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Isaiah opens my car door and his warm silver eyes smile at me. “Hey. ”
I sweep my bangs from my eyes. “Hi. ”
He offers his hand and I accept. His fingers wrap around mine and heat surges up my arm, flushes my neck and s
ettles into a blush on my face. He tugs gently and I slip out. I’m not sure if my body vibrates from the rumbling of the garage door closing or from the blood pounding in my veins.
Our fingers lace together, and his other hand smoothly cups my hip. I suck in a breath, surprised that someone touches me so easily and with such care.
“You look nice,” he says.
“I’m in my school uniform. ” White button-down blouse, maroon-and-black plaid skirt, and a pair of white Keds. Nothing spectacular.
“I know. ” The seductive slide in his voice causes the back of my neck to tickle.
“Hi!”
We snap our heads to the right, and if it weren’t for Isaiah’s hold, I would have stumbled back. Practically on top of us is a girl with long brown hair, a black hoodie and the tightest jeans I have ever seen. I automatically hate her because those jeans make her look good.
Isaiah sighs loudly. “Rachel, this is my friend, Abby. Abby this is my girlfriend, Rachel. ”
I have to restrain from dancing. He called me his girlfriend. “It’s nice to meet you. ”
“What’s your favorite color?” asks Abby.
“Green?” That is a beyond odd question—I mean it’s normal, yet not.
“Tacos or spaghetti?”
“Tacos. ”
“Disney World or Disneyland?”
“Neither. ”
“Rolling Stones or Beatles?”
“Beatles. ”
She squishes her lips to the left. “Oh, so close, but I can let the last one go. ” Abby regards Isaiah with the same familiarity I have with my brothers. “We should keep her, but we may have to set up a visitation schedule. You know, control issues and all. ”
My eyebrows rise. “Keep me?” Abby’s words crash in my mind. “Control issues?”
She pokes a finger at her chest. “My issues. Not his. You and I are going to be friends, and I don’t do friendships. Well, I obviously do,” she adds as her finger lazily points to Isaiah. “But he doesn’t count. See, we met inside of a Dumpster when we were ten. ”
My eyes widen to the point I start to wonder if I’ll ever blink again.
“Abby,” says Isaiah, interrupting her before she can continue. “Shut the fuck up. ”
“Okay. ” The Rolling Stones’ “Miss You” plays from her phone. “Shit,” she says. “Hold on a sec. ” She answers and heads outside.
“Wow. ” It’s the only response I can think of.
“That’s one way to describe her. Look, if you don’t want to deal with her. . . ”
“No,” I interrupt. “She’s your friend. . . ”
And he interrupts me. “But if she makes you uncomfortable. . . ”
