by Tara West
When his fingers brushed my knee I was tempted to scoot away, but something in his gaze had me transfixed. I swear the boy was a magician, or maybe he was a witch, too, and he had the power to charm.
I pulled my hand closer to my chest, wincing as the throbbing pain began to quicken. The ice pack in my hand was melting. I’d need to replace it soon.
He held out a hand and eyed me with one brow raised. “Let me see your hand.”
I shook my head. “Don’t touch it.”
He flashed that sideways smile, and I read the playfulness in his eyes. “Baby.”
“It hurts,” I pouted, but even as my mind told me to resist, I found myself offering my hand to him.
He let out a low whistle when he pulled away the baggie of ice the nurse had given me. My fingers were still ugly and red, but much of the swelling had gone down.
“Next time,” he scolded, “you’ll be more careful.”
I bit my lip, wishing so badly I could have told him the truth, or at least come up with a better story other than I had accidentally grabbed a Bunsen Burner in science class. He probably thought I was a moron.
“Okay,” I groaned, “lesson learned. Do you have to keep reminding me I’m an idiot?”
He shook his head, snickering while averting his gaze. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
“Yes, you do,” I joked. “But don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson.”
Or had I? Despite the pain in my fingers, some stupid part of me was longing to touch Ethan Maeson again. I knew his scalding me had been an accident, and maybe, like me, he was still learning how to control his powers. But even as the throbbing intensified, I couldn’t help but have second thoughts. Not to mention the fact I already had a very hot (but not in the burning way) and very interested guy with me right now. So why couldn’t I stop pining over Ethan?
Frankie filled my baggie with ice from his soda and pressed it against my palm.
“Ahhhh,” I moaned, as the throbbing subsided. “Thank you.” I looked into his warm eyes and smiled.
That’s when I noticed something in his features was off, as if he had gone from a confident hottie, to an unsure, awkward teen.
He cleared his throat while averting his gaze. “Sorry about my grandparents.” A reddish glow fanned his cheeks.
I knew the guy was embarrassed for his family, and curse me for feeling sorry for him.
“Who is Carlos?” I asked.
Frankie rolled his eyes. “My uncle.”
I started at him for a long moment. I knew I was gawking, but I couldn’t help it. “She thinks you’re your uncle?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Where’s Carlos?” I asked, but something deep inside me warned I was drudging up old memories—hurtful memories.
Or maybe those were Frankie’s thoughts warning me. A wave of sorrow washed over me as I looked into his pain-stricken eyes. “He died before I was born.”
“What about the dog?” I asked.
He shook his head. “He’s dead, too.”
That’s when I knew exactly what Frankie was dealing with. I knew his grandmother had reminded me of someone: my great-aunt Cella. My mom used to take me to see her at the nursing home when I was a little girl.
I swallowed hard as I thought of the right words to say. “My mom’s aunt had dementia,” I said. “She was just like your grandma.”
“Yeah, it blows,” he groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. “Sorry about the house. I haven’t had time to clean it.”
“So your grandpa has been taking care of her all this time?” I asked.
He nodded. “He didn’t always used to drink so much.”
This totally sucked. Frankie’s parents had sent him here to avoid their drama, but I feared his new living situation was even worse. “Do your parents know what’s going on?”
Frankie’s expression darkened, and his neck and shoulders visibly tensed. “I don’t think they’d give a shit.” Then he stood and crossed the small distance to the weathered dresser. He faced away from me and grabbed the sides of the wood until his knuckled whitened. “I don’t want to talk about my family anymore.”
Again, just like that day in my kitchen, Frankie’s feelings of rejection and depression, driven by a strong sense of guilt, washed over me. I didn’t know what to say to comfort him, so I said nothing at all, clutching my sore fingers as I waited for him to calm down.
Finally, he turned and faced me. His eyes were glossy with what looked like unshed tears. “It was worse with my parents,” he said, casting his gaze to the worn, shag carpet. “My grandpa lets me drive his car. I can come and go as I please. Nobody’s screaming at me.”
