Page 7 of Austin

Seeing he’s not going to oblige me, I continue my walk away from him, holding up my phone again in search of some damn reception.

“Fine!” I hear him call out behind me.

I turn as he places a hand on his hood.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this. I should just leave you here. Alone.”

He bows his head as he pulls the fabric back, removing his hat and shaking out his brown hair. It’s sticking up a bit where he has a cowlick, and the way it falls on his forehead is kind of endearing. It’s not long per se, but it has just enough length to become unruly when not styled.

He straightens his back and squarely looks at me, showing me his face. And damn if it’s not one of the best-looking faces I’ve ever seen—a square jaw with a five o’clock shadow accenting sharp cheekbones and a straight nose. His brows are dark and arched to follow the curve of almond-shaped eyes. And, when he looks back at me through thick lashes, it’s the dark blue eyes that make my breath hitch.

He must notice my reaction because he squints at me, questioning my thoughts.

I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders back at him before giving them a shrug and saying in my most nonchalant voice, “If I had a face like yours, I’d cover it up, too.”

Instead of being insulted, he just stares. His head tilts a touch, appraising me. It’s like he thinks I’m lying. About what, I don’t know.

As I make my way back to his car, a group of men turn a corner behind him. They’re a full block away, and by the way they’re looking at his car, I don’t think they’ll be stopping to simply chat about the gas mileage.

I open the door and secure myself in the passenger seat.

“About time,” he says out loud as he struts back to his side and gets in.

He cranks the engine and quickly releases the clutch, roaring the exhaust as we drive away. The sound vibrates through my body. When I get a good look at the guys who are glaring back at us, my stomach turns. That wasn’t my smartest moment, and I’m glad he gave in so fast.

“What’s your address?” he asks bluntly.

“Take me back to the race.”

“Beckett’s not there. Fucker took off as soon as the sirens blared, and if he stayed, the cops took him in. Wouldn’t matter either way because he’s never coming back — I won the race. Besides, what do you care? He gave you up, remember?” He tsks, tsks and then shows me a devilish smirk. “Here’s a thought; let’s go back to his place.”

I clench my jaw at the thought. “Oh, so now, you want to look like the big badass who not only beat him, but also stole his girl?”

“No, I like the term knight in shining armor better. You know, the guy who swoops in to save the girl from the big, bad wolf.”

“I think you’re getting your fairy tales and nursery rhymes mixed up. Your mouth is as big as your ego.”

“Better to eat you with, my dear.”

He’s toying with me, and I can’t decipher if he’s always like this or just trying to make me squirm, which I am … but not in the frightened way.

Whatever the case might be, I need to get home. “I live in the Mission, on the corner of Sixteenth and Valencia.”

He seems to know where it is because he just nods and slightly sits back.

We drive in silence. His eyes are focused on the road, as if he’s appreciating every curve like that of a beautiful woman’s body. We’re on the side streets of a seedy part of town, yet his eyes widen in anticipation as he makes each turn.

When he hops onto the freeway toward the Bay Bridge, it’s like his soul had been set free, and he leans back fully, enjoying the freedom of the open road.

He must feel my stare because he turns his head and raises a questioning brow.

“Did you expect me to recognize you?” I ask.

He swallows as he considers my question. “Well, yeah. I’m kind of famous.”

Okay, so he’s not a serial killer, but he can’t be that famous because I’m looking right at him, and I still have no clue who he is. “Like Justin Bieber famous?”

“I should have left you with the fucking meth heads.” He pulls at the collar of his sweatshirt.