Текст книги "Crash into You"

Автор книги: Katie McGarry

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

“Ten,” she says in a small voice. “My curfew is ten.”

I hike one eyebrow, and when I glance at her she quickly looks away.

“Little late, aren’t you?” By two and a half hours.

She twists a strand of her hair around her finger. “My twin brother and I have an agreement. We cover for each other when—well, when we want to be out past curfew.”

I don’t get her. Not at all. “So you don’t drink?”

“No.” She releases her hair and raises her chin. Guess I should keep my mouth shut about how I do drink and how I’ve been known to get high.

“And you don’t have a boyfriend.”

The chin drops. “No.”

The answer may bother her, but it’s the best news I’ve heard in days. Though it shouldn’t matter, I don’t like the idea of another guy kissing her. My stomach twists with the thought of the hundreds of guys that must be following her around, waiting for her to take notice.

I rub at my neck. What the hell is wrong with my thought process tonight? She’s not my problem. What’s between us is just for tonight. “And you like to drag race.”

Becoming more thoughtful, her forehead relaxes. “Not really. That sort of sucked. Drag racing is a lot different than when I push my car to see how fast it can go. I do like to let her loose. She can hit sixty in five seconds.”

Her excited eyes seek validation. She hesitates, and I nod for her to continue. As if my approval rocks her world, an extra spring appears in her step.

“It was cool, though. I had this huge adrenaline rush when I heard your car take off. But I got sort of frazzled. Like my arms and my legs started working separately. And by the time I got my act together, you were done.”

We reach the old Victorian house my landlord left to rot once he converted it into four separate apartments. I hold the front door open for her, then lead the way up the stairs.

“Watch the third and sixth steps.”

“This is where you live?” Rachel wraps her hands around her stomach and peers over the railing to the floor below. The light over the stairwell flickers.

“Yep.” I unlock the dead bolt then switch keys to unlock the actual knob. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” The hint of pride in my voice surprises me.

I open the door, switch on the light and motion for Rachel to enter. With her arms still clinging to her sides, she slowly shuffles into the apartment. As soon as she’s in, I shut the door, rebolt and head to the bathroom. She’ll want to clean up and the water takes at least five minutes before it’ll be lukewarm.

The water pipes groan as I spin the knobs. “I’ll put a towel out for you. You’ll need to crouch to use the shower—or maybe not. You’re shorter than me,” I say over the water pouring into the old claw-foot tub. “I’ll give you one of my shirts to change into. Your jeans should be fine.”

I walk out and go for the bedroom to find her a T-shirt, but stop short. Rachel stares at the dead bolt on the door with one hand still clutching her stomach, the other pressed to her throat.

“Rachel? Are you okay?”

“Where are...where are your parents?”

The air rushes out of my lungs, and I scratch the stubble on my chin to hide the horror. I’m so used to people knowing...or assuming...or flat out accepting that people where I come from don’t have them...or if they did have them, that they weren’t any good. “I’m a foster kid.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, obviously not okay. “So what about them? Your foster parents. Where are they?”

I shift my footing and clear my throat as I come to terms with the situation I’ve put her in without knowing. All right, I knew. Fifteen minutes ago I contemplated bringing her home for the night. But that was before I realized how pure she was. Still, I brought her here, even if my intentions changed.

I force out the words. “I moved out of my foster parents’ home a couple of months ago with my best friend, Noah.”

She glances quickly around the room, searching for the threat. “And he is—”

I cut her off. “A good guy who’s probably staying the night with his girl. He goes to college and so does Echo. She came from a real good neighborhood, like you. Middleheights, I think.”

“I live in Summitview,” she says softly while staring at the empty rat trap in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Of course she does. That’s the damn Beverly Hills of Louisville. It’s gated. With guards. And she’s probably wondering if I’ve got body parts in the freezer.

The shower continues to pound against the porcelain tub and the damn insomniac old lady downstairs begins to play Elvis. Except this time, it’s one of his depressing songs.

“Rachel, I swear, my intentions are good. I won’t touch you. I’ll stay on the other side of the room from you at all times.” And why the fuck should she believe me? “You looked so damned scared at the thought of going home smelling like beer. I don’t know what shit you’ve got going down in your house, but I’ve been around enough to understand. Look, honestly, I’m just trying to help.”

She nibbles on a fingernail. “So you still go to high school?”

“Yeah. Eastwick.”

Silence. Her leather boots squeak as she adjusts her weight. The water still crashes against the tub. Elvis sings about rain.

“Eastwick’s a good school.” She drops her hand and peeks at me from below her eyelashes.

Finally, I’m getting someplace. “Yeah, it is.” No need to mention that my foster parents live right on the line between Eastwick, a good high school, and the one school in the county that is a step above a detention center. “I’m in the Automotive Accelerated Program. I’ve been the highest-ranking student in the program for the past two years.”

