Rules of a Rebel and a Shy Girl (22 page)

“I don’t think you’re really in a position to decide that, are you?” the man asks, rolling up his sleeves and revealing his muscular, tattooed arms. “Now, I’m going to move my foot. You have exactly five seconds to get up, get in your car, drive away, and never, ever come back here.” With that, he steps back, removing his foot from Dane’s chest.

Dane launches to his feet, balling his hands into fists. “You’re going to regret ever doing that.”

“One,” the man starts counting, sounding kind of bored.

Dane spits on the ground, as if that somehow proves he’s tough.

“Two,” the man continues, and Dane’s eyes briefly widen. “Three.”

Dane spins around and barrels for his car. The man keeps counting as Dane starts up the engine. He reaches five as the Mustang flies out of the parking lot, leaving a cloud of dust behind. Once the taillights have vanished down the road, the man turns to me.

“Are you okay?” he asks cautiously.

“Um … Yeah …” I don’t know what to say. Why did he do what he did? If he expects some sort of payment …

He must read my hesitancy because he says, “I just wanted to help. That’s all.”

“Okay … Thanks.” I stare at his eyes, which look strikingly familiar under the glow of the lamppost. “Do I know you?”

Instead of answering, he walks toward the front of the car. “Pop the hood, and I’ll see if I can figure out why it won’t start.”

The fact that he knows about my car trouble puts me right back on edge.

“I can’t pay you,” I say, “with money or anything else.”

His eyes enlarge, and then he promptly shakes his head. “I don’t want anything at all.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“To help you.”

I don’t know whether I should trust him, but the doors are locked and the pepper spray is in my hand if I need it.

“Fine.” I pull the lever that pops the hood.

He flips the latch underneath and raises the hood, disappearing out of my sight.

I hold my breath as he works, my finger hovering over Beck’s contact number, preparing to dial if I need to. Several minutes tick by before the man peers around the hood.

“Turn the key and see if it starts,” he says.

I turn over the key and breathe freely again as the engine grumbles to life.

The man pushes down the hood and walks over to the driver’s side window with his now greasy arms crossed. “I think you might really need to consider getting a new car. I temporarily fixed it, but the engine’s about to fall apart.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I say, moving my foot toward the gas pedal, eager to get the heck out of here. “And thanks for temporarily fixing my car.”

“Anytime.” He lowers his head to level his gaze with mine, and again, I’m struck with an odd sense of familiarity. “I’d really like to help you get one.”

So much for his nice-guy act.

“I already told you I’m not that kind of girl.”

“What kind of girl do you think I think you are?” he asks, a crease forming between his brows.

“The kind of girl who …” My cheeks heat, and the words won’t leave my mouth. I gesture at the club. “The kind of girl who can be bought.”

Shock floods his eyes as he jerks back. “That’s not what this is about.”

“There must be something you want,” I snap. “Or else you wouldn’t have just offered to help me buy a car.”

He inches closer, shoving his hands into his pockets. “There actually is something I want.”

I shake my head, questioning why I’m even still here. “Of course there is.”

“Your time,” he stresses. “That’s it.”

My hand on the steering wheel begins to tremble as anger burns under my skin. “And I can only guess what we’d do together while we’re spending time together.”

“Will you stop saying that kind of shit? That’s not what this is about.” He looks appalled. No, more than that. He looks utterly sickened, like he’s about to puke all over the gravel.

I don’t know how it clicks or why. All I know is that one moment, I’m looking at some stranger who saved my ass from Dane, and the next, I’m looking at my father. Only, he’s fifteen years older than the one I remember.

“Willow, please just hear me out,” he says, probably seeing the recognition on my face.

I shake my head, shoving the shifter into drive. “Stay away from me!” I shout before peeling out of the parking lot.

I drive like a mad woman back to the apartment, checking the rearview mirror every so often to make sure he doesn’t follow me. He doesn’t, and I don’t know what that means. Will he try to talk to me again, or will he walk away? I don’t know what answer scares me the most. By the time I pull up in front of the apartment, my skin is damp from an approaching panic attack.

