by Jane Anthony
“Why don’t you take a picture? It will last longer,” I quip, blowing a stream of smoke from the side of my mouth.
“I would if I had a camera.”
“Yeah. Add me to the pile with all the other cover band groupies, right?”
Anthony narrows his gaze. “You think I’m just out for a good time, huh?”
“Aren’t we all?” I shrug.
He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jeans pulling the waistband down over his hip enough that a tanned swath of skin peeks over top of it. “Speak for yourself.”
The accusatory edge in his voice raises my hackles. I stayed out far later than intended for what? One last lingering look? He has heartbreak written all over him, and I’m just a silly little girl standing here for his amusement.
A strong breath gusts from my nose. “Maribelle, let’s get out of here. You’re right. This club is rank.”
“Settle down, tottie. The night is young.” Lizard empties his bottle and drops it on the bar.
“My name is Gabriella,” I correct.
“Miss Donofrio, if you’re nasty,” Anthony adds.
I roll my eyes, tugging Maribelle by the sleeve. “Are you coming, or what?”
She stares off into space as if she’s pondering my question before answering, “What.”
My gaze bounces between her and Lizard. “Are you seriously ditching me for this guy?”
“I’m not ditching you. I’m just not ready to go home yet.”
“I’ll take you home,” Anthony offers.
My face twists in horror. “No, thank you.”
“Why not?”
I grip my jutted hip. “I don’t need my face showing up on any milk cartons.”
A half smile crests his lips. “You think I’m going to abduct you?”
“Ted Bundy was handsome and charming, too. I don’t know you.”
A haughty laugh echoes in his chest. He extends his hand. “Anthony Morello. Twenty-two. Aries. I like heavy guitar riffs and short, smart-assed women. It’s nice to meet you.”
With parted lips, I glare at his outstretched palm. Is this guy for real?
“Now you know me,” he adds, inching forward until his fingers twine around mine. “I promise I’m a good guy. Let me take you home.”
My brain screams “no way, Jose!”, but my head nods up and down. I swear, lightning flashed the second he touched me. It cauterized the cognizant part of my brain that differentiates right from wrong. “Okay.” I turn to Maribelle and wrap my arms around her slender shoulders. The faint scent of Exclamation lingers on her skin, the same perfume I sprayed onto myself right before sneaking out of my bedroom window. “Call me when you get home, okay?”
“I will. Be safe.”
“You, too,” I reply with a wink.
Anthony says goodbye to his friend and saunters toward the exit with me close behind. The cool night air blasts my hot skin. I pull a refreshing breath into my lungs, holding it in until it hurts and I have to let it out.
This is insane. I’ve seen enough episodes of America’s Most Wanted to know how stupid it is to get in a stranger’s car. We weave through the lot and stop at a dark gray hunk of junk parked at the edge. He tugs hard on the handle, but I hesitate before climbing in. “I don’t fuck random guys on the first date. Just so you know.”
“That’s cool. Neither do I,” he replies, waiving me inside.
Chills cling to the smooth leather as I settle into the passenger seat, the scents of pine and grease swirling around the dusty cab.
He slams the door and rounds the hood before slipping in beside me. When he turns the key, rock music blares over the grumbling engine. He reaches for the knob and the radio goes silent, but thunder still roars beneath the slick hood. “Where to?”
“Um . . .” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I contemplate what to say. It’s probably not a good idea to let this guy take me to my house. I can’t risk the growl of this beast waking my entire neighborhood. “It’s . . . uh . . . exit fifty-three off the highway.”
He offers a curt nod and fondles the eight-ball stick shift.
“Your car is really loud.”
He chucks a smile my way, then settles his eyes back on the road. “That’s over four hundred horses rumbling under your ass.”
I have no idea what that means, but I grin and nod anyway in case I’m supposed to. The moon hangs halfway in the sky, shining a direct beam of silvery light through the windows, but it does little to enhance the dull gray paint.