Past four actually, but I never tell people that I received that honor, let alone how many years I’ve earned it.

“I’ve heard about that program. I read the brochures when I was in eighth grade, but...” Rachel puts a hand over her mouth as if to prevent herself from saying anymore. “Anyhow, do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do.” I did it, I talked her down. The relief running through me is like a chaser after a shot. I push away the instincts that I’m playing with an unpinned grenade. People like her, nights like this, they don’t come around, and I just want to hold on to this flame for a little longer. Guys like me, we don’t make girls like her smile. “It’s where I learned to rebuild the engine in my Mustang.”

A spark ignites in her violet eyes. “You rebuilt your own engine? That’s sweet. I’ve played with the idea of adding some modifications to mine to increase the horsepower.”

I flinch at the thought. “Why? Your car is a perfect virgin. Never touched and in great shape.”

“Which is why I haven’t, but between you and me—” Rachel leans her body in my direction as if she’s revealing a highly guarded secret “—I really wanted an ’04 Cobra.”

That damn smile she’s already brought out in me once tonight crosses my face again. “An ’04 Cobra. That would be...” And I steal one of her words. “Sweet.”

“Yeah. It would, wouldn’t it?” Rachel rocks onto her toes and slides her long, beer-drenched hair behind her ear. “So, do you have a hair dryer?”

Chapter 12

Rachel

I PLACE THE DRYER ON the sink and run my fingers through my hair again. There—dry and officially beer-free. The edge of Isaiah’s dark blue T-shirt ends an inch short of my knees and I catch my silly smile in the blurry mirror. I’m wearing a guy’s shirt. Too freaking awesome.

I lower my chin to smell the shirt again. I want to wear this forever, without washing it. His dark, spicy aroma consumes the material. I peek at him from the corner of my eye, wondering if he spots me catching a whiff or if he knows how addicting his scent is to girls.

A knot forms in my throat. Does he have many girls?

As promised, Isaiah sits on the kitchen counter on the other side of the room from me. He leans forward, his legs lazily stretched apart with his joined hands resting between them as he watches me.

He’s observant. Overly so. I think he could tell me more about my actions than I could. A huge part of me doesn’t like it. In order for me to fit in at home, people can’t notice me. It’s harder to pull off being someone else when you’re the center of attention. But I’m not home. I’m miles from there. And here, in this room, I like how Isaiah looks at me as if I’m the only girl in the world.

Or like an antelope he’s going to pounce on.

My heart patters faster at the thought of him pouncing on me.

I fiddle with my hair for a few more seconds to buy time. What do you say to a totally hot guy when you’re alone with him in his apartment?

Alone.

A thrill of tickles moves in the center of my chest, and I think of the way his strong hand caressed my face at the bar. The tickles explode into my bloodstream as an adrenaline rush and I release a long steady breath to keep myself calm.

I really, really want him to touch me again.

One more tuck behind the ear, and I step out of the bathroom. “Thanks for the shirt.” I fuss with the ends again.

“It looks good on you,” he says as his eyes settle on the curve of my hips. Holy hell, it got hot in here.

My jacket lies over the arm of the couch. I walk over to it and fish my cell phone out of the pocket. One a.m. and one text from Ethan: where r u?

Isaiah shifts uneasily as I text Ethan back. I glance at him while typing a reply. He changed while I was in the shower, switching a black T-shirt with wording for another with different wording. Isaiah keeps surveying the apartment, and I finally get it. He’s wondering how to keep a safe distance from me.

“You don’t have to stay so far from me,” I say. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Lying by typing still driving, I push Send and put the phone back in my coat pocket. “If you were going to hurt me you wouldn’t have saved me from that fight or brought me home to use your shower. You also wouldn’t be standing all the way over there, so I trust you.”

“And that’s just bad for both of us,” he mumbles and then speaks to me in a normal tone. “Are you in trouble at home?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. My brother is good at distracting my parents.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “You were seriously trippin’ when you thought you had to go home with beer on you. Your parents—how hard-core are they?”

I swipe at my forehead as if there’s a stray hair to be restyled and feel naked when I don’t find one. “I don’t understand.”

Isaiah hops off the counter, and I’m mesmerized by the fluid way he walks: a sleek predator on the move. “It’s okay. I get it. Sometimes things are...” And he’s near me. Close enough that I have to lift my head to see his face. “Rough.”

“It’s...ah...it’s...” I love his eyes, and my skin tingles with the thought of his hands on me again. “Ah...” What were we discussing? Parents. Right. My parents. “It’s complicated.”

