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Though I can admit, he got to me. The way he looked at me, his gaze penetrating me like he saw something more than what’s on the outside. I smile, touching my lips as if his words were whispered against them. It wasn’t the words exchanged that had me hanging onto each one of them. It was the way his eyes would settle on my mouth, the lick of his own lips, and then his tone wrapping around me like a warm blanket that had me eager for more.
Feelings that out of control, zipping through me like a live wire would have had me acting carelessly. I don’t have the same luxury like they do in Hollywood.
I swipe on lipstick. Neutral, like my outfit. We’re never supposed to stand out but instead to blend into the surroundings when working. I roll my eyes. Heaven forbid someone catches us doing our job.
Grabbing my keys, I yank open the door in a rush to be outside when Dane arrives. “See you later, Amanda.” My roommate was in the shower moments ago, so I’m not sure if she hears me.
“Bye, Lark,” echoes from the bathroom.
I grin and start to close the door, but it’s pulled open. Wrapped in a towel, she peeks around with wet hair stuck to her shoulders, and asks, “Are you going out later?”
“Doubt it. I won’t get home until midnight.”
Her shoulders drop. “I was hoping you’d make it. Gavin’s playing tonight with the new band. I hear some of the band is single.”
“Yeah,” I reply, debating if I should go after work. “I’ll see how I feel, but don’t wait on me. Okay?”
“Text me if you decide to come, and I’ll send you the address.”
Amanda’s been my best friend since elementary school. She was a transfer student. I was . . .broken. Somehow, this girl who should have had it all if looks were currency—hazel eyes and hair the color of warm sunshine—was put into my path when I needed a friend the most. We may be opposites, but our friendship stuck. We rarely fight, though we act like sisters. I have her back, and she’s got mine.
Yet I know better than to tell her about the gas station encounter. She means well, but landing a boyfriend isn’t at the top of my agenda. If she even gets a whiff that I’ve been around someone in what she has decided is “my dating range,” she’ll never let up. Also, judging by his friends’ car and going by what the jerk cashier said, I think he might be from Beacon Pointe. That would make sense since I’ve never seen him around this part of town.
Everyone around here has strong opinions about the wealthy families that live north of town. Amanda’s thoughts may be kinder than most, but the pressure to land a trust-fund boyfriend would be intense. So I save the good stuff for another time and keep Harbor all to myself.
Why am I even thinking about him?I’ll probably never see him again.
“If I don’t make it out, have fun without me.” Walking through the tiny entry space, I turn back before reaching the main exterior door and point my finger back at her. “But not too much, and if you do, I’ve got a bail fund.”
She laughs. “You’re always broke.”
Shrugging, I laugh. “I’m resourceful, though.”
“That you are, Lark.”
I hurry across the squeaking wood floor and burst through the door, landing on the sidewalk. After a quick scan down the street in both directions, I check the time. “Come on, Dane. Where are you?”
The sound of a vehicle backfiring, Dane Brody’s truck to be specific, has me looking back down the street.
The beat-up white Chevy stops at the curb. Dane leans over and pops the door open for me. “Sorry. I got caught up.”
I hop in and pull the seat belt across my chest. “You know Larry docks our pay if we’re even a second late.”
“Larry can fuck off.”
“That’s all well and good, but I need the money.”
He’s wise enough not to keep going down the path of bashing our boss because he needs the money as much as I do.
He takes off just in time to hit what feels like every red light in this town. I hate being late, and Dane has a knack for it. He’s my ride, though, so I can’t complain.Out loud, at least.Sitting at the last one before the road that leads to the estates, I grumble. “Figures.”
“Tell me about it.” He turns up the radio, catching a Johnny Cash song. My dad listens to Johnny, which is the only reason I know who it is. Thinking about Dad, I send him a quick text:Still on for Sunday?
He doesn’t get off work for another hour, so I’m not surprised when I don’t receive a response.
The town of Beacon disappears in the rearview mirror, the spires of the university along with it. In front of us, the street stretches into the distance like a runway to the blue sky ahead. While working for Larry, I’ve helped cater parties beyond the tall trees many times. The trees give the privacy, protecting the estates beyond them, but I just can’t seem to get used to the grandeur beyond the gates.
What must it be like when every penny doesn’t need to count?