Instinct fueled my movements as I jumped to my feet and practically rushed to him. Despite the discomfort in my hand, I wrapped my arms around his neck. Frankie didn’t hesitate to hug me back. He circled his strong arms around my backside, and it felt good. He pulled me close, pressing me against his hard chest. I gasped at the feel of his warmth encompassing me as his heady cologne accosted my senses.
Oh, not good. So not good.
I had meant for this to be a friendship hug, nothing more, but my damn hormones collided with his freaking hot body, and we combusted like fire and gasoline. Before I knew it, his lips had found mine, soft and warm and inviting. I was leaning into him, deepening the kiss and crying out for more.
History, Sophie, not chemistry.
But I couldn’t help myself. Sometime during our make out session, I had dropped my ice pack on the floor. I vaguely remembered the muffled sound of it hitting the carpet, but I hardly cared—until my hand began to throb like hell.
I pulled away, gasping for air.
Frankie tilted my chin with his fingers and forcing me to look into his smoky gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to study,” I rasped.
“It’s that Ethan kid, isn’t it?”
The accusatory tone behind his question threw me off guard. My jaw dropped and I stared up at him. Though I wanted to deny it, I couldn’t help my feelings for Ethan. Maybe it was because he was a witch like me. Maybe it was because I felt like I could be myself around him. I had no idea what exactly drew me to Ethan, but there was something between us I didn’t want to let go. I knew if I went all the way with Frankie, there was no going back to Ethan.
“I’m sorry.” I breathed out a resonant sigh.
He pulled me to him, his words a heated breath in my ear. “I should have never moved away. I should have stayed and taken care of my grandma, and then you’d still be my girl.”
“Frankie…” I said on a rush of air, but whatever else I wanted to say to him wouldn’t come out. What could I possibly say to the boy when I didn’t understand my own heart?
What’s he gonna think if I don’t get this girlfriend? Frankie’s cryptic thought projected into my head.
I jerked, wanting to look into Frankie’s eyes, but forcing myself to look away. Who was ‘he’ and what exactly did Frankie mean by ‘this girlfriend?’
I stepped away from Frankie and grabbed my ice pack and then my book bag off the floor. “You and I have a lot we need to work through. I’m pretty sure this test is mostly going to cover the Revolutionary War. We need to go over a timeline.”
Though I heard Frankie swear, I chose to ignore it. I also tried my best to ignore my stupid hormones, which were practically screaming at me for ruining my perfect moment with the boy of my dreams.
I stifled a groan as I sank onto Frankie’s bed and flipped open my history book. I had the feeling we were in for a long night.
Chapter Six
As Frankie and I sat in his Papí’s car on the side of the road, and I watched with dread, the red and blue strobe lights flashing in the rearview mirror, I decided this night couldn’t possibly get any worse. After texting my mom and telling her I was studying at Frankie’s house, the doo doo pretty much hit the fan. Guess I should have asked for permission first before going over there, becaus
e obviously my mom didn’t trust me alone with a boy.
I couldn’t help but feel it was my fault Frankie was about to get a speeding ticket. After all, I pretty much freaked when my mom texted me back I’d “better get my butt home pronto,” and she was going to “institute new rules.” She had texted me a bunch more than that, like a whole freaking page of nagging and guilt. And parents said kids texted too much.
What the heck was that cop doing back there, anyway? We must have been sitting in the car for ten minutes waiting for him to come to the window. Was this some kind of game for him? Okay, we get it. We’re not supposed to speed. Now, can you hurry and write Frankie a ticket, so I’m not grounded for life?
“I’m really sorry, Frankie,” I told him for like the hundredth time.
“It’s not your fault, Sophie,” he answered in a strained voice. I could tell he was way tense.
Damn, this was all my fault. I only hoped his Papí wouldn’t be too angry. “What’s taking so long?” I groaned while looking in the rearview mirror.