“I got this car at auction and rebuilt the engine. Still needs work, but vintage Corvette parts are kind of expensive. Thinking I might just hammer out some of the dents and give it a fresh paint job for now.”
“You know a lot about cars.”
“I rock hard and drive fast.” The car growls as he grabs the shifter and slams it into gear. Vibrations slither up the backs of my legs, shooting microscopic pops of pleasure between them. “What about you? What are you into?”
“Nothing really.” I shrug.
“Well, what are you studying?”
“Excuse me?”
He glances my way. “In college.”
Oh, shit.
Think fast.
“Finance,” I blurt, then close my eyes at how positively dorky it sounds.
He purses his lips and bobs his head. “Finance, huh?”
“I’m good with numbers.” My stomach lurches with embarrassment. The hottest guy I’ve ever seen is talking about cars and music, and all I have to offer him is math. He’s the John Bender to my Brian Johnson. I can already hear him calling me a neo-maxi zoom dweebie and kicking my nerdy ass to the curb.
“So, your plan is what? Wall Street? Big shoulder pads and insider trading?”
Laughter rolls in my chest. “Not exactly. Maybe I’ll be a CPA. Own my own business.”
“A girl with goals. I like it.” He pulls behind a lime green Gremlin driving slow as molasses, then, working the shifter again, weaves out from behind it. “I’m saving for my own business, too.”
I press my left hip deeper into the bucket seat. “Oh yeah?”
He gifts me another quick glance, accompanied with a lopsided grin that makes my heart flutter. “Yeah. I wanna fix up old cars and make ’em new. My own garage: Morello’s Restoration.” He waves his raised palm through the air to mock the signage on the invisible building. “Someday.”
“Until then, you’ll spend your time playing guitar and chauffeuring strange girls home.”
“I don’t think you’re strange,” he replies with a goose-bump-inducing wink.
“Thanks. Make a right at the exit.” I point the direction as he peels off the highway and slows down at an oncoming traffic light.
I direct him to stop at the corner of my sleepy street before reaching for the handle. “Thanks for the ride.” My fingers graze the silver metal but resist the need to wrap around it. I can’t tell if it’s the pulsing drum of the idling engine or the gorgeous man driving it, but my entire body still quivers from head to toe.
“Gabriella, wait.” Anthony’s hand falls on mine, his fingertips lightly touching my thigh. I look down at it at first before dragging my gaze up to his chocolate stare. “Can I have your number?”
Nerves dance around my gut like leaves flapping in a monsoon. “I don’t have a pen.”
He quirks a single brow, cocking his head ever so slightly. “I’m pretty good with numbers, too.”
My lips part then slam shut. I can’t give him my number. He thinks I’m a college student studying finance. If he knew I was only seventeen, he wouldn’t have even looked twice in my direction.
This is the part where you leave, Gabriella.
I find the strength to squeeze the handle, and the door swings open with a creak. “If it’s meant to be, we’ll see each other again,” I whisper, but my body moves in the opposite direction. I should be running from this car and climbing back in the safety of my window before my father starts his morning routine, but i
nstead I find myself leaning closer to Anthony.
My lips brush against his cheek, but his fingers drench in the hair at the nape of my neck and pull me closer. My heart hammers hard against my rib cage. Under the dim glow of the console light, his mouth finds mine. Soft at first, a sweet slip against my lips, but it drains me of my power. I sag against his sturdy frame, letting him hold me up as his tongue sweeps across my teeth.
The taste of trouble lingers on my lips, the fiery flames of heat licking up my cheeks and thighs. I shake my head, trying to erase the memory like the embedded lines on an Etch-A-Sketch, but it's useless.
I can’t think.
I can’t speak.
I can’t breathe.
A single touch is all took. The force of one little kiss knocked me senseless. I can barely move from under its spell.
“Thanks, again,” I mutter as I scramble from the car, and I don’t stop until I’ve reached my house.
Chapter Two
ANTHONY
Gabriella runs from my car like her ass is catching fire. I’ve never seen a chick move so fast to get away from me.
