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I clench my backpack strap, and then whimper as my bruised and reddened knuckles blaze with pain. I think I hurt myself more throwing that punch than the person who received it.
A noisy, souped-up car approaches behind me, but my stomach is revolving a hundred times a minute. I don’t recognize the sound until it’s far too late to duck down a side street or into a store.
A black Camaro pulls up next to me, the engine throbbing, and dismay tumbles through me.
The driver rolls the windows down and thumping bass spills out. A mocking voice asks, “Alone again? Where are your friends, high-school girl?”
I can’t deal with my stepfather right now on top of everything else. I keep walking and staring straight ahead.
The engine cuts, a car door slams, and Laz steps onto the sidewalk in front of me. Sunlight dapples his broad shoulders, and the wind ruffles his dark hair. Behind his sunglasses, his brows are drawn tightly together.
There’s genuine concern on his face. “What’s happened?”
“Who says anything’s happened?”
“Your face, Bambi. You look like someone ran over your kitten.”
I give him the finger and step around him. “Don’t call me Bambi. I’m fine.”
Laz grabs my wrist, and my middle finger is right in his face. “I don’t believe you. Get in the car.”
I try to twist out of his hold, but his hand is like steel. “Piss off, Laz!”
Laz’s eyes flash. “Get in the car or I’ll put you over my knee and spank you right here in the street.”
I wince as a couple walking their dog nearby turns to look at us. “Don’t be so crude.”
“I can be cruder if you don’t do as I say,” he says in a threatening voice. “How about I start describing the way you ground your wet pussy all over my fingers? Loudly.”
My eyes narrow. He wouldn’t dare.
Laz takes a deep breath and opens his mouth.
“Okay, I’m going. Keep your voice down.” I yank open the passenger door and get into the front seat. I’ve been ignoring him since he humiliated me at dinner four nights ago. He hates it in our house, but why does he have to take his bad temper out on me?
Stupid question. I know why.
It’s fun for him, and he thinks I’m pathetic.
If only he knew the real reason I keep my mouth shut. That I’m biding my time and saving my pennies, and the second I graduate high school, I’ll be gone like a shot. Mom and my uncles will never have to look at the Bianchi family shame ever again.
The interior of Laz’s car is gleaming and perfect and smells like leather and him. When he gets in and starts the engine, I glance at his large, tattooed hands on the steering wheel. There’s something captivating about the way he manhandles the stick shift into place as he guns the engine and turns the wheel. It’s a totally ordinary thing that he must have done a thousand times before, and yet the churning in my belly suddenly settles and is replaced by a fluttering sensation.
Laz isn’t special. Men just look attractive when they’re driving, and any man driving this car would look hot. Connor, my ex-boyfriend, could be counted in the top three hottest guys in school, and to prove the point to myself, I picture him in Laz’s place.
I scrunch my nose as I imagine it. Or not.
Laz glances at me as he steps on the gas, and we roar down the street. “What’s that face for, Bambi? You don’t like my car?”
I love his stupid car. “You do realize Bambi was a boy?”
We drive in tense, uncomfortable silence. I can feel the anger radiating off Laz’s body in waves.
“I’m getting fucking sick of you,” he says through clenched teeth. “If someone’s hurt you, then go do something about it.”
I push my fingers so hard into my palms that my nails feel like they’re going to cut right through flesh. That’s easy for him to say when he’s six-foot-four, ripped, and a man. An intimidating man. Even if I had a black belt in karate, I still have these stupid big brown eyes. No one takes your threats seriously when you resemble a terrified woodland creature.
I shake my head and stare out the window. “You have no idea what it’s like to be me.”