Complicated as in I’ve been failing miserably at replacing my mother’s dead daughter. My parents and oldest brothers have told me enough Colleen stories for me to be well aware that she would never have broken curfew, participated in a drag race or been alone with a guy.

“Right,” he says so slowly that the word sounds unbelievably sexy. “Complicated. So.” He pauses. “Are you ready for me to take you back to your car?”

Yes. No. Yes. Maybe not. Oh, crap. It’s ending too soon and I don’t want it to. I’m not good at this. I’m not smooth or good with words or good with guys or good with people. I’m silent. I blend in. How do I make this not go away?

“I like you,” I whisper and immediately stare at my shoes. Of all the things I could have said, that shouldn’t have been it. I. Am. An. Idiot.

A gentle tug on my hair sends goose bumps raining down my arms. I close my eyes and relish the sweet brush of his knuckles against my neck as he flips my hair over my shoulder. “Rachel?”

“Yes?” I say so softly he may not have heard me.

His hand caresses the sensitive spot right below my chin, and with a gentle pressure, Isaiah raises my head until I look into those warm silver eyes. “I like you, too.”

The right side of my mouth quirks and a spring of hope bubbles up inside me. He likes me. A really hot, really awesome guy likes me.

“Good,” I say a little breathlessly. “That’s good.” More than good. It’s great.

Chapter 13

Isaiah

I GLANCE DOWN AT RACHEL’S mouth and feel the urge to press my lips to hers. I’m a fucking jackass. I suck in a breath through my mouth to avoid her scent and step back, dropping my arm to my side. I did not bring her back here to have sex.

Hell yes, she’s hot and my mind won’t stop replaying the twelve different ways I could possibly do her, but she’s not that type of girl.

I rub my eyes. I haven’t touched anyone since Beth, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to come on to a girl that’s too good for me. I slump onto the couch and notice how Rachel shifts uncomfortably. Dammit, she shouldn’t have to put up with my mood swings.

“I do like you,” I repeat. “There’s only one other person who’d stick their neck out for me. If there’s anything I can do for you, name it and it’s yours.”

The chaos in my mind begins to clear as I start to understand why I’m acting like a maniac. Beth’s been the only girl to mean something to me, and I generally don’t give a shit about people. I’m confusing lust and friendship and creating crap that’s not there. Fuck yeah, I’m attracted to Rachel, but the emotions going on...it’s because I owe her.

“Will you let me clean up your cut?” she asks.

I check out the small hunk of skin missing from my forearm, having forgotten about the wound. “It’s all good. I’ve had worse.”

“No, you said that if you could do something for me, you would, so let me do this.”

“Yeah. If I can do something for you. Not have you do something for me.”

Rachel clasps her hands behind her back like she doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I want to do this, and I’d like you to let me.”

Keeping my hands off her and being respectful are going to be hard as hell if she continues to put herself within arm’s reach. “Fine.”

I stand and spend more time than needed rifling through the cabinet beneath the sink to find Band-Aids, rubbing alcohol and a towel. Echo bought this stuff for us when we first moved in, and neither Noah nor I have touched it since. As I set it all on the floor in front of the couch, Rachel motions for me to sit and when I do, she joins me with her knee grazing my thigh.

Fuck me, she’s warm.

Rachel opens the box of Band-Aids and searches through it as if she’s an actual doctor picking a scalpel. The scent of the ocean enters my nose and my jeans tighten. “If you’re serious about modifying your car, I’ll do it if you get the parts. No cost.”

That can be the way I repay this debt and stop thinking about letting my fingers drift up her shirt to caress what would probably be the softest skin on the planet.

She peels back the paper to reveal the Band-Aid and balances it on her knee. “If I do make modifications, I think I’d like to do them myself. I don’t get to work with cars that often, and I sort of get a rush when I do.”

Jesus, it’s like I’ve met my twin. One glance at her slim figure and I erase that thought. I wouldn’t be attracted to someone I was related to. “Then think about what you want and I’ll score you the parts.” I’ve got favors I’d call in for her.

“Hold out your arm,” she instructs and though it makes me feel like a damn fool, I obey.

Rachel pours alcohol onto the towel and begins to dab it on the cut. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that, but I’m not sure I want to mess with her. My real dream is to find an old Mustang and supe her up. Kind of like what you’re doing with yours. That would be awesome.”

Ignoring the slight sting on my arm, I turn my head to survey her. This girl is too good to be true. “Then I’ll help you with that.”

Rachel holds the towel to my skin. “You don’t have to.”

“I owe you.”

Her nose wrinkles as if she’s thinking something she believes is not worth saying. I have to keep myself from asking what.

“Does it hurt?” she asks. “Because sometimes I blow on my cuts when I put alcohol on them.”

“I’m good.”