Do I stink?
Pinching my shirt with my thumb and forefinger, I lift it to my nose before letting it snap back to my chest. Smells like cotton and cigarettes. The familiar fragrance of a night at the bar, but nothing offensive enough to make the girl haul ass the way she did.
Confused, I sit in the car and watch as her slender body moves farther away until it’s swallowed whole by the black night.
I run my tongue across my bottom lip, swallowing the lingering taste of cloves, all I have left of the gorgeous girl I brought home. A kiss. One single, sweet kiss that I thought she wanted, yet somehow, I now feel as though I stole.
Thing is, I wanted to kiss her the moment I saw her trying to pass off that ridiculous fake ID. It started out innocent. Less than two years ago, the legal drinking age rose from eighteen to twenty-one — a law I think is major bullshit. I was merely providing a service, an attempt to stick it to the man, but when she turned to look at me, my heart skipped a beat. It was her eyes. Cow eyes. Big, dark, and round like saucers sitting two inches above a set of cherry lips.
Then she spoke.
A shitstorm of stunning sarcasm fell between those spectacular lips, giving my chest the kickstart it needed. I felt like Nikki Sixx. Strung out and itching for the tiniest hit of whatever she had to offer.
A surprise. That’s what she was.
One I never expected when I showed up at the Junkyard earlier this evening.
And now I’m sitting in my car, shocked as hell, wishing I could redo the past thirty seconds of the night.
I’ve never had a girl run away from me before. Literally run as if she were scared. She left me high and dry, the flavor of her gloss on my mouth the makings of a rock-hard erection squeezing against my zipper.
I didn’t even get her number.
Now, as I swing the car around and head back toward my house, all I can hope for is that she’ll come back to the Junkyard and I can see her again.
Chapter Three
GABRIELLA
The clock squeals like a five-alarm fire drill. Exhausted, I roll over and slap the air in the vague direction of the sound without opening my eyes. I feel like I just went to bed. How is it morning already?
Thoughts of last night fight the fog in my lethargic brain. Anthony. Christ on a cracker, I need to stop thinking about him. Even now, I toss and turn, picturing his eyes, his smile, his hair, his chest, his lips . . .
Heat smolders between my thighs as I stare up at the ceiling remembering that kiss. I rub my knees together to extinguish the flames, but it’s futile at best.
Pushing to a sitting position, I reach for the phone on my bedside table. My thumbs move across the backlit keypad, typing in the seven digits to Maribelle’s personal line.
She’s so friggin’ lucky.
I would kill for my own phone line, but my dad was only willing to go so far as to get one of those teen party lines. I suspect it’s because he listens in on my calls. No trust in this house. Ever.
I tug on the wire, twirling my fingers in the coil as the phone rings. Once, twice, three times . . . My heart begins to race. For all I know, Lizard has her tied up in his house somewhere and is using her to cast demonic spells. Good thing for her she’s not a virgin.
“What?”
Maribelle’s angry grunt calms my nerves. I grip the phone tighter to my ear, keeping my voice low. “What time did you get home last night?”
“I dunno. The sun was coming up.”
“Everything okay?”
“Besides this wicked hangover? Yeah.” Sheets rustle through the receiver. “No way I’m going to school today.”
“You’re ditching?”
“Told my mom I had the stomach flu.”
“Brilliant.”
“Right? She’s so gullible.”
I stifle a giggle, throwing the covers off my bare legs and hanging them off the edge of my bed. I would give anything to crawl back in, but we both know that’s never going to happen. “You’re so lucky. I could be bleeding out my eyes, and my dad would still make me go to school.”
“Sucks to be you, babe. Call me later.”
“Will do. Bye.” I set the phone back down on the receiver, then move about my room, making quick work of getting myself ready, which is no easy feat when I feel like death warmed over.
The scents of maple and sugar waft up the stairs as I descend, spinning a vomitus cyclone inside my gut. I just need to get through the morning, then I can nap in first period. I can’t believe Maribelle’s not coming today.