Parking the car, I get out and stumble into the house. I head straight for my mom’s room and begin digging through boxes and drawers, looking for something—anything—that will prove that man isn’t my father. That he didn’t just try to come back into my life after leaving me with a mother who couldn’t take care of herself, let alone a child.

When I was younger, I spent nights pondering the idea that perhaps he died and that’s why he never came back. It hurt to think he was dead, but it hurt just as much to think that maybe he just didn’t want me anymore.

After nearly tearing the room apart, I find what I’m looking for tucked underneath the mattress. My mom said she threw everything of my dad’s away, but I knew she was lying. And I was right.

I gather the few photos in my hand and then sink to the floor as I study the man standing beside my mom and me. The tattooed arms. The familiar eyes. The man from the parking lot.

My chest throbs with an old, aching wound. But I refuse to cry anymore over my father, so I bottle up the sadness and the excruciating ache and lock it away with the rest of the problems I’m not ready to deal with.

I know I’m only biding time. Sooner or later, all of this is going to catch up with me.

Chapter Twenty

Willow

My mom doesn’t come home that night, and part of me is glad. I don’t want to see her or my dad yet. I’m honestly not sure I want to see any of them again, even if I do feel guilty and sick for thinking such awful things.

I consider cutting Chemistry class the next day to avoid another problem I’m not ready to deal with, but I’ve never been one for cutting class, so I drive to school, worried my current employment will be the topic of juicy gossip. Apparently, Everette isn’t much of a gossiper, though, something I discover after class when I run into him in the hallway.

Literally.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I sputter an apology, stumbling back from him, feeling like an idiot for slamming into him while staring at my phone. I was distracted, checking my email to see if any of the jobs I applied for responded back.

A couple of places offered me a position, but they don’t pay very much. Still, I might be able to get away with accepting two if I have to.

Everette offers me an understanding smile. “It’s okay. I’m not very good at texting while walking, either.”

“Still, I should know better after crashing into people multiple times.” I smile back, nervousness bubbling in my stomach that he knows my secret.

“I’m sure everyone does it.” He glances around the hallway then leans in, clutching the book he’s holding. “I’m actually glad I ran into you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter quietly, anxiety pumping through my veins.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, and I promise I won’t ever bring it up again,” he says in a hushed tone. “But you ran off so quickly … It had me nervous that maybe that guy hurt you or something.”

“That’s not why I ran off.” I adjust the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder and peer around the mostly vacant hallway. “I was just surprised to see someone I knew there.”

He nods in understanding. “I won’t say anything to anyone. We all have stuff we don’t want other people to know, right?”

I nod, surprised by his sincerity. “Thanks. I really appreciate that.”

Smiling, he opens his mouth to say something, but Beck strolls up.

“Hey.” He stops beside me, standing so close our shoulders touch. His gaze bounces between Everette and me before finally landing on Everette. “What’s up, man?”

“Not much.” Everette stuffs the paperback into the back pocket of his faded jeans. “You playing soccer again this weekend?”

“I was thinking about it, but I need to check on a few things first.” Beck grows quiet, rubbing the back of his neck.

Everette raises his brow like
okay?
“I guess I might see you there, then.” He looks at me. “See you in class next week?”

I nod, and then he heads down the hallway, digging his phone out of his pocket.

I nervously turn to Beck. I haven’t seen him since I gave him the list. I honestly didn’t know how I was going to feel being near him again, if I’d lose it. But his nearness seems to calm some of the clusterfuck of shittiness currently crammed in my chest.

I discreetly eye him over, chewing on my lip. He’s wearing a long-sleeved grey shirt, jeans, and a beanie with a few strands of hair sticking out from underneath. My eyes travel to his lips, and I find myself touching my own, remembering our kisses, how soft his lips are, how wonderful it felt to bite them, how life felt perfect for a moment. Completely and utterly and wonderfully, smile all the time, flutters in my heart, tingles on my skin perfect. But that was only a delusion, something I was reminded of yesterday.