“Then I guess I’m a wuss. I would have thought the alcohol would sting. You’re missing the top layer of skin.”

Without another word, she places the towel on the floor, takes the plastic off the Band-Aid and presses it to my skin. I haven’t worn one of these since I was five. Earlier tonight, everything felt hopeless after I talked to Noah, but being around her erases bad thoughts.

Rachel raises her head and her forehead scrunches. “What?”

Under the dim lighting, parts of her hair shine and I crave to run my fingers through it. Fuck it. Once she goes home, she’ll never come back. If Beth taught me anything, it’s to grab hold of what’s in front of me while I can. “What would you do if I kissed you?”

Chapter 14

Rachel

MY MOUTH FALLS OPEN, AND only when it starts to get dry do I close it. What would I do if he kissed me? Go into shock? Have multiple seizures? Jump up and down? I take in a shaky breath. Isaiah called me brave so I rush out the words. “Kiss you back?”

His gray eyes soften as if I gave an acceptable answer, but then he studies my face with a sober expression. “How many boyfriends have you had?”

My entire body sags, and I lace my fingers together, unlace them and lace them again. “Why?”

“Because.” His hand covers mine to halt my serial lacing. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I’m...trying to understand you.”

I don’t want to answer. I like the idea of him thinking of me as brave, as the girl who teases him in a bar. I don’t want him to see me as I really am—the tongue-twisted ’fraidy cat who’s never dated a guy.

“I don’t care what the answer is,” he prods. “But I need to know.”

There is no way I can admit this and meet his eyes, so I focus on our combined hands. “I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

I take a quick peek and Isaiah nods once, as if he already knew what I would say. He raises his hand to my face again and I allow the touch. His fingers slide along my jawline and the warmth of his caresses radiates past my skin and into my bloodstream. Pleasing goose bumps rise on my neck.

“Do you think you’ll come back sometime?” he asks. “And let me help you with your car?”

My ears ring with the staccato thrum, thrum, thrum of my heart. Holy crap, I can’t believe this is happening to me.

“I’ll make it work. I swear.” The words tumble out of my mouth without thought. That’s not true. Actually, they tumble out with a lot of thought of how my parents won’t approve, of how my brothers will kill Isaiah, then possibly kill me. But in this moment, I don’t care what any of them think.

“I want to kiss you,” Isaiah says.

A rush of terror and excitement floods my body. “Isaiah, I’ve never...”

“It’s okay.” Oh, God, his voice is dark and smooth and hypnotic.

I suck in air and sort of clumsily move my head so he knows this is what I want. “What do I do? I mean, how do I...”

And he doesn’t let me finish. Isaiah lazily yet deliberately tilts his head as he stares into my eyes. My entire body hums and a fuzzy sensation fills my head, making it hard to focus. My mouth opens then closes. And as he slowly bends down, my tongue quickly licks my dry lips.

I hope I’m doing this right. I want to do this right.

Isaiah slips his hand from my chin to cradle my head. His fingers tunnel through my hair, making the back of my neck tingle with anticipation as the pad of his thumb whispers gently against my cheek. His lips hover right next to mine and his warm breath heats my face.

The blood pounds so wildly in my veins that he has to sense the vibration. There’s a magnetic pull taking over the small distance between our lips. An energy I can’t resist. My head inclines opposite his and the moment I close my eyes, his mouth brushes mine.

Soft. Warm. Gentle. His lips move slowly, exerting pressure. And I feel like I can’t breathe, yet like I’m flying. The pressure ends, but his mouth stays near mine. His hand grips my waist and my spine gives at the shockingly right pleasure of his touch.

Isaiah senses my weakness and his hand snakes its way around my waist, his strong arm holds me up. And he explores again. A little pressure on my lower lip. A little pressure on the top. And then I remember that I’m supposed to kiss him back.

Nerves send small shock waves through my chest, and my hand trembles as I raise it to his shoulders. I press both my lips into his lower one right as my fingers caress the side of his neck. Isaiah shivers. In a good way, I think.

I open my mouth to ask when his lips move fast against mine, sucking in my lower one, causing warmth and excitement to explode in my body, the aftermath of that divine encounter melting every piece of me.

I moan, and Isaiah’s arm tightens, bringing my body closer to his. My lips maneuver against his in response. A yes to his pulling me closer. A yes to his lips taking in mine. A yes to the fact that he allows me to perform the same succulent kiss on him.

I can’t help it. I permit the tip of my tongue to barely brush his lower lip. Isaiah curls my hair into his fist and I love how my touch affects him, affects me. Wrapping my other arm around his neck, I lose all sense of independence with his sweet taste.

I like this. I like this a lot.

Isaiah takes over again and kisses me gently once more. Twice. The third time a little longer. And then his lips let me go.