Crash into You

Page 28

I emerge from the covers and reach for my phone. The screen lights up the moment I swipe at it. One in the morning. Who else in the world would be awake at one in the morning? No one. The rest of the world knows how to sleep. The rest of the world wouldn’t blow the biggest moment of their lives.
I scroll through my contacts until I find Isaiah. Underneath his picture is his name and number. My mouth dries out as I ponder the possibility. I could text him.
Nerves cause my heart to beat faster. What if I text him and he doesn’t text back? But what if I text him and he does text back?
Not allowing time to overanalyze the decision, I quickly type and hit Send.
Chapter 31
Isaiah
THE STREETLIGHT SHINES THROUGH THE slats of the blinds, creating a light ladder on the wooden floor. I fell into bed an hour ago, and at one in the morning I still can’t sleep.
Noah’s mattress creaks as he rolls and throws his arms out as if he’s searching for something. More like someone. When he comes up empty, his eyes crack open into slits. Echo’s staying at the dorms tonight, and he’s here because he’s pulling an early shift this morning. Noah messes his hands through his hair then lets out a disgruntled sigh as he resettles.
I swing my legs off the bed and my bare feet hit the cold subfloor. I rub at my bare chest, hoping to wake the rest of me up. My body’s tired, but my mind won’t shut off. I want to chase after the girl, but I don’t know how. Short of going to her house and scaling the walls like a punked-out Romeo, I’ve got no idea how to win Rachel. Besides, that Romeo shit is not my style.
Maybe a drive will clear my head.
“What’s eating you?” Noah asks with his eyes closed.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Except for the fact he said something, Noah appears asleep. He’s been working his ass off between school, studying, seeing his brothers and Echo, then squeezing in as many hours as he can flipping burgers to keep us afloat. The most I see him is when he sleeps at night. The kid is almost a walking corpse.
“You’re worried about the money for rent, aren’t you?” Noah mutters.
Fuck me. I slide both hands over my face then cup my mouth and my nose. On top of owing Eric, I owe Noah money for rent. I can’t believe I forgot. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I don’t want to fail you.”
“You won’t. You aren’t.” My shoulders roll forward like I’ve got a damn aircraft carrier on my back. I’ve thought time and time again about telling Noah the truth, but I haven’t. Only because there never seems to be a good time, but now I can’t tell him. I can’t let him shoulder this burden. Not when he already has too much riding on him. “It’ll work out.”
Noah opens his eyes and examines me. “Yeah, it will, so don’t do anything fucked-up over it.”
Pressure builds in my neck because I already know what he’s referring to. “Like what?”
“Like street racing. Seeing Beth in handcuffs gave me my fill of police stations for a lifetime. I don’t need you to be joining the ranks.”
My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans on the floor. I close my eyes. It’s gotta be Beth. She’s the only one who’d text this late.
Noah throws his arm back over his face. “Answer her, Isaiah. Beth’s going nuts over your silence.”
“Not interested in making her feel better.”
“Here’s some crazy shit—maybe I’m more interested in you feeling better. If you could find a way to let her go maybe I’d see you happy again. Like you were the night you brought Rachel home.”
Anger twists in my body. Noah’s talking about stuff he should stay away from. “Fuck you.”
Noah raises his hand and flashes me the finger.
I grab my shirt and start to lift off the bed, but when my eyes drift to my jeans my ass hits the mattress again. To hell with this. To hell with her. Beth fell in love with Ryan. For weeks she acted like she couldn’t stand him, but knowing her like I do...like I did...Beth didn’t like people who made her feel.
And damn me to hell, she felt something for him.
Without thinking too much about it, I snatch the phone out of my jeans. If Beth wants to talk, we’ll talk. I’ll tell her everything I think about her and Ryan and her idea that we can be friends.
The phone springs to life and my heart stalls out. It wasn’t Beth.
It’s weird how the anger and tension recedes. What rattles me the most is the flood of anticipation and nerves. Like swaying right on the edge of being high or drunk. The message from Rachel is simple, but the olive branch extended is weighted: Hi
I stare at it like it’s the answer to life after death. Shit, in my case it probably is: Hey
Can’t sleep?
No. You?
I can feel my pulse at every pressure point in my body. Seconds pass, and there’s a longer pause as I wait for her next message. Come on, angel. Don’t leave me hanging like you did on Saturday night.
At the dragway you said you liked me.
I lower my head. She’s going to make me put it in writing. I’ve never felt so much like a sideshow monkey as I do now: Yeah, I like you. A lot.
I pop my neck to the side. How fucking long does it take to write a response?
I like you too and I’m also scared.
I inhale air and release it like a man who’s been pulled from the bottom of a lake. She likes me. I want to see you tomorrow morning.
I have school.
I’ll meet you there.
You have school. Rachel texts back immediately. And your school starts before mine.
