Tear (Seaside 1)

Demetri laughed. “He has a little problem.” He offered Alec a shrug and walked over to where I sat. “It’s why we’re here.”

“Aren’t their psychiatrists in L.A.? Canada? I mean, why my mom? Why here?”

Alec mumbled something under his breath and walked out of the house slamming the door behind him.

“Sorry.” Demetri put his arm around my shoulder in a side hug then released me. “It’s kind of a secret, though I don’t think it’s going to stay that way for long.”

I clenched my teeth and backed away. “Mind filling me in?”

“If you are the math genius I’m hoping you are then yes, I promise I’ll fill you in. After homework.”

“That sounds an awful lot like bribery.” I glared.

Demetri shrugged. “It is. Hey you got any food? I’m starving!”

It was like having Evan in the house. If Evan happened to be so good looking it hurt your eyes to stare at him, and had a body of a god. Yeah, it was practically the same thing.

I walked to the fridge and searched out the leftover pot roast. “This is pot roast. Those,” I pointed, “Are potatoes, and these are carrots.” I grabbed his hand and led him to the plates. “This is a plate.”

He glared.

“You put the food on the plate, and then you come over here.” I opened the microwave and put the food inside. “Think you can handle it from here, Rock Star?”

His glare should have frightened me. Instead it made me even angrier than before. Both of the boys just barged into my life without any explanation, and now they’re seeing my mom? Neither of them will answer any questions, and Demetri thinks he’s some sort of god!

He shut the microwave and pressed all the right buttons. “I’m trying to decide if I like you or if you irritate me.”

I shrugged like it didn’t matter and walked to the counter.

He ate in silence, like he really was starving. But that was silly. He was a rock star. Didn’t they pay people to cook for them?

“Thanks,” he said, picking up his plate and cleaning it before placing it into the dishwasher. He picked up my empty plate and did the same thing, then made a grand gesture of washing off the counters.

Pretty sure I wanted to get hit by a truck for my mean attitude.

“Sorry.”

“I swear.” He threw the dishrag down. “It’s always the same!” He roughly tugged the chair out and sat down in it. “Either girls want to screw my brains out, or they think I’m a freaking idiot! Like I don’t know how to get my own food or iron my own clothes. As if everything’s been easy for me. No struggles, nothing. Just a golden boy with a damn golden guitar.”

His mental break down made me feel like the worst type of person in the world. I kind of wanted to cry.

“I-I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his and exhaled. “I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you actually apologizing, Miss High and Mighty?”

“Yes?”

“Good.” He grinned. “Because I was totally kidding. I love my life and I deserve to be kicked in the balls right about now for making you almost cry.”

I lunged for him.

I blamed the soda I had chugged minutes before his arrival.

His shocked expression turned into laughter as I pushed him to the ground and began using all my MMA class moves on his sorry ass.

His arm was locked before he even knew what was going on.

Feeling kinda cocky, I shot him a smug smile.

“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” His muscles flexed.

I nodded.

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I squeezed, making the arm bar tighter.

He chuckled, and maneuvered himself out of the hold faster than I’d seen anyone in my life, including Evan who regularly took classes at the local gym.

In seconds he was straddling me, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Not that I didn’t deserve to get my ass kicked,” he said out of breath. “But, I kind of like this position better.”

I squirmed beneath him.

“And better… and better.”

I yelled. It didn’t help. If anything it made him laugh harder until exhaustion set in and I joined him.

He leaned down and kissed the top of my forehead. “Math?”

“As long you refrain from making me cry or wanting to punch you, then yes, we can do math.” I sighed, a little breathless from the fact that the rock god had just kissed my forehead.

He seemed to think about it for a minute then nodded his head.

Minutes after starting math I realized two things. One, he was dead serious about needing help, and two, he was actually serious about wanting to get things right.

While he was working on the last problem I stole a glance at the clock, it was already ten.

“You live here your whole life?” he asked not looking up from the paper.

“Uh, yeah.” I nervously started tapping my pencil. “You always live in Canada?”

Dumb question, everyone knew they resided in L.A. now, but I wanted to hear it from him.

“Five houses.” He erased his problem and squinted. “One in British Columbia, a beach house in Malibu, a penthouse in New York, a flat in London, and finally a cottage in good ol’ Seaside.”

I’m sure my mouth was open in shock. That’s more houses than me and my friends put together.

Once I was able to get my thoughts back on track I asked, “Why Seaside?”