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Rachel
I RELEASE A SHAKY BREATH as I pull into my school’s parking lot. One hour before the first bell, Worthington resembles a dystopian ghost town. I’ve trashed my morning routine, but it’ll either be really worth it or the resulting aftermath will send me into a panic attack never before seen by man. Only time will tell, but the mere thought of meeting with Isaiah is enough to force me out of my shell.
Bypassing every open spot, I turn down the one-lane road to the overflow lot and millions of butterflies spring to life in my stomach when I spot Isaiah leaning against his black Mustang. It’s seven-fifty in the morning. He’s early and he’s waiting for me. This is totally unreal.
I ease my car beside him and my hands tremble when I shift into Park and pull the keys out of the ignition.
Breathe. Air in. Air out.
Breathe.
Keeping the flow of air going, I fiddle with the keys in my lap. Driving here was the simple part. Simple. I wish I could make Isaiah and me simple.
I glance up, and he watches me through the windshield. The moment our eyes meet he holds up a white bag. The door feels heavy as I open it, and the cool morning air nips at my legs. As I approach Isaiah, I smooth out a lock of my hair and flatten my hands against my coat, then my skirt. I like him. He says he likes me. For the first time in my
life, I really want to look my best for someone because. . . well, because I want him to see me as special.
In his worn blue jeans and a black T-shirt, the early-morning sun hits Isaiah just right, highlighting him like he’s a relaxed tiger bathing in the warmth. The light glints off his double rows of hoop earrings and there’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes me feel like he has a secret, but not the type kept from me. No, it’s the type that suggests I’m in on it, and that it involves a lack of my clothes.
And maybe some of his.
As if I spoke the thought instead of keeping it internal, Isaiah lifts his shirt to scratch at a spot right above his hip bone. Good Lord, he’s pretty. I soak in the sight of the muscles in his abdomen like I’m a plant in the Sahara Desert, except it doesn’t quench my thirst. It only causes my mouth to run dry.
Isaiah smiles like he knows what I’m thinking, and heat licks up my body and pools in my cheeks. What really causes my blood to curve into itself is the wicked gleam in his eye. It’s a spark that says he’s done very naughty things I’ve never even heard about.
“I brought food,” he says.
My stomach growls at the words and my head falls back because he had to hear it. God, why am I always a walking disaster? “I missed breakfast. ” And the rest of my morning routine. “So this is awesome. ”
The bag crunches in his hand when he holds it out and I step close enough to take it from him. My mouth waters as the scent of bacon, toasted carbs and sausage wafts into the air. I peek inside. “That’s a lot of food. Do you also eat small children as appetizers?”
“I didn’t know what you liked so. . . ” He trails off and takes a sudden interest in the nearby football field.
I brush my bangs away from my face and have to force myself not to bounce. He bought me breakfast. I bite my lip to stop the smile, but then let it go. I’m happy and I don’t care if he knows. “Thanks. ”
“S’all good. ”
In the middle of the bag is a half-wrapped bagel with cream cheese oozing down the sides. It’s like I died and went to heaven. I pull it out and hand the bag to Isaiah while motioning at him with the bagel. “Do you want some of this?”
“Not a bagel guy. ” Isaiah chooses a breakfast sandwich that’s more meat than biscuit. I break off parts of the bagel and eat them while he bites into his. Everything about us is different, yet from what little I know there are some things that are the same—like how we love cars.
But that’s probably the problem. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. I like what I’ve seen. I like most of what I’ve experienced with him, but is it enough? Halfway through one side of the bagel, I lick my fingers and wrap it back up. “I’m sort of a mess. ”
Isaiah slows down his chewing, and I watch as he swallows. “I have to say that is the first time a girl has used that as a come-on line. ”
I laugh without thinking then slam my hand over my mouth because it shocks me that it popped out. “I wasn’t coming on to you. ”
His eyes linger way too long where my uniform skirt ends above my knees. “You sure about that? Because those legs are telling me something different. ”
My knees rub together as I shift. I have never been as aware of my body as when I’m around Isaiah. My outside, my insides, everywhere—even places I never thought much about before. Places that sort of wake up in his presence. “I was trying to tell you something. Something important. ”
Isaiah tucks the rest of his sandwich in the bag and places it on the hood of the car. I still hold the bagel and it becomes that obvious thing in my hand that I don’t know what to do with. Nerves have tightened my throat, making finishing it impossible, but there’s no way I’m trashing it. Isaiah brought it for me.
Playing mind reader, Isaiah holds out his hand. “It’ll stay warm in the bag. ” I hand the bagel to him and he asks, “So what are you trying to tell me?”
Why couldn’t I have just been happy eating the bagel? “I’m complicated. ”
He shrugs like it’s no big thing. “So am I. ”