I quickly try to force the mental images of the kiss away, and my senses go haywire from the scent of his delicious cologne, his overpowering warmth, and my desire to touch him again.

I stab my fingernails into my palms.
Don’t you dare. You already have too much to worry about.

Beck shifts his gaze to me, question marks and uncertainty flooding his eyes. I wonder if he’ll bring up the list or if we’re going to just act like nothing happened, like we did after the last kiss.

“You know him?” Beck asks, nodding in the direction Everette wandered off in.

“Um, yeah. He’s in my Chemistry class.”
So not what I was expecting him to say
. “He seems nice.”

He nods, studying me intently. “He is.”

The strange, hurt look on his face has me feeling lost. “How do you know him? From soccer?”

“Yeah, he plays on one of the other city leagues, and we’ve chatted a few times after games.” He shoves up the sleeves of his shirt, glancing up the hallway then back at me. “What were you guys talking about before I walked up?”

I shrug, loathing myself that I’m about to lie to him once again. “Nothing. Just an assignment.”

A pucker forms at his brows as he studies me again, as if trying to unravel my thoughts. “It looked like you two were kind of having a pretty intense conversation.”

“The assignment was for a final, and you know how I get about finals.” Guilt smashes my chest, making it difficult to get air into my lungs. I can’t tell Beck the truth. Not about this. What I can do is talk to him about my father. Not until we’re alone, though, in case I lose control.

He glances down the hallway again then fixes his gaze on me again. “You’re not … Is there something going on between you two?”

“What!” I cry out, drawing attention from people passing by. I inch closer to him and lower my voice. “Why would you think that?”

He shrugs, his jaw set tight. “Because that’s how it kind of looked with how close you two were standing to each other. And you had this look on your face like you were relaxed.”

Try more like relieved Everette wasn’t going to tell anyone my secret.

Still, I don’t want Beck thinking I’m dating anyone, especially after I made such a big deal about the kiss and us never hooking up again.

“I promise you, I’m not seeing anyone, including Everette,” I tell him, and the tension in his body loosens. “You should know that, considering … well, everything.” My gaze magnetizes to his lips again as images of our kisses soar through my thoughts. My skin warms like gooey melted chocolate, chocolate I want to eat … taste … and … I blink.

Oh, my
God, what the hell is wrong with me? I’ve lost all of my self-control.

Panicking over my out of control thoughts, I hastily change the subject. “So, what have you been up to for the last week? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Exactly seven days ago, since I gave you the list. But who’s counting?

“Yeah, I know. I wanted to hang out, but I’ve been busy.”

“With school?”

His shoulders slump. “And work.”

“Since when are you busy with work? I thought that was kind of the point of having your own business and doing what you do: you make your own hours.”

“Not with that job.” He sounds irritated, although I don’t think it’s toward me.

I stuff the textbook I’m holding into my bag. “You have another job? Since when? Oh, was that why you were up early when I called you yesterday?”

He nods then motions for me to follow him. “Come on. I’ll explain while we walk.” He starts to walk down the hallway then pauses. “We are still hanging out, right?”

I nod. “Of course. I was just getting ready to text you when I ran into Everette.”

His lip curls in annoyance at the mention of Everette, but when he notices me watching him, he forces a fake smile. “Want to go to the café on the corner? There’s actually something I really need to talk to you about besides my current job position, and that place is pretty quiet.”

“Sounds good to me.” I smile, growing uneasy as I think of all the things he could want to talk to me about. “It’s not bad, is it?”

He glances at me distractedly. “What?”

“What you want to talk to me about.”

“No, not at all. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Can you give me just a hint, so I don’t worry?” I ask as we push out the doors and step into the warmth of the sunlight.

“Now what would be the fun in that?” He chuckles at the look on my face then slings his arm around my shoulder.

I tense for a microsecond and consider pulling away. Then that safe feeling takes over, and I lean into him.