God damned flat-leaver.
Skirt pleats swish around my thighs. I tug on the hem until it sits a mere millimeter lower than my fingertips. Accepted length for all skirts, according to the drill sergeant standing at the stove.
“Morning, Dad,” I say, sliding into my seat at the table. A tear in the yellow pleather pinches my thigh, and I wince without saying a word.
Dad comes around and drops a steaming bowl of oatmeal on the floral placemat. “You slept late. You feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little tired.”
“Well, eat up before it gets cold.”
I lift my spoon but don’t make a move to stab it into the soggy oats as he takes a seat across from me. The newspaper sits folded neatly on the table next to a steaming mug with the phrase You really nailed this dad thing printed amongst various cartoon tools. A gift I bought him at the school fair when I was eleven. Coincidentally, the same year I started to grow boobs and he stopped treating me like a human being.
Things would have been different if Mom were around.
Her picture still hangs at the foot of our stairs. A beautiful brunette with thick, cat-eye liner and an easy smile that makes me wish I knew her. When I was a little girl, I used to talk to the photograph and pretend she was listening. As if that one framed image was a direct line to heaven.
God, I was so stupid.
Dad lifts his mug and takes a slurping sip as he fingers the edge of his newspaper. “You should stop using that aerosol hairspray,” he announces out of nowhere.
I lift a brow. “Why?”
“Says here that the use of aerosol containers pouring a gas into the air is being blamed for a hole in the atmospheric shield against cancer-causing ultraviolet rays.” He takes another quick sip, then sets his mug down with a tap on the Formica. “It’s creating a blanket of carbon dioxide, allowing heat to accumulate in the atmosphere. Sort of like a green-house effect.”
“I highly doubt the demise of the planet is in the hands of Aqua Net, Dad.”
“Don’t sass me, young lady. Eat your oatmeal.”
I blow out a deep breath but wouldn’t dare let out the sigh tingling in my throat. “I gotta go. Maribelle isn’t going to school today, so looks like I’m walking.”
He looks up from his paper. “Maribelle sick?”
“Stomach bug. I’m sure
she’ll be fine tomorrow.”
“Whatever it is, I hope you don’t catch it. You spend too much time with that girl as it is.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, yeah, she’s my best friend.”
“You should spend more time worrying about your schoolwork and less time gallivanting around with your friend.”
Heat rolls up my cheeks and stings my eyes. “In six months, you aren’t going to have to worry about it anymore, are you?”
Dad exhales a labored breath and uncrosses his legs. “I’m not having this conversation again, Gabriella. You aren’t running off to Los Angeles, and that’s the end of it.”
“But Dad, UCLA is a great school, and my grades are good enough that I can get a partial scholarship to pay for housing.”
“I am the one footing the bill, and I said no. You’ll stay here and commute. There’s nothing wrong with the local college.”
I don’t bother to point out that the fact that it’s local means there’s everything wrong with it. Maribelle and I have talked about going to California our whole lives. Now she’s going, and I’m forced to stay here against my will. It’s not fair.
I cross my arms over my chest. “In a few months, I’ll be eighteen, and you won’t have a say anymore.”
He stands, glaring down at me over the bridge of his nose. “Long as you live under this roof, I’ll always have a say. Now grab your things. I’ll drive you to school.”
The irony of his words are a smack in the face. All I’m trying to do is get out from under this roof, and he won’t allow it. I need some space, some room to breathe without him in my face every second of every day. “No thanks, I’ll walk,” I shoot, pushing to my feet.
But he pulls his shoulders back and squares his stance, his nostrils flaring with anger despite the calmness of his demeanor. “I said I will drive you.”
With a huff, I spin on my heels and stomp to the living room, grabbing my backpack on the way. My gaze drifts past the smiling face of my mother on the wall. I silently curse her for leaving me alone with a controlling father as I throw open the front door and run outside.