“He’s probably running the plates.”
Frankie coursed his fingers through his thick, wavy hair. I paused to reflect how incredibly gorgeous he was, and how incredibly stupid I was. He could have been mine.
“My mom got a ticket last year.” I tapped my finger impatiently on the peeling blue door paneling. The car was so old, I swear it had to be a throwback to four decades ago. It had manual locks and a cassette player. It was also as big as a boat. I turned and looked out the back window. It was hard to see anything with those flashing lights, but I could vaguely make out a man’s shadow sitting behind the dash. “I don’t remember it taking this long.”
Frankie rubbed his hands down his face. Lines of worry I’d never remembered seeing before were etched into his forehead. “Maybe it’s because my registration is expired.”
My limbs iced over and it felt like a lead weight sank in my gut. “What? You’re driving with an expired sticker.” I fought to keep the note of panic out of my voice. “You could lose your license for that.”
He shrugged as his gaze darted from me to the rearview mirror. “I don’t have a license.”
I gaped at him for a long moment, hardly believing the boy I’d pined over for a year was really that stupid. “You’ve got to be joking.”
I jerked at the sound of tapping on Frankie’s window. A man who looked to be about as old as my dad was peering into the car. He had on a crisp dark blue police uniform with a shiny metal badge pinned to his chest. His mouth was set in a grim line, his eyes unreadable beneath his darkened shades.
Frankie turned a rusty lever that rolled down the window.
“Yes, officer?” He smiled, all politeness and charm.
Though it had worked once with Sleznick, somehow I doubted it would have the same effect on the cop.
“License and copy of insurance,” the officer said in a gruff voice.
Frankie smiled even wider and batted his large eyes. “I can’t find them.”
The officer’s lip twitched slightly, though the rest of him was as rigid as steel. “How did I know you were gonna say that?” Then he motioned toward the windshield. “Your registration sticker expired seven years ago.”
Frankie’s jaw dropped. “Really?” He spoke with perhaps too much forced shock.
“Yeah, really.” The cop scowled.
The officer looked inside the vehicle, and though it was hard to read the expression in his eyes behind those glasses, I felt his gaze boring down on me before he looked over the rest of the car with a frown. “This your car?”
“No.” Frankie shook his head. “It’s my papí’s.”
“Does he know you got it?” the officer asked.
Frankie jerked his head back, looking offended. “Yeah. I’m not a thief.”
Oh, please, Frankie, I thought, don’t piss him off.
The cop’s agitated growl projected loudly in my brain: Stupid little punk.
And then a thought struck me. If Frankie had no license, registration or insurance, there was no way the cop was letting us drive away. The last thing I needed was to be brought home in a squad car.
I silently prayed the officer would let us go, but judging by his deepening scowl, that was unlikely to happen. It was then I knew I’d have to take matters into my own hands. I knew that using my newly discovered gift of mind control was a total abuse of power, but keeping Frankie and me out of trouble was worth the guilt I’d feel later.
I eyed the cop as subtly as possible while projecting my thoughts into his brain. You are not going to write the punk a ticket or impound his car. You are going to let him drive away with a warning.
The officer’s hardened expression changed and he tilted his head like my dog, Buster, whenever he farts and can’t find the origin of the sound. “I’ll tell you what,” he said gruffly, pointing a finger at Frankie. “I’m going to let you go with a warning, but if I see you on the road again, you’d better have all your ducks in a row.”
“Yes, officer. Thanks!” Frankie said on a rush of air.
The cop shook a finger. “Drive safe. No more speeding.”
Frankie enthusiastically nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The cop slowly walked back to his car. I knew he was probably wondering why he’d suddenly had a change of heart.
“Drive, Frankie,” I said through a tightened throat. “Before he changes his mind.”
Frankie put the car in gear. “Holy crap!” he laughed nervously as he checked the oncoming traffic. “I can’t believe he let us go.”
