Smash!

•T E N•

Jamie's POV
"Good night, James!" My boss Mr. Miller bellows as he bails on me, again. Adding insult to injury since he got my name wrong.

"Night, jerk face." I grumble under my breath, locking the door behind my sleazy boss. Although, it's one less health hazard in contact with my baked pastries. By the time I make the bakery spotless and organized my apron, and myself is caked in flour and crusty frosting. By one am I locking the backdoor with aching hands.

"Hey." I jump a foot in the air at a deep voice. Hand on my pepper spray I whirl around to see the mysterious guy leaning against the brick wall of the alley with hunched shoulders and his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"I've been waiting so long my toes went numb." He shivers.

"Why were you waiting?" I ask. I'm fully aware that he isn't going to try to rob the bakery again. I'm completely stumped why else he's here waiting in fifty degrees fahrenheit.

"... I came to pick you up." He admits quietly, glaring down at his shoes. That takes me off guard.

"You did?" I nearly gasp.

"Yeah," he kicks at the ground, "the buses stopped running, and I didn't want you walking home all alone." The guy explains, making my red eyebrows fly to my hairline.

"Home?" I ask, a grin spreading across my freckle cheeks. "You called my apartment home." I point out, my grin only widening. His dark head whips up at me with a pale face like his mom caught him swearing.

"Fine. I like your crummy little place." He sorely admits.

"Even with the bad water pressure, six flights of stairs, and my meat free diet?" I ask.

"Yes, even with all that crap." He says, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Let's go home." I say, tugging on his sleeve. He hesitantly grasps my hand, my stomach doing flips at his touch. Shivering we stroll over to a nearby blue Ford Mustang 1969. I didn't know what I was expecting, maybe a pickup truck, but not something a grandfather would drive in.

"I'm not holding the door open for you." He grumbles, unlocking his car.

"Didn't expect you to." I chuckle. "Don't worry I can open the door for myself." I add, lowering into the car. He came all the way here, and waited for me hours. I'd be pushing my luck if I expected him to hold the door open. The inside of the car isn't as nice as the outside. Candy wrappers, and take out containers are piled up on the seats. It reeks like burger meat, and French fries. I soundlessly push the man made mountain of trash aside and settle into the black leather seats.

"Don't go poking around in the glove compartment, or under the seat, or just anywhere." He mutters, starting the car.

"Why?" I ask, going stiff. Does he have an ant infestation? With this fast food dumpster on wheels it's likely.

"Just don't." He grunts, his dark eyes shoots me a warning look through the dark. "You'll find something you don't want to find." He warns lowly. That nearly makes me jump out of the car, and risk the walk home. Just as he pulls away from the curb his stomach let's out a deep, deafening rumble, completely tearing down his bad boy facade. This mustang doesn't seem so badass anymore.

"Can we ignore that?" He mutters embarrassingly, glaring out the windshield.

"Hungry?" I ask, choking down a chuckle.

"No, my stomach is practicing dinosaur impressions." He grunts, rolling his dark eyes.

"Pizza?" I ask.

"Pizza." He confirms, making a sharp turn.

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"Are we breaking and entering?" I ask, chills running up my spine at the sketchy alley that we're lurking in.