Page 70 of Detour

Only able to moan my agreement, I savor the fact that I can taste myself on him.

Coty must disagree though because at that exact moment he pulls back with creased eyebrows.

“What?”

Coty doesn’t answer me; however, the loud crack of thunder directly above our heads does. Before we can even react, the fast-moving cloud above us opens up, dumping rain on us.

“Shit!”

We scramble off the hood, scooping up my discarded items, then meet inside the car. The doors shut at the same time and we both break into incredulous laughter.

“I’m soaked,” I declare, pulling on my shorts over my skewed underwear.

“I know. And it was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Why is this the awkward part when I was just spread eagle in front of the guy? “Thank you.”

“For what?” I may not be a pro but I do know only one of us reached orgasm—and by one of us, I do mean me.

His eyes drift down my body before returning to my flushed face. “Thanks for coming up here with me. And for trusting me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I mutter under my breath. I mean…right?

He grabs my hand, placing it on his thigh while he turns the key, saying, “I would.” The Camaro roars to life and we leave our own little slice of heaven, riding the high of our new familiarity.

* * *

I remember sitting in the back seat of one of the nicer cars my mom had finagled her way into—I was seven, maybe eight—and there was this song playing softly, the words too low for me to catch as I studied my fingers, wondering if they looked like my dad’s. They were never painted, always chipped, and one curled around my fingertip if I let it grow out too long, and I thought maybe, just maybe, his were the same way. All of a sudden, the music cut off, I don’t know if it actually did or if it just felt like it, but there was this moment of pure silence—utter peace, almost eerily so—just before everything erupted into total chaos. Someone had blown through a red light, nailing the front end of our car at forty-five miles an hour, causing me to slam my head into the window and shatter the glass.

Looking back, I recognize that hiccup in time as being the calm before the storm. Nature’s way of preparing your senses for the bombardment of overstimulation they’re about to experience.

So when Coty pulls into Creekwood and everything turns static—the song whispering into my ears, the crunch of the tires rolling across the asphalt, the swish of Coty’s jeans under my palm— that’s how I know, that even though there’s not a cloud in sight, the storm beat us home.

In that moment suspended in time, I look over at Coty, soaking in his relaxed posture before everything speeds back up. Before the chaos descends. A hand confidently draped over the steering wheel, a smile playing at his lips, blissfully unaware. Blinded by the afterglow from the lookout, his natural magnetism threatens to pull me in as well. To shield my eyes from the impending danger.

Reluctant to tear my gaze away, I close my eyes and turn my head. A glance out my window brings reality back into focus. A red Honda—new, judging by the plates—fills the space my Jeep usually sits. When I spot familiar shag hair occupying it, my stomach clenches.

I remove my hand from Coty’s thigh to shoot off a quick text to Drew, asking if he’s seen my mom lately. He did spill the beans to Coty after all. Well, some of them. He wouldn’t tell her where I live though.

But then, how else did she find me?

Coty’s eyebrows dip as he parks. Through the mirror, I watch in horror as my mother gets out and leans against the driver’s door, inspecting my new residence with an interest that makes my skin prickle.

Shit.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Coty reaches a hand out that I promptly dodge.

She shouldn’t be here. She can’t see him.

My phone pings with notification after notification. Drew. He’s worried but I brush off his offers to help. I need to stand on my own or not at all. Plus, him showing up will only add to the circus currently camped at Creekwood.

On an exhale, I turn to Coty who’s watching his rearview mirror closely. “Is that your mom?”

I scoff. “Kind of.” Only in the literal sense. “Can we leave? I don’t care where we go. Will you just drive me away right now?”

I look back to see Rianne zeroed in on the black sports car with a sick smirk. I know that look— well.

Beckett’s Tahoe pulls up next to Coty then, the loud bass shaking our seats as we glance over at his roommates wearing matching frowns.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I grit and jump out like the Camaro caught fire. Or maybe I’m the one burning up.