I refused to answer him. If Frankie only knew the real reason the cop hadn’t impounded his papí’s car. After Frankie pulled back onto the road and turned the corner, the rope of tension coiled around my spine began to unwind. I unclenched my fists to see that I’d dug my fingernails into my palms, leaving painful red marks. I’d crushed my little ice bag as well, and water dripped down my arm into my lap.
Frankie’s laughter grew louder.
I scowled. “You think this is funny?”
“It’s okay, Sophie.” He slapped the steering wheel with his hands and let out a “woot.” “We’re not in trouble.”
I rolled my eyes. So much for Frankie learning a lesson. “I can’t believe you’ve been driving without a license.”
“I just turned sixteen. My papí hasn’t taken me to get one yet.”
“Do you know how much trouble you could have gotten in back there?” I spoke on a growl.
“But I didn’t.” He shrugged while winking at me. “So chill.”
Oh, no! He didn’t just wink!
I crossed my arms over my chest while glaring at him through sideways slits. “If my parents knew I was driving with an unlicensed, uninsured, unregistered boy, they’d ground me for eternity.”
“I’ll talk to Papí,” Frankie said casually, as if his whole world hadn’t almost imploded a few minutes ago. “I’ll get it fixed this week.”
But that wasn’t good enough for me. Frankie should have never let this happen. He had known the car was unregistered and uninsured. He hadn’t even passed his driver’s test. And yet, he’d thought it would be a good idea to drive me around. The boy had no idea how lucky he’d been that I was in the car with him. It’s not like every stupid teenage boy had his own personal telepath to bail him out of trouble. And now I had to live with the fact that I’d manipulated a member of law enforcement. I was pretty sure what I’d just done was illegal, although I’d never heard of anyone going to jail for mind control before.
Still, I couldn’t help but be angry with Frankie as I glared out the dirty, smudged side window. I thought of all those times Ethan had driven me to school. Nothing like this had ever happened with him, and I knew without a doubt, Ethan would never have driven without a license and registration.
It was then I realized what fate was trying to tell me: I was in the wrong car…with the wrong boy.
*****
By the time we’d reached my house, I’d
stewed long enough over Frankie’s stupidity, I swear steam was shooting out of my ears and fogging up the windows. When he pulled into my parents’ circular driveway, I jumped out of the car and raced through the foyer to my front door without a backwards glance. I thought I heard Frankie calling my name, but I refused to turn around and find out.
Once inside the house, I was hoping I could sneak upstairs sight unseen. Not even the alluring smell of my mom’s home cooking would have stopped me. And crud, I could have sworn it smelled like beef stew. I loved my mom’s food. Everything was going as planned. I had closed the door slowly and quietly crept toward the stairs.
Then Buster came barreling into me, nearly knocking me over as he jumped up for a kiss, his lethal tail slapping the banister behind him and making all kinds of noise.
“Down, Buster,” I snapped at my goofy yellow lab, who I swore was part horse.
He must have interpreted that as “lick my face harder.”
“Who let you in the house, anyway?” I groaned.
Buster was supposed to be an outside dog, as per mom’s orders, but it seemed whenever he managed to worm his way inside the house, it was mom who’d succumbed to his doe eyed charm. I had to admit, he was a cutie, all one hundred and thirty pounds of him.
Buster had somehow managed to back me into a corner, as he continued to shower me with sloppy kisses.
“Down, boy!” I commanded while pushing his muzzle away.
He proceeded to dance in a circle.
I yelped as he lashed my legs with his brutal tail. “Would you calm down?” I screeched, though a few peals of laughter must have snuck into my voice, because Buster interpreted my screeching as more lick time.
“Buster!” My mom’s angry voice snapped from somewhere behind that big yellow head. “Go outside!”
Buster dropped to all fours and sullenly marched toward my mom with his tail between his legs. Mom stood at the edge of the hallway with one fist planted on her hip. Her hair was up in a tight bun, and she was draped in a long apron dusted with flour and other stains. She scowled at Buster, pointing toward an open side door.