Authors: Katie Klein
Blake tilts
his head, gazing upwards. “The clouds must have lifted.”
“That means we might actuall
y see sunshine tomorrow.”
Finally.
I smile
.
He moves
forward,
linking his finger in the belt loop of my jeans and pulling me into him. We fall back against my car door
;
the
cold
metal
seeps
through my clothes
. I shiver
. “So, when do I get to take you
on a real date again?” he asks
,
voice low,
wrapping his arms around me.
I stare
into his
gray-
blue eyes
, feeling my temperature rise
,
the heat from his body passing to me.
“Whenever you want.”
“Go
od, because there’s this
place in Hamilton my brother told me about. I was going to make reservations for us in a few weeks.”
“Is it a nice place?”
“Yes. A very nice place.”
“So I’d have to dress up?”
“Yes,” he affirms
.
“And so would you?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the idea. A dinner out . . . nice restaurant . . . you
keep me on my toes, you
know.”
His eyes
light with amusement, but there
’
s a mocking edge to his tone.
I laugh
.
“It’
ll take ab
out an hour to get there
. Are your parents okay with
you
going
that far?”
“I’ll dou
ble check, but I’m sure it’s
all right. I mean, they practically worship you.”
He smiles
. “You
r parents, maybe.
I’m not so sure about Daniel.”
“Danie
l is just protective
,
”
I say, defending my brother
.
“Well don’t ask for his permi
ssion, because I don’t think I’ll
get it.”
I lean in and stand
on my t
ip
toes to kiss hi
m softly on the mouth. He slips his fingers through my hair, kissing
me back . . . but it’s
hard and
kind of
slobbery
and tastes
like
garlic and peppermint
. I pull
ba
ck, and, without thinking, wipe
my lips
.
“
That
’
s all I get?
”
he asks, teasing.
I offer a smile, tugg
ing
lightly
on his jacket collar.
“
For now.
”
“Al
l
right.
I’l
l call you later, then,
” he says
, backing up.
“
Thanks for the pizza.”
“You’re welcome. And don’t forget t
o ask your parents.
I’ll make us reservations.”
“Okay,” I reply
, pulling my jac
ket tighter
as
a chilly breeze blows between us
. I sweep
the hai
r out of my eyes as Blake opens the door to his SUV and climbs
i
n. I don’t move until he’
s completely out of sight—t
aillights disappearing as he mak
e
s
a right turn out of town.
I exhale
loudly, and
dig
through
my purse for my keys. I grab my cell phone, too, open
the car door, and slid
e
inside. The c
ar i
s like a deep freezer
,
the cloth se
at ice beneath my legs
. I lock the doors and crank
the engine, willing the car to heat up.
While waiting, I check my messages. As I punch
in my password numbers, I
hear
a distant rumbling,
like thunder.
I glance
in the
rearview mirror as the noise gro
w
s louder. I turn
in my
se
at, repositioning myself
,
and
watch
that familiar, shiny
m
otorcycle cross the parking lot, glinting
as it passes beneath the streetlight
.
What is he doing here?
I swivel
bac
k around in my seat and smile
,
heart
beating a faster cadence
,
th
en reach for the handle and open my car door as Parker pulls
into the space beside me.
“Hey
,
you,” I say
, when he
silences the motor
.
He loosens his chin strap and slips his helmet over his head, raking his fingers through his
scruffy
hair.
“What’s up?” he asks
.
I cross
my arms
, hugging my elbows
. “I could a
sk you the same thing
.
”
He pushes
down the kickstand wi
th his black boot, then balances
his bike. “Just out for a late-night cruise.”
“If I knew any better I’d think you were following me.”
He raises
an eyebrow, eyeing me skeptically
. “Are you implying I have nothing better to do on a Friday night than follow you around?”
“Knowing that you fantasize about my room and
all . . . of course not,” I say
, moving clos
er to him. I brush
my fingers across the sleek
,
black handle bars,
chrome accents gleaming.
They’
re
arctic cold
. G
lacial
.
But
the bike itself is
kind of beautiful.
“I s
aw you at the game,” I continue
. “Savannah thinks you’re stalking me.”
“
That’s good to know,
I guess,
” he replies
.
I clear
m
y throat, and I swear it sounds
like someone else saying:
“She also thinks you’re hot.”
Even in the darkness, with only the moon, a streetlamp, and the fluorescent Guido’s sign l
ighting the parking lot, I can tell Parker i
s blushing.
Ugh!
Why would you
say
that?
I scream at myself.
It
is
so
irrelevant.
And now he knows we were talking about him, and that it
’
s possible I think. . . .
“Anyway,” I go
on, speaking quickly,
“
I’m gl
ad you’re not a stalker.
I don’t know how you knew I was here
, though
.”
“
Like I said: Friday ni
ght. You
’
re fairly predictable.
”
My eyebrows sweep
up. Predictable enough for him to
go looking for me
.
Then, as if reading my mind, h
e exhales loudly.
“I was riding by and recognized your car.”
“You cut
it kind of close.
I was actually getting ready to leave.”
