Isaac’s foot presses down on the gas pedal, and the Camaro surges forward. The engine growls like a beast unleashed, the raw power sending vibrations all through my body, especially that specific area. Suddenly, he reaches over, taking my hand and intertwining our fingers. I gasp in surprise at the abruptness of it all.
“Shift with me,” he says as he downshifts the Camaro. His calloused hand feels rough on my soft skin. My hands are sweaty, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. All I can think about is my hand on his, making my heart beat frantically, and heat spreads through my cheeks. I try to concentrate on the road ahead, but it’s hard when his presence is so terribly distracting.
“Isaac,” I breathe, my voice wavering ever so slightly. “I don’t know how to–”
His grip tightens around mine, and he shoots me a sideways glance, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Just follow my lead,” he says, his voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the pounding rhythm of my heart. We approach a curve in the road, and together, we shift the gear down. The beast beneath us roars in approval as we rocket down the open road, the sun drawing long, golden lines on the asphalt. “Ready?”
I squeeze his hand in affirmation, receiving a wide grin in response.
His fingers guide mine over the gear stick, our hands moving in tandem as he shifts the car into gear. The roar of the engine dips briefly before rising again. My stomach flips as we pick up speed, the scenery around us blurring into streaks ofgreen and gold. Isaac’s hand over mine is warm and firm, guiding me through the motions as I manipulate the gear shift with unexpected grace.
“You’re a natural, Ronnie,” Isaac says over the music.
“You think so?” I grin, glancing over at his side profile. At almost seventeen, Isaac has only grown more handsome.
“I do.”
His response sets off a frenzy of movement in my stomach, but we don’t say anything. We continue to drive like this, music thumping and laughter spilling between us, until we pull up to Sledge’s house. Sledge is already outside, looking decidedly unamused, his expression a mix of irritation and impatience. He’s wearing swimming trunks, with his blonde hair tied back into a loose ponytail, or maybe you’d call it a man bun.
“You’re late,” he complains, striding toward the car. I hop out to let him in, and he smirks at us before sliding into the back seat. “Fireflies” by Owl City fills the Camaro. We both turn to Iz.
“What the fuck type of music is this?” Sledge says.
“It’s a banger, and it’s on the CD,” Iz snorts, bobbing his head from side to side. I shoot him an amused look, watching as he continues to jam out, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as he sings along to the song.
Once Sledge is nice and seated, I get back in, and down the road we go, this time for Alexa.
It doesn’t take long, surprisingly. She lives right down the road from Sledge. Alexa is already outside, in a pink two-piece bathing suit and blue jean shorts with her hair in beach waves. As usual, she is taking selfies on her pink Blackberry phone.
“Lex,” I say, sticking my head out the window.
Alexa turns to us, her face smiling, but then she takes in the view. I’m in the passenger seat of Isaac’s Camaro and not her. I see it, the quick flash of jealousy that crosses her blue eyes. I feel a pang of guilt, unfortunately, not enough to give up my spot.
“Hey, guys,” she says as I step out to let her in.
Sledge groans as Alexa sits beside him. Then his eyes fall on her, drinking her in as if she were a refreshing drink on a hot summer day. She doesn’t say anything else, just settles in and pulls out her phone again. Sledge leans towards the radio, changing the song to Limp Bizkit’s “Break Stuff.” With a smile on his face, Iz turns up the music as I close the door.
Both boys rap in sync with the song, and it fills the Camaro with an electric charge. I join in, swaying to the beat. Sledge starts to headbang, his now loose long hair swishing around him, and Alexa can’t help but laugh at the sight. I laugh as I look at Alexa, the lingering tension disappearing under the onslaught of their ridiculous performance. Iz starts pounding the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song, his eyes lit up with amusement as Sledge does his best Fred Durst impersonation. The summer sun blazes down on us as we make our way to the stream for some fun.
We hit a bump in the road, and the Camaro bounces, causing Alexa to squeal as she grips the side handle. Iz just laughs and keeps his foot firmly on the gas pedal, his eyes dancing with glee in the rearview mirror.
The music changes again to The All-American Rejects’ “Dirty Little Secret.” My absolute jam, sticking my head out the window, I let the sun beam down on me as I sing along to the song, the wind playing with my hair and carrying my voice. Without even thinking, my gaze moves towards the rearview mirror, trying to steal a peek, only to clash with hazel eyes that are already staring back at me. A grin tugs at his lips. He knows this song is my guilty pleasure, the lyrics filling the car, and we all join in, four voices in unison rising above the purring engine. Sledge’s deep bass drowns out the rest of us, but it doesn’t matter. Everything is perfect.
Chapter Three
Isaac
Reggaeton music plays from the speaker, “Te Siento” By Wisin y Yandel to be exact. Ronnie’s favorite. From the corner of my eye, I watch as she drinks from her red cup. Smiling for another man that’s not me. Her finger drumming along to the beat, she wants to dance. Something she can’t do with the asshole standing before her. Jealousy claws its way to the forefront of my soul. Wanting nothing more than to move between them and show that asshole how to handle a girl like her. The girl of my dreams, the same fate tore her away from me the moment my dad fell for her mom. It’s been hell ever since, an agony so deep in my chest. Years later, I have yet to recover.
She’s nervous, I can see it in the way she shifts her weight from side to side. The red strapless dress looks nothing short of magnificent on her golden skin. Her lips move like she’s saying something intentional, something her dickhead boyfriend doesn’t like. Is she breaking up with Tommy, quarterback of the football team?God, I hope so.Ronnie hasn’t been dating him for long, but for me, it feels like an eternity… purefuckingtorture.
One of the only guys I haven’t been able to scare away, and it’s because the fuckhead is even a bigger menace than I am. Or maybe it’s because she practically begged me to let her go, and I complied. I hate how uncomfortable she looks as he snakes his arm around her waist. I probably shouldn’t be sneaking around like a creep, watching them from the shadows, but the thing is, Ronnie is mine.
Not only that, Tommy has a reputation for getting too handsy, and let’s just say that he’s one move away from losing his useless hand. Quarterback my ass; theman couldn’t hold a ball to save his life. The only thing Tommy Johnson is good for is using his hands to touch what isn’t his to touch.
My little butterfly looks like she’s ready to jump out of her body, her shoulders tense and her smile fake. He would know that about her if he wasn’t too busy trying to get in her pants, the virgin of Woodstock High. But that was mine to claim, mine to have. Her body and heart are mine, even if she’s off limits now.We are inevitable. Tommy’s hands travel lower and lower until his fingertips dance on the edge of her red dress. My fists clench involuntarily.
