I turned away, looking at the wall that ran along what appeared to be some kind of freeway barrier. From the sounds coming from the other side, that was exactly where we were—on the other side of the freeway.
Which meant I was a long way from my safe, quiet dorm room.
I could hear metal shifting and clanging as Lucas searched for whatever he was looking for. I guessed I should be scared that he was going to come at me with duct tape and handcuffs, but I wasn’t.
The trunk slammed and I jumped. “It’s okay,” Lucas whispered as he came up behind me. “Sorry to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” I lied.
“Come here,” he said, motioning me to join him along the side of the car. We leaned against the metal just past the back seat window, and Lucas set something on the roof. It was a spotlight, I discovered when he flipped the switch, illuminating a very large section of the wall.
“What are we looking for?” I asked.
“Not for. At,” he said, leaning against the car. I leaned next to him and he put his arm on the car behind me, so that his shoulder brushed mine and his forearm was against my back.
I longed to snuggle into his side but I wasn’t ready to make that move.
“What are we lookingat?”
“The art.”
“The graffiti?”
He shrugged, and I felt it along my shoulder. “I think of it as art. Some of these guys—these taggers—are some of the best artists I’ve seen.”
I looked—really looked—at the wall again. He was right. Amidst the chaos were some really stellar works of art. Some Warhol-inspired sections. An area that had an awesome rendering of the president. Orioles’ and Ravens’ logos and stuff like that. And a bunch of small areas with just really cool designs and colors.
But my eyes kept getting distracted by the nonsense of penises and boobs, harshly done with black spray paint. “How can you focus on the good stuff through all of the crap?”
“Ah, Lily,” he said, taking a drink from his beer. His hand moved from the car up my back to curve around my shoulder. “That’s the secret of life, isn’t it? Focusing on the art?”
“And ignoring the penises and boobs?” I teased.
He chuckled. It was a nice sound, one I hadn’t heard before. And from his startled look, maybe one he didn’t make very often.
“Well, you don’t want tototallyignore boobs and penises,” he said. “They certainly have their place.” He gave a pointed look to my chest.
He pulled me closer to him and I burrowed into his side, a place I’d wanted to be since he’d climbed into the back seat with me.
Hell, a place I’d wanted to be since I saw him in the spectator area at the pool as I gave lessons to his little brother.
His hand rubbed my shoulder then moved to my neck, and he lightly grasped my nape. Warm and strong, his hand began to slowly move up and down on the back of my neck, his thumb gently stroking down the side. God, it felt so good. And so muchmorethan I’d ever felt with any boy.
Maybe because Lucas wasn’t a boy. And certainly not one of the brown-nosers who just wanted to date me to get in good with my father. Or who were afraid of my father.
“Do you know who my father is?” I asked Lucas.
He looked startled. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Grayson Spaulding?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Should I?”
I wrapped my arms around him, burrowing deeper, laying my head against his broad chest. “No. You shouldn’t. Never mind.”
He didn’t say anything further, just held me tighter. His hand slid from my neck into my messy bun.
“God, I can’t wait to see your hair down when it’s dry.”
