Not huge tattoos, little ones here and there on her arms,her fingers.
He had no problem with tats.He had some of his own.
But at sixteen?
Nope.
The first thing he wanted to talk about when he saw heragain was to ask her name.It seemed like forever since that birthday, theirnote exchange, running into each other at Arby’s, and he’d thought about it alot.
Was she an Ann?Or Amy?Andrea?Amanda?Abby?Audrey?
He didn’t ask her name or say hi.
He said, “You got a lift home?”
“Yeah,” she’d muttered.
Mm-hmm.
She knew she had no business being there.
“Then get them and getouttahere,” he ordered.
He saw right away some attitude start surfacing.
“I’m justhavin’ fun.”
“You can have fun.Just not here.”
“I’m all right here.”
Jag shook his head decisively.“No, you’re not.You’re toofuckin’ young to be here.Can you even drive yet?”
Chin tilt and, “Yeah.And by the way, I’m my own lift.Idon’t need anyone to drive me around.I can take care of myself.”
Oh yeah.
The attitude was surfacing, and he sensed she was diggingin.
So it was time to blow past this and get her safe.
“Your dad is probably worried like fuck about you.”
That did it.
She looked away.
Hung her head.
Caught herself doing that and looked back to him, trying tokeep her chin high.
“A, go home,” he urged.
“J, you’re a pain,” she retorted.
She remembered his initial.
That felt good.
