Levi is going to fucking murder me when he finds out where I am, who I didn’t listen to, and the way I always have to do things my way.
But that’s a cross he has to bear for being my best friend.
Mine is him being the King of South Shore.
The black door to the Mustang slowly opens, contrasting with my heart rate as the person behind the wheel steps out and reveals himself.
But it’s not a he.
It’s a fuckingshe.
And it’s not possible.
Not in my wildest dreams.
“Nessa?” My brows instantly clash together, and I can’t help but say her name to make it known this shit right here is ludicrous.
She closes the door with ease, dressed in tight blue jeans and a white tee hugging her curves. Each step in my direction accelerates my pulse to a whole other beat. One of anxiety and dread.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Following you, dummy,” she replies with a small grin, but it’s weak and…not right. Nothing about this is right for many reasons.
One being the fact she doesn’t know how to drive a car like that.
Two, it means she does and hid it well.
Three, how the hell did she know where I was, that it was me, andwhyis she following me?
We’re not speaking.
We’re still fighting.
This screams everything I don’t want to calculate, access, and come to grips with.
And hiding means lies. Lies mean I’m going to get very pissed.
I stare openly at her and don’t utter a single syllable. There are so many questions filling my brain I’m having a hard time holding them all in one place.
To focus.
However, Nessa being Nessa will eventually fill in the gaps. She can’t help herself.
Never could.
“What’s the look for?”
I quirk a brow because, color me confused, we’re not fucking friends right now. “What look?”
“Thatlook.” She not-so-innocently narrows her brown eyes on me, but I’m not buying the act. This screams something bigger. Nessa’s newly discovered driving skills are something out of a fucking horror film, starring me. “What’s your problem?”
“Besides the fact you were following me like a bat out of hell? Nothing.”
Nessa rolls her eyes. “You’re being overdramatic. I saw you, and I wanted to talk.”
“This isn’t a good time.”
“Well, whenisa good time with you? We need to?—”
