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Beside her, Coach stood, and the bleachers wobbled with a creak and a sigh. “Better let you go,” she said. “Looks like there’s someone here to see you.”
“Go away.”
Isobel forced herself to look straight at him as she said it. He’d followed her all the way from the gym to her locker, wearing that cocky grin, his lips curled up on one side, dimple displayed.
And that smirk combined with the way his wet hair hung in his face? So hot.
Isobel pivoted away from him, doing her best to remember her locker combination, but stopped when he reached out and began to turn the dial for her.
She swatted his hand aside and spun the rest of the numbers on her own, making a mental note to change the combination later.
When she tugged at the handle, the door stuck, and before she could stop him, Brad gave the bottom left corner a quick, rough kick. The door popped out.
“I said, go away!” she snarled.
First she got her binder, the one she’d left over the weekend, resolving to do her algebra tonight since she no longer had friends to go out with. Next she reached in to snag her cardigan, only to find that it had disappeared off the little hook inside. She blinked, then turned to find it draped by the collar off the tip of Brad’s finger.
“Stop!” She snatched the sweater away and pulled it on, juggling her binder from arm to arm in the process. He stood there, watching, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.
Infuriated, she slammed her locker closed, shouldered her gym bag, and marched toward the front doors.
“Just so I have this straight,” he called after her, “you don’t want a ride home?”
“No.”
Isobel shoved open the push-bar door with her hip. A rush of cool, moist air blasted her in the face, whipping her hair into a frenzy as she slipped out to stand on the concrete steps.
The trees in the yard tossed their arms around as if hailing a warning, their yellows and reds flashing. A few dry leaves skipped and tumbled along the empty bus drive as though heading for cover.
The sky, looming gray, emitted a low rumble.
She could call her mom, she thought, but Mondays were her yoga nights, so she probably already had her phone off. Of course, she could call her dad. He was probably already home from work, but then she’d have to field the barrage of Brad-centric questions, since he was usually the one who gave her a ride home anyway.
She looked over her shoulder at Brad.
Cocking an eyebrow at her, he waggled his car keys.
Isobel loved how Brad’s face felt after he’d shaved that morning, smooth but still not completely soft. There was an underlying roughness to it that she liked to feel against the tips of her fingers and with her cheek while they kissed, a sensation like tempered sandpaper. She breathed him in as his mouth sought hers, savoring the smell of his cologne, musky and sharp all at once.
Outside, thunder rolled.
Steam coated the windows of Brad’s Mustang. Light rain pattered against the glass while the radio softly buzzed on a pop station.
On their way to Isobel’s house, Brad had pulled over into one of the vacant gravel lots of Cherokee Park. He’d said he’d wanted to talk, but so far they’d done more making out than talking. But that was okay with Isobel. She was ready for things to go back to normal, and if that meant just dropping the whole thing and pretending like it never happened, that was more than fine with her.
She felt Brad’s hands slip to her shoulders, where they burrowed between the fabric of her sweater and her T-shirt, coaxing the cardigan back. Isobel shrugged and jostled her shoulders to aid the shedding of the outer layer. Despite the drop in temperature outside, it had gotten warm in the car.
“Mmm, Brad?” she murmured around his mouth.
He grunted in response, tugging her sweater free from her wrists before slinging it into the back. The leather seats creaked as he leaned in closer to her, his hands traveling lower.
“Mm—what time is it?” she asked, taking his hand and guiding it away from its original path toward her chest, placing it at her waist instead.
He made an “I don’t know” sound, his hand venturing upward again.
“Brad!” She squirmed in his grasp, trying to sound stern, but she had to laugh at his sneaky persistence. He grinned through kissing her and lightly pinched her side, causing her to jolt and wiggle. “Brad, I gotta go home!” she insisted through giggles. “It’s probably seven already, I know it is.”
“You’re just making that up,” he whispered to her, all husky and soft.
