Atticus

The rest of chapter 7

I'm about a block away from the house, the strange and amazing place where I lost hours of my life, my mind on overdrive as I try to think of every possible scenario that could explain how I blacked out. My thoughts are interrupted by blaring music from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see a silver Porsche passing to my right. I turn and lock eyes with Brad Davis. The Porsche suddenly screeches to a halt and backs up next to me.

I stop where I am and watch his lips curl up as his window slides down. He's about to say something when a truck comes within inches of slamming into him. Brad looks in his rearview mirror, waving as the truck swerves around and honks, leaving a trail of smoky skid marks. Laughter and a middle finger shoot out from the driver's side as Brad shoots one back, grinning the entire time.

Apparently they know each other.

Without skipping a beat, his eyes are back on me. "Hey, you. Need a ride?" he asks, raising one eyebrow.

He's cute as hell.

I try to hold back my reaction, because God help me, he looks exceptionally good this morning. My mind is racing on what to do next. I turn my head and contemplate for a second, remembering the house of euphoria literally steps away. I left the apartment early so I could look around a little more, maybe check if there's some kind of gas leak. But when I glance back again, his sexy brown eyes and two-day-old stubble make him hard to resist. I like what I see and hate myself for it.

"Yeah, sure." I smile back, cursing myself for bending my own rules. I'm not here to make friends—or anything else.

Brad immediately jumps out of the car, following me over to the passenger side. He waits until I'm close then opens my door and I slip in. When I look up, he's leaning forward, smiling down at me.

"You look really nice."

"Yeah?" I smile and roll my eyes. "I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

"Nope, just the pretty ones." He winks and shuts the door.

I fasten my seatbelt, my eyes following his stride as he walks over to his side. He seems to have the confidence of a way older guy and his gray t-shirt and tight Levi's accentuate how good he must look underneath. I can tell he's got some hair on his chest, too. Most girls don't like that, but I'm a sucker for it.

Damn him.

He opens his door and glides in like a professional NASCAR driver, starting the engine with an efficient flick of the wrist. I try to hide the fact that I'm checking out his hands, his arms, his neck, even his lips. Everything about him is making me question why I made those stupid no boyfriend rules. I can't deny he's got my attention.

"I could have walked the four extra blocks," I say, trying to act nonchalant as I place my backpack on the floorboard.

His hand pushes the stick shift into first gear and he looks me square in the eyes. "Not if I'm around."

Suddenly I'm a ball of nerves and realize I probably like him more than I want to admit. But I'm also beating myself up for it. I know it's not a good idea to date and it never will be as long as my home life is a mess. I try not to let the tension show on my face even though my heart is racing.

Brad makes a left into the "seniors only" parking before shutting off the engine. He looks down, as if contemplating something, then looks over at me.

"We've got a little time. Wanna talk?"

I nod and try not to blurt out something stupid. The first time I met him, my anxiety was on high alert...or maybe I was too preoccupied to notice he was anything more than just a cute guy. But now, with him sitting so close, looking at me with those ridiculous brown eyes, I'm starting to feel uncomfortable. So I do what any apprehensive, eighteen-year-old girl sitting in a car next a hot guy would do. Absolutely nothing. I just sit, waiting for him to start talking, hoping the awkward moment will pass.