Falling Away
Page 8
Chills ran up my spine, and I shivered, Liam forgotten. I barely noticed the other muscle cars. All I saw was the one in the lead. The black one staring at me through blacked-out windows.
The Mustang GT.
Jaxon Trent’s Mustang GT.
CHAPTER 2
K.C.
I wasn’t expecting that. Not for one minute did I think Jax would still be in town.
I hurried to the other side of the street, locked in a weird daze as Chevelle pounded in my ears. Turning around, I watched his Mustang just sit there.
What was he doing?
Finally he revved the engine and cruised past slowly, car after car, all tricked out, following in his wake.
My dry tongue suddenly felt like a scrub brush in my mouth. More cars zoomed by me, blowing my short skirt across my thighs, and I felt as if I’d gotten caught in the middle of a damn parade.
What the hell was this?
Some of the vehicles I recognized. Since Liam, Jared, and Tate all used to race at the Loop, I’d learned at least a few things. Like Jax’s car was a Mustang, and I knew it was still Jax’s car, because I noticed his license plate still read NATIVE on it. The car behind it was Sam’s, a guy who graduated with me. It was a Dodge Challenger, but I had no clue what year. There was another Mustang, a Chevy SS, and a couple of older Fords and Pontiacs.
And then there were some very out-of-place ones.
Subarus? Hyundais? Was that a MINI Cooper?
Jax’s brother, Jared, would rather eat his own tongue than be seen with these cars. And they were all pimped out, too, with weird paint and huge spoilers on the back.
Wow.
But there were a shitload of them. I just stood there, staring, as car after car roared past me, all of them making their own distinct sounds as their engines sent vibrations down to the pavement at my feet, and up my body, making my belly hum.
I clenched my thighs and winced, disgusted with myself.
I was not wet.
No.
But I was. I was so completely turned on that I couldn’t remember the last time my body had burned like this.
I looked over once more, watching Jaxon Trent’s Mustang round the corner and disappear.
I spent the next few hours trying to keep as busy as possible. No friends, no car, not a lot of money, and I was restless as hell. And idle hands were the devil’s plaything.
Boredom was the root of all trouble, and apparently trouble was still living right next door.
What the hell was wrong with me? I hadn’t even seen the guy yet. He hadn’t even stepped out of his car, and all my brain wanted to do was wonder about him. Picture him. In his car. Dressed in black as he usually was. Touching me to that Chevelle song. What did he look like now?
When I finally got home, I changed into workout clothes and went to the gym, determined to kill some calories in kickboxing class. And then I stayed in the sauna, hoping to drain myself of every sexual impulse I’d had today.
For the most part, it worked. I was breathing evenly now at least.
As soon as I got back to the house, I showered, slapped on a little makeup and dried my hair, and then picked through my clothes for some sweatpants and a tank top.
Until I saw some of Tate’s clothes still in the drawers.
I smiled, reaching in and snatching out a pair of cutoff jean shorts. I slid them on, loving the way they felt so comfortable and still looked cute as hell. They were baggy, hanging off my hip bones, but they weren’t too long or too short, either. Pulling on my pink tank top, I looked in the mirror, wondering what my mother would say. She thought cutoffs were sloppy, and although she liked Tate, she stressed that her music and her style were not to be duplicated.
But she wasn’t here, and if no one was going to see me, then no harm done.
I spent the rest of the night sprawled out on the living room floor, eating mac ’n’ cheese and poring over the files Principal Masters had given me. Although he’d given me lesson plans, I typed up some K.C.– friendly instructions of my own on my laptop, adding a couple of journal activities I loved doing in my own classes at college. Sessions would be Monday through Thursday from eight fifteen to noon, and tutoring would end mid-July. After that, my hundred hours would be complete, and I’d be free for the rest of the summer.
I’d been staring at the same sentence for about five minutes when I let my head fall back and closed my eyes, completely pissed off at the noise outside.
The raucous party next door had begun as a dull hum two hours ago, but now it was a hodgepodge of laughter, squeals, thunderous engines roaring in and out of the neighborhood, and constant explosions of music that felt as if bombs might actually be detonating under Tate’s house. I gritted my teeth together and grumbled to no one, “I can’t believe no one in the neighborhood complains about this.”
I shot off the area rug, heading for the windows in the dining room to take a look at what was going on, when I heard pounding on the front door.
“Juliet?” a singsong voice called. “What light through yonder window breaks?” The familiar words made my heart flutter, and I smiled.
“Romeo, Romeo,” I called, doing an about-face for the front door. “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”
I yanked open the door, reached for my cousin Shane’s hand, and let her pull me into her body and then dip me backward so that my back arched and my hair caressed the hardwood floors.
She held me tight. “Your nose hairs need to be trimmed, cuz.”
I popped my head up. “Your breath smells like a dead person.”
