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He crowded me, almost pressured me into answering him. I liked to think I was an independent, strong girl in my own right, and that I didn’t really put up with a lot of shit if I didn’t have to. But men like Braxton didn’t get told no very often, so when they did hear it, I was pretty sure it pissed them off to whole new levels.
That’s why I was sure he kept insisting on talking to me, even though I made it clear I wasn’t interested.
“Just think about it. Bring a couple friends if you want.” He pulled his hands out of his coat pockets and held them up in mock surrender. “I promise it’s all in good fun. We drink, bullshit, and listen to music. That’s it.”
I found that hard to believe, but I just smiled and nodded. It was easier to end the conversation than engage more.
“Don’t you two have somewhere to be, Ms. Bradshaw?”
The sound of Mrs. Pushin’s voice was a thankful interruption and I nodded, muttering I had to go.
“I hope I’ll see you there,” Braxton shouted out, but I kept walking, not bothering to respond. There wouldn’t have been a point.
And even as the distasteful thickness of Braxton’s presence tried to cling to me, I focused on Aiden. And for some reason, that really did help. I didn’t even try to decipher why. I just went with it at the moment, because that was better than the alternative.
Chapter Four
Aiden
I pushed the front door of the school open and headed toward the parking lot. I was using my mom’s old 1990 Pontiac Firebird, one that could have been a “classic,” but it needed so much work done to it, a complete overhaul really, that it was just a sad piece of metal. But it got me to where I needed to go, and that’s all that mattered.
I pulled my car keys out from the front pocket of my jeans and kept my head down as I walked toward the car. Everyone was filing out of the school, and the noise was deafening with car horns honking, guys shouting, girls giggling, and the screech of tires in the near distance.
I’d parked at the far end of the lot, as far away from everyone as I could get. I lifted my head and spotted my mom’s faded red and white Firebird. And when I would start the engine in a few moments, the fucker would rumble so loud it’d vibrate the asphalt.
I could hear the car beside our Pontiac trying to turn over, the engine sputtering. A second later, the sound of the hood being popped came through, and then the driver side door opened. As soon as I saw the mop of auburn hair atop her head, I knew who it was.
Harlow.
I felt this unusual tightening in my belly at the sight of her.
She hadn’t noticed me yet as she made her way around the front of her car and lifted the hood of her little Honda Civic. She stared at the guts of the car for so long I knew she didn’t know what to make of it.
“Trouble?” I asked and made my way toward her. She looked up, and I saw her eyes widen a bit before she masked her expression and ran her hands up and down her jeans.
“Yeah. I have no idea what’s wrong with it.” She looked down at the engine, and I saw the way her brows knitted in confusion.
I found it cute as hell.
“Do you know anything about cars?” She sounded so hopeful.
I nodded. “A little bit.” That was a lie. I knew a hell of a lot about fixing cars. I had to in order to fix the Firebird every time the fucker broke down, which seemed to be every month.
“I’m Harlow by the way.”
Oh, I knew, but she didn’t know that.
“Aiden,” I replied.
“I know,” she said softly, and again, I felt this pleasurable twinge consume me. “The new guy who has everyone curious about him.” She gave a nervous laugh, maybe embarrassed she’d said that out loud. “Sorry. That was weird.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “You’re good.”
She moved to the side so I could stand beside her. I braced my hands on the frame of the Civic and looked at the engine. I messed with a few things, checked wires, made sure nothing had gotten loose. It took me a good five minutes of checking shit under the hood before I finally found what the issue was.
I straightened and wiped my hands on my jeans, looking over at her. Damn, she was tiny, probably about a foot shorter than my six-foot-three height. And I couldn’t help but notice how cute her expression was as she stared at the engine again, a look of concentration on her face.