A sly smile crosses
his face,
his eyes
meet
mine. T
hey
spar
kle,
knowing
. “I didn’t say it was the
first
time I’ve
ridden by
.”
My breath catches in my throat and I struggle
to keep my expression straight—to cover my surprise.
“So you
are
following me
.
”
“F
ree night,” he says, blowing it off.
He changes the subject. “
So . . .
pizza any good?”
I glance
at the restaurant. “You know. More of the same.”
“
Wanna
s
pice things up a bit?”
I watch
him,
examining his features for any traces of sarcasm.
I’m not
entirely certain
I’m ready for Park
er’s idea of “spicing things up
,
”
whatever it may entail.
“
Are you serious
?” I ask
, hesitating.
“You know, that’s not very polite.
Here I am, offering
to show you a good time and you have the nerve to ask
questions
?”
I laugh
, but it’s light and nervous
. “Does this
spice
have anything to do with Mattie
Silver or Ethan
Fro
me
?” I ask, wondering if he
wants to know
how I
really
feel
about that broken pickle dish.
“Not unless you want it to. I was thinking more along the lines of Parker Whalen and Jaden
McEntyre
.”
Just the two of us.
My heart flutters, skipping a beat, and I can
feel the pink slither
ing up my neck and to my ears. The rational
,
level-headed part of me insists
I
say: “No thanks.
I have to get home.” The other
part . . . the more reckless side
of me (which I usually do
n’t
have any trouble suppressing) i
s completely intrigued by this devilishly handsome bad boy.
“What do
you have in mind?”
“A late-night cruise.”
“On your bike?” I ask
, disbelieving.
He eyes
me strangely. “Yeah, that’s kind of the idea.”
“But it’s freezing
!”
“Could be colder,” he reasons
. “Besides, cold is good. It reminds you you’re alive.”
I sh
ake
my head. “
On your bike? With you?” I ask
again.
“Yeah.”
Fiery r
ed warning s
igns flash
before my eyes.
No
. This i
s
not
a good idea. Not only Parker Whalen . . . but Parker Whalen and his
bike
. If my parents find out they’ll kill me. If Blake finds out he’ll
kill Parker. Daniel
. . . Savannah. . . . if I hop
onto this m
otorcycle and ri
de away with
Parker Whalen and someone finds out about it, I
will
be so completely screwed.
He di
ve
s into his backpack
and removes a spare helmet, holding
it out to me. A
peace offering.
I
proffered Sun C
hips. He’
s providin
g a getaway
.
My eyes narrow
. Of all the sneaky. . . .
“You
pl
anned
this
.” M
y arms
cross, defensive
.
“You’re
not scared
,
are you?” he taunts
,
head
tipped
sideways,
a smile tugging at his lips
.
“I’m not scared,” I mutter
, ha
lf under my breath. Still, I do
n’t reach out and take it.
“A quick ride.”
I do
n’t respond
.
“Don’t worry: I can’t be seen with you any more than you can be seen with me. It’s late. It’s dark. The helmets will hide us. It doesn’t get much safer than this.”
I frown
. Parker
can’t
be seen with me? Or doesn’t
want
to be seen with me?
I bite into my lower lip.
Jesus, Jaden,
does it really matter?
A flicker o
f understanding
crosses his face
. “Ah. I see.”
“What?”
“I just remembered who I’m
talking to, is all. You know, the Jaden
McEntyre
everyone knows: safe, boring, not stepping out of her comfort zone. . . .”
“I’m
not
in a comfort zone.” Anger stirs in my hollow gut, and I feel the weight of his stare. There’s nothing left to rouse me to my senses.
A low wind sweeps through
. I shiver as he
smiles
wickedly
. “Prove it.”
I turn on my heel, open my
car door
,
a
nd shut off
the engine. I lock the doors, cram
my k
eys into my purse, then snatch
the helmet from him
, frowning
.
Whether I
’m
in a comf
ort zone or not, I realize
, snapping
the strap
beneath my chin,
this feels
entirely too comfortable: in a careless, irrespons
ible sort of way. Parker cranks
his bik
e,
revs
the engine a fe
w times. It rumbles, raging. Ready. Without thinking, I swi
ng my leg over the seat and
climb
on
, like I’m some kind of
professional
.
Like I do this every day of the week.
Careless, irresponsible
,
rec
kless—sure. But as Parker backs us up and pulls
out of the nearly empty parking lot and into the street—my a
rms wrapped tightly around his
broad
chest
,
feeling the heat from his body as
it warms
mine
—I’m
thinking of another word: completely and undeniably . . .
liberating
.
“Admit it,” Parker teases
, nudging me with his elbow. “You had a great time.”
“Whatever.”
My pulse races, still operating on a high.
He leans in, moving closer to me, his eyes liquid black and voice smoldering.
“You know, for someone who supposedly has all
her morals in check, you cave
awfully fast to peer pressure.”
“Shut up.”
But I nearly choke on the words
, breathless,
his eyes burn
ing
into mine.
“Say it: you had a great time.”
“
No.
”