She swooped me back up and plopped a kiss on my cheek before walking past me into the living room.
The Mustang GT.
Jaxon Trent’s Mustang GT.
CHAPTER 2
K.C.
I wasn’t expecting that. Not for one minute did I think Jax would still be in town.
I hurried to the other side of the street, locked in a weird daze as Chevelle pounded in my ears. Turning around, I watched his Mustang just sit there.
What was he doing?
Finally he revved the engine and cruised past slowly, car after car, all tricked out, following in his wake.
My dry tongue suddenly felt like a scrub brush in my mouth. More cars zoomed by me, blowing my short skirt across my thighs, and I felt as if I’d gotten caught in the middle of a damn parade.
What the hell was this?
Some of the vehicles I recognized. Since Liam, Jared, and Tate all used to race at the Loop, I’d learned at least a few things. Like Jax’s car was a Mustang, and I knew it was still Jax’s car, because I noticed his license plate still read NATIVE on it. The car behind it was Sam’s, a guy who graduated with me. It was a Dodge Challenger, but I had no clue what year. There was another Mustang, a Chevy SS, and a couple of older Fords and Pontiacs.
And then there were some very out-of-place ones.
Subarus? Hyundais? Was that a MINI Cooper?
Jax’s brother, Jared, would rather eat his own tongue than be seen with these cars. And they were all pimped out, too, with weird paint and huge spoilers on the back.
Wow.
But there were a shitload of them. I just stood there, staring, as car after car roared past me, all of them making their own distinct sounds as their engines sent vibrations down to the pavement at my feet, and up my body, making my belly hum.
I clenched my thighs and winced, disgusted with myself.
I was not wet.
No.
But I was. I was so completely turned on that I couldn’t remember the last time my body had burned like this.
I looked over once more, watching Jaxon Trent’s Mustang round the corner and disappear.
I spent the next few hours trying to keep as busy as possible. No friends, no car, not a lot of money, and I was restless as hell. And idle hands were the devil’s plaything.
Boredom was the root of all trouble, and apparently trouble was still living right next door.
What the hell was wrong with me? I hadn’t even seen the guy yet. He hadn’t even stepped out of his car, and all my brain wanted to do was wonder about him. Picture him. In his car. Dressed in black as he usually was. Touching me to that Chevelle song. What did he look like now?
When I finally got home, I changed into workout clothes and went to the gym, determined to kill some calories in kickboxing class. And then I stayed in the sauna, hoping to drain myself of every sexual impulse I’d had today.
For the most part, it worked. I was breathing evenly now at least.
As soon as I got back to the house, I showered, slapped on a little makeup and dried my hair, and then picked through my clothes for some sweatpants and a tank top.
Until I saw some of Tate’s clothes still in the drawers.
I smiled, reaching in and snatching out a pair of cutoff jean shorts. I slid them on, loving the way they felt so comfortable and still looked cute as hell. They were baggy, hanging off my hip bones, but they weren’t too long or too short, either. Pulling on my pink tank top, I looked in the mirror, wondering what my mother would say. She thought cutoffs were sloppy, and although she liked Tate, she stressed that her music and her style were not to be duplicated.
But she wasn’t here, and if no one was going to see me, then no harm done.
I spent the rest of the night sprawled out on the living room floor, eating mac ’n’ cheese and poring over the files Principal Masters had given me. Although he’d given me lesson plans, I typed up some K.C.– friendly instructions of my own on my laptop, adding a couple of journal activities I loved doing in my own classes at college. Sessions would be Monday through Thursday from eight fifteen to noon, and tutoring would end mid-July. After that, my hundred hours would be complete, and I’d be free for the rest of the summer.
I’d been staring at the same sentence for about five minutes when I let my head fall back and closed my eyes, completely pissed off at the noise outside.
The raucous party next door had begun as a dull hum two hours ago, but now it was a hodgepodge of laughter, squeals, thunderous engines roaring in and out of the neighborhood, and constant explosions of music that felt as if bombs might actually be detonating under Tate’s house. I gritted my teeth together and grumbled to no one, “I can’t believe no one in the neighborhood complains about this.”
I shot off the area rug, heading for the windows in the dining room to take a look at what was going on, when I heard pounding on the front door.
“Juliet?” a singsong voice called. “What light through yonder window breaks?” The familiar words made my heart flutter, and I smiled.
“Romeo, Romeo,” I called, doing an about-face for the front door. “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?”
I yanked open the door, reached for my cousin Shane’s hand, and let her pull me into her body and then dip me backward so that my back arched and my hair caressed the hardwood floors.
She held me tight. “Your nose hairs need to be trimmed, cuz.”
I popped my head up. “Your breath smells like a dead person.”
She swooped me back up and plopped a kiss on my cheek before walking past me into the living room.
