a shot at a record deal with a major label and Mila was so caught up in what she believed to be a glamorous and exciting lifestyle, she dropped out of school, moved out of the apartment she shared with two other students, and joined him on the road. Her parents were furious with her for withdrawing from her classes, but Mila had been too in love to care.

  But if she could go back in time, she would have never quit school to tour with Tucker. Being on the road was a punishing lifestyle, and instead of being treated like a fragile princess, she was expected to pitch in and help with everything, including lighting, sound, and hawking the band’s mix tape at the front of the club.

  It had been incredibly stupid to put her education on hold to run around the East Coast with Tucker, who was volatile, unreliable, and was quite possibly a serious alcoholic. It was hard to know when he was intoxicated. He didn’t slur his words or stagger when he drank. The only sign that he might be wasted was his inability to keep his temper in check.

  Basically, Tucker was an asshole, and it had become a common occurrence for him to get into a shouting match or a physical altercation with anyone from patrons and bartenders to the actual club owners…and sometimes he fought with his own bandmates. Because of his explosive temperament, the prospective record label had second thoughts and pulled the plug on the deal. The band members decided they were better off without Tucker and decided to replace him.

  And Mila was jumping ship, also. There was no doubt in her mind that the relationship was over. She’d tried her best to make it work, but tonight, after he had a fist-fight with Ace, the drummer of the band—on stage, no less—causing the band to get ejected from the club, Mila was forced to accept that Tucker had deep-seated emotional issues that were beyond her skill set.

  She’d grown weary of talking to him about his temper. She wasn’t his therapist and she no longer felt inclined to try to figure him out or attempt to fix him. First thing in the morning she intended to pack her things and move out of Tucker’s cramped apartment and return to her parents’ spacious home in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania. She had spoken to her mother earlier that evening, and when she mentioned leaving Tucker, her mother assured her that she’d always have a home with her parents. Going home with her tail between her legs was embarrassing, but it was better than staying in a doomed relationship.

  She cut an eye at Tucker, who refused to believe that she would soon be walking out of his life. A part of her felt sorry for him. But not sorry enough to stay. His Nordic good looks and superb bedroom skills were wasted on a drunken lunatic, and Mila wished his next girlfriend lots of luck.

  They were two miles away from their apartment when Tucker began to drive within the speed limit. Although it was too little, too late, she took comfort in the knowledge that at least she’d make it home in one piece.

  Finally able to relax, Mila reclined her seat a little, and closed her eyes.

  Split seconds later, there was a sound that was akin to a bomb detonating. The impact was so forceful that both airbags inflated. It took a few moments for her to realize the car had collided with a tree.

  “Are you okay, babe?” Tucker asked in a panicked voice as he tussled with his airbag.

  “Fuck you, Tucker! I told you to let me drive.” Cursing under her breath, she struggled to extract herself from the wreckage. She couldn’t remember actually opening the passenger’s door, but somehow she miraculously found herself outside the car.

  Tucker made it out also and rushed to her side. “Are you bleeding, anywhere? Are you able to walk home?”

  “I’m not walking anywhere. We might have internal injuries, you jerk! We have to call 911,” she shouted, shoving him away from her.

  “No! We can’t call them. They’ll send the cops, and I can’t afford to take a breathalyzer…I could get locked up,” he lamented, finally admitting that he’d had too much to drink.

  “We have to call an ambulance!” Mila stamped her foot for emphasis, informing Tucker that she wasn’t playing around.

  He patted the pocket of his jacket. “Uh, my phone’s in the car.”

  “Mine, too. It’s in my purse.”

  Mila cut her eyes to the right and gasped. She and Tucker both whirled around, their eyes widening as they observed the damage to the car. The Mustang was smashed into a mangled, smoking heap of twisted metal, and it was a miracle that they had survived at all.

  “Holy shit! Look at my fucking car!” Tucker groaned.

  “I can’t believe we got out of it alive,” Mila exclaimed, extending her arms, examining them for cuts and bruises.

  “We’ll never get those doors open,” Tucker said, shaking his head. “We can forget about retrieving our phones and calling 911. We’ll have to walk,” he continued, sounding relieved that they wouldn’t have to involve the police.

  Mila stared out at the vast road and let out a long breath. “I don’t think I’m in any shape to walk that far. Maybe someone will come along and give us a ride.”

  “There’s not a single car in sight, Mila. Besides, we’re not that far from home. If we start walking, we could make it home in less than thirty minutes.”

  “I don’t know if that’s wise, Tucker. Suppose we have internal bleeding. That can happen in an accident, you know.”

  “We’re fine!” He patted himself down. “No broken bones. I’m not even sore.”

  “We look okay on the outside, but we could be hemorrhaging on the inside,” she said in a panicked tone of voice. “Think about it, Tucker. We hit that tree really hard—something has to be wrong with us. Our internal organs might have gotten shifted around and could be slowly shutting down while we’re fucking around out here, contemplating walking several miles.”

  “Mila,” he said calmly. “We don’t have a choice. There aren’t any cars on the road, and no houses for miles. We don’t have a choice…we have to walk. Okay, babe?”

  She nodded uncertainly, emitting a mournful whimper. “I’m scared, Tucker. Something’s not right—I can feel it. We need to get to the hospital.”

  “The hospital’s about twelve miles from here, and I’m not walking that far.”

  “Maybe we could hitch a ride or something.”

  “Hitch a ride in what—a fucking phantom car? There aren’t any cars on the road, and you know it. You’re not making sense, Mila.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “I need a drink,” Tucker mumbled, pushing back the blond curls that fell into his f
ace.

  Mila’s face dimmed into a frown. “It’s your drinking that got us in this predicament in the first place. How can you think about drinking at a time like this?” She shook her head. “I was in denial about your alcoholism, but it’s clear to me, now.”

  “I’m not an alcoholic. My nerves are shot and I need a drink…that’s all.”

  Mila sighed and her frown deepened.

  “Listen, if you insist on getting checked out by a doctor, then we have to get going,” Tucker said.

  In the hopes that a car would come along, Mila gazed at the road once more before slipping her arm into Tucker’s and moving awkwardly into the dark night. There was no pain in her legs and there was no reason for her to walk with a shuffling gait, but after such a close brush with death, she was shaken and felt that she needed support.

  After taking only a few steps away from the wreckage, Mila and Tucker stopped in their tracks. Tilting their heads back, they looked straight up into the ink-black sky that had suddenly become brightly lit. Tucker pointed toward the sky that looked as if it had been illuminated by an explosion of spectacular fireworks. “What the hell is that?”

  The sky was so bright, it was almost blinding, and Mila had to squint as she gazed upward. “I think it’s, um…” She paused, pondering the lighted sky. “Shooting stars, maybe?” she suggested with a one-shoulder shrug.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Tucker said as the silvery lights began to recede into the night. As if expecting the phenomena to reappear, he stared up at the sky that was once again, a vast and unending blanket of darkness.

  “Whatever it was, it was kind of creepy,” she remarked.

  “I thought it was beautiful.” Tucker nodded, confirming his remark. “Yeah, it was beautiful, but eerie. This night can’t get any stranger.” With his brows creased in deep contemplation, he stuck his hands inside his pockets and began to stride toward the lengthy stretch of asphalt that would eventually deliver them to the nearest hospital.

  Hobbling, Mila struggled to keep up with him. She glanced over her shoulder and gave a last glance at the Mustang that was smashed like a tin can. That they had managed to survive without a scratch was a miracle, for sure. Perhaps the strange display of lights was the universe’s way of letting them know that they’d been the beneficiaries of divine intervention.