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“You have exactly thirty seconds to figure it out while I’m in a generous mood,” he bites out, nostrils flaring. “If you can’t come up with something, I’ll have to take Della shopping with me. Maybe I can get it out of her what you want.”
I gasp, like he’s punched me in the stomach, and gape at him. He’s not going anywhere alone with my sister. I don’t trust him not to irrevocably ruin her. At least I’m older and stronger. I can bounce back better than she can. She’s little and fragile and mine to protect.
An idea forms in my head so suddenly, and absolutely perfect, I almost cry in relief.
“A car,” I say, meeting his stare. “A really, really expensive car.”
His brow lifts, clearly amused at my show of bitchiness. I guess it’s better than being angry. “A car, huh?”
“A classic car. Something restored to original perfection,” I continue, letting the idea really transform in my mind. “I don’t know much about cars, but I know the sixties were a good era. I want it black, too.”
Old. Untraceable. An unassuming color. And fast.
In a vehicle like that, I wouldn’t need much of a plan. Just a head start. He wouldn’t be able to track me like he could a new Tesla or Range Rover. We could get out of his crosshairs. Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by excitement.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Dad says, dipping down to kiss my forehead. “Anything to make you happy.” He steps back, studying me with narrowed eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to call Gareth back. I love you.”
I can’t say the words back. The smile I give him is wobbly and forced but he accepts it. As soon as he’s gone, I lock the door behind him and go into my closet to look for my phone. It’s still shoved under a heap of clothes where I’d left it.
Ford left a few texts, but I need to hear his voice again. To apologize for running out on him when he was only trying to help. He answers immediately. There are voices in the background—people talking and laughing—and it makes me wonder if he’s in our building lobby, though it usually isn’t so busy.
“Laundry.”
My heart does a twist inside my chest. I close my eyes, imagining his dark, maple syrup eyes and his scent that reminds me of spices and the salty sea.
“Hey, Chevy.”
“Everything okay?” He must go someplace a little quieter because the background noise is muted. Maybe he’s in his car now.
“I’m sorry for doing that to you,” I blurt out. “You were only trying to help. It felt good, but…”
“It felt good,” he parrots, his voice carrying a slight, angry edge.
“Great. It felt great,” I assure him so his precious ego won’t take a beating. “I wish I could have made you feel good too. Like that. It’s just…my life is a mess. You’ve come into my life at exactly the wrong time.”
“What every guy wants to hear,” he deadpans.
I smile, imagining him pout. “It was nice to have someone to turn to, though. Even when you’re being all crazy or confusing me, you bring me comfort and make me feel safe.”
“Are you friend-zoning me, Laundry?”
“Ha. Like you’d allow that.”
“You’re beginning to learn what sort of man you’re dealing with.”
Am I though? He’s still such a mystery.
He lets out a deep sigh. “I miss you, babe.”
“You literally just had your hand in my pants.”
“You know what I mean,” he growls, sounding pissed. “I didn’t get enough time with you.”
“I think you’re toxic for me,” I admit in a whisper. “See you Monday.”
We hang up and I go to my pictures to look for the one I saved into a folder called “Files for English Class.” Hidden in another folder called “Citations” is a picture of Ford.
Lazy, arrogant smile.
Dark messy hair.
Hooded maple eyes.
I miss you too, Chevy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sparrow
The black Mercedes pulls up to the curb, deposits Landry like she’s trash, and then zooms off. She stares after it, a frown marring her pretty face. Goddamn, I like looking at her.
I whistle from the inside of my car. My window is down so I have an unobstructed view of this girl. “Get in, Laundry.”
Her grin is brilliant and wide for me. Dazzling like the sun. I almost have the urge to rip off my sunglasses in order to see every detail, even if it blinds me in the process.
She opens the door and tosses her bag into the backseat. Then, she slides into the passenger seat, closing herself in with me. I roll up the window to give us privacy before leaning over the console to grab hold of her. My hand slides into her silky golden tresses and I tighten my hold on her, drawing her to me.
“Kiss me, babe.”
She smiles wider and then her lips are on mine—eager and desperate. I groan against her mouth. Fuck, she tastes so good. Like vanilla and mine. To drive home that last thought, I nip at her bottom lip. She moans, though it sounds a little pained. Pulling back, I note the small scab on her lip.