I chuckle. How have I ended up pursuing a girl as naive as her? It’s called skipping. What time do you get to school?
Isaiah!
I chuckle again as I imagine those beautiful violet eyes widening and her cheeks turning red at the thought of doing something wrong. I’m skipping. You’re not.
Noah turns over in bed to face me. “Did you just laugh, bro?”
“If I swing by the Malt and Burger tomorrow can you score me breakfast?”
He assesses me and the cell. “If it’ll get you to shut up and go to bed.”
A smile forms on my lips. “Go to hell.”
“Fuck you.”
“Original, man. Think I said that earlier.”
“Tell Rachel I said hi.” My best friend knows me.
My phone vibrates again. I can be there by 8.
I roll onto my back and hold the phone up as I text back: See you then.
Chapter 32
Rachel
I RELEASE A SHAKY BREATH as I pull into my school’s parking lot. One hour before the first bell, Worthington resembles a dystopian ghost town. I’ve trashed my morning routine, but it’ll either be really worth it or the resulting aftermath will send me into a panic attack never before seen by man. Only time will tell, but the mere thought of meeting with Isaiah is enough to force me out of my shell.
Bypassing every open spot, I turn down the one-lane road to the overflow lot and millions of butterflies spring to life in my stomach when I spot Isaiah leaning against his black Mustang. It’s seven-fifty in the morning. He’s early and he’s waiting for me. This is totally unreal.
I ease my car beside him and my hands tremble when I shift into Park and pull the keys out of the ignition.
Breathe. Air in. Air out.
Breathe.
Keeping the flow of air going, I fiddle with the keys in my lap. Driving here was the simple part. Simple. I wish I could make Isaiah and me simple.
I glance up, and he watches me through the windshield. The moment our eyes meet he holds up a white bag. The door feels heavy as I open it, and the cool morning air nips at my legs. As I approach Isaiah, I smooth out a lock of my hair and flatten my hands against my coat, then my skirt. I like him. He says he likes me. For the first time in my life, I really want to look my best for someone because...well, because I want him to see me as special.
In his worn blue jeans and a black T-shirt, the early-morning sun hits Isaiah just right, highlighting him like he’s a relaxed tiger bathing in the warmth. The light glints off his double rows of hoop earrings and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes me feel like he has a secret, but not the type kept from me. No, it’s the type that suggests I’m in on it, and that it involves a lack of my clothes.
And maybe some of his.
As if I spoke the thought instead of keeping it internal, Isaiah lifts his shirt to scratch at a spot right above his hip bone. Good Lord, he’s pretty. I soak in the sight of the muscles in his abdomen like I’m a plant in the Sahara Desert, except it doesn’t quench my thirst. It only causes my mouth to run dry.
Isaiah smiles like he knows what I’m thinking, and heat licks up my body and pools in my cheeks. What really causes my blood to curve into itself is the wicked gleam in his eye. It’s a spark that says he’s done very naughty things I’ve never even heard about.
“I brought food,” he says.
My stomach growls at the words and my head falls back because he had to hear it. God, why am I always a walking disaster? “I missed breakfast.” And the rest of my morning routine. “So this is awesome.”
The bag crunches in his hand when he holds it out and I step close enough to take it from him. My mouth waters as the scent of bacon, toasted carbs and sausage wafts into the air. I peek inside. “That’s a lot of food. Do you also eat small children as appetizers?”
“I didn’t know what you liked so...” He trails off and takes a sudden interest in the nearby football field.
I brush my bangs away from my face and have to force myself not to bounce. He bought me breakfast. I bite my lip to stop the smile, but then let it go. I’m happy and I don’t care if he knows. “Thanks.”
“S’all good.”
In the middle of the bag is a half-wrapped bagel with cream cheese oozing down the sides. It’s like I died and went to heaven. I pull it out and hand the bag to Isaiah while motioning at him with the bagel. “Do you want some of this?”
“Not a bagel guy.” Isaiah chooses a breakfast sandwich that’s more meat than biscuit. I break off parts of the bagel and eat them while he bites into his. Everything about us is different, yet from what little I know there are some things that are the same—like how we love cars.
But that’s probably the problem. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. I like what I’ve seen. I like most of what I’ve experienced with him, but is it enough? Halfway through one side of the bagel, I lick my fingers and wrap it back up. “I’m sort of a mess.”
Isaiah slows down his chewing, and I watch as he swallows. “I have to say that is the first time a girl has used that as a come-on line.”
I laugh without thinking then slam my hand over my mouth because it shocks me that it popped out. “I wasn’t coming on to you.”
His eyes linger way too long where my uniform skirt ends above my knees. “You sure about that? Because those legs are telling me something different.”
My knees rub together as I shift. I have never been as aware of my body as when I’m around Isaiah. My outside, my insides, everywhere—even places I never thought much about before. Places that sort of wake up in his presence. “I was trying to tell you something. Something important.”