“So, is Alicia like you?” Callie asks over the idling sound of the engine.
I glance at her real quick and notice a speculative gleam to her eyes, before looking into the rearview mirror and backing out. “Do you mean is she a vampire?” Shifting into first, I follow the drive out to the front of the school. “No, she’s human. My parents and I are the only vampires in Twin Cedar Pass.”
“Oh,” she replies. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her chewing on her lip. “Does she know about your uh, special dietary needs?”
I snort. “That’s one way of putting it, and nope.” I hit my turn signal, see the roads are empty, and turn onto the main boulevard. “Number one rule of supernatural club is…”
“Don’t talk about supernatural club,” she groans with a hard roll of her eyes. “That movie will never die.”
I shake my head. “Felix is the one to argue with over movies. I just watch them.”
She rubs her hands along her thighs, her fingernails scratching at the denim. “So Felix didn’t know about you guys, before…”
“He died?” My chest is tight every time I think about that night in July. I clear my throat. “No.”
Callie’s quiet for a while, looking out the window, until we get to the outskirts of town and onto the open road, where I’m able to really give my car some freedom.
She shoots back into her seat, her fingers locked into a white knuckle grip. “You’re way too young for a midlife crisis, so what’s with the car?” she demands over the growing roar of the engine. “Death wish?”
“I like cars,” I answer with a Connor grade shrug then add my signature smirk. “And speed.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that,” she sputters.
I reach over for her left hand, untangling her death grip from the leather seat, and give it a gentle squeeze.
“Relax,” I encourage in smooth, dulcet tones. “Vampires have increased reflexes, and even if I didn’t, despite what it may sound like, I’m going maybe five over the speed limit. I’m just getting there faster than most.”
She shivers and squeezes my hand back. Her hand feels like ice against my skin. After a moment, she takes a closer look at my hand and rubs on the nail bed of my pointer finger. “This is why I smell engine grease,” she murmurs to herself, then looks up at me. “So you actually work on cars? Not just buy them?”
“Yep. Connor and I had auto shop as our last class of the day,” I explain, giving her hand another squeeze before taking mine back so I can change gears on the paddle shifter. “This is our third year taking it, so Mr. Russ pretty much lets us do what we want. Our project for the year is restoring a classic 1969 Boss 429 Mustang that I found last summer. It was a crime how I found her, rusted and baking in the hot sun.”
Callie pulls her sleeves over her hands and pins them between her thighs. She nods at me in thatI have no idea what you’re talking about, but you seem to careway. Damn, not into cars. Probably for the best. Reasons one through three on why not to go for Callie would be hard to remember if she was a car enthusiast on top of it all.
“Do you like working on cars so you can race them? I assume you race them.” She scrunches up her face in thought, which looks really cute, and I can’t help the soft smile that comes to my lips. It’s nice that she’s trying.
“I do like racing cars,” I answer, subtly turning the wheel to follow the gentle curves of the road. The path is bracketed with trees painted in the russet colors of autumn. “But my real passion is restoring old ones to their former glory. I’m in the rare position that money isn’t really an issue, so I can do these amazing pieces of history justice.”
She turns in her seat towards me and leans her head so she can look at me as she talks. A sweet smile plays on her lips. “And you and Connor work on cars together?”
I nod. “Connor has always enjoyed hands on stuff that doesn’t require having to talk,” Callie snorts at that, “and I’ve been obsessed with cars since way before I could even think about driving. Don’t know where the obsession came from. Neither of my parents are interested in it.”
“But they support you?” Her eyes flicker down, and she scratches at her knee.
I can tell there’s a lot more to her question than what’s being asked, but I don’t know what she’s looking for. I clear my throat and half joke, “Yeah. Whatever keeps me happy and out of trouble.”
I can see the wheels turning as she tries to come up with another question, and I decide to change the subject. “So, how was Jewelry 1?”
She blinks at me for a moment, then releases a weighty breath. “It was alright. I took the class because I thought it’d be nice to do something creative that fulfills my fine art requirement, and since I can’t draw, or play an instrument, and you’d have to knock me unconscious to get me on stage… well, this seemed the best option.”
I glance at her. “And?”
“And nothing,” she sighs dismissively. “The class requires a crap ton of supplies I didn’t have since I just transferred. I read the textbook all during class while everyone worked on their projects.”
“There’s a textbook for Jewelry 1?” I chuckle, braking to turn onto the main road leading up to my house.
“Yes, fascinating reading,” she giggles, twisting strands of her hair in an absent way. “I learned about different types of metals, beads, and precious stones. The textbook also has patterns, so it isn’t a complete waste.”
“I’m sure they’re very tasteful,” I tease.
