Akers stands behind her with his head down. He knows damn well that Shane’s going to kick his ass for this.
“You invited my sister?” he shouts.
Ash puts a hand on Shane’s chest as he steps toward Akers.
“Nikinvited me. I just met him. Can you take your bad attitude and cigarette breath somewhere else? We’re trying to have fun, and you’re ruining it.”
He rears back, scoffing. “You’re sixteen, Ashton! You shouldn’t be drinking in the fucking woods with this punk!”
“Yeah, and you’re nineteen, jackass! What’s it matter?”
“Your brother’s kind of a dick,” her pink-haired friend whispers.
Ash glances at her. “You have no idea.” When she turns back to Shane she adds, “Are you done?”
“No, I’m not done. You’re going home! Get your shit!”
She puts a hand on her hip. “I drove.”
“Well, too damn bad. You forfeited that Jeep when you drank this.” He pulls the beer from her other hand and dumps it on the ground.
The irony of this situation isn’t lost on me. Like Shane has any right to lecture anyone.
“Will you drive my shithead sister home?”
When I realize he’s talking to me, I rear back, pinching my brows. “Uh… no. You take her home.”
He blows a sharp breath through his nose and leans in closer to whisper through gritted teeth, “Please, I just texted Marcus to meet me here.”
I roll my eyes. Marcus is his dealer. He’s a dirtbag.
Sucking my teeth I nod, reluctantly. I don’t want to play chauffeur, but I know Shane. He’ll get fucked up and forget all about the issue with his sister. Then he’ll wake up tomorrow feeling like a piece of shit.
It doesn’t matter to me if she goes to a party, but it matters to him, and I don’t want him to beat himself up in the morning.
Turning to her, I say, “Let’s go.”
She scoffs. “Are you kidding me? Shane, I am not leaving with this asshole!”
He grins at her. “You are, or I’ll call Gran, and she can come get you.”
“What about Nik?”
“No, that’s where I draw the line. I’m not a fucking taxi driver,” I say.
Nik grabs her arm. “It’s fine. I don’t really want to leave. I’ll have Akers take me home.”
Ten minutes later, she drops into my car, pouting. I start the engine and pull out. Maybe she’ll be mad enough to stay quiet the whole drive.
“Why don’t you get a new car? What is this, like forty years old?”
I whip my head in her direction, my eyes bugging out of my head. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is a 1970 Corvette LT-1!”
She scowls. “Okay?”
“Okay, well they only made one thousand two hundred and eighty-seven of them. It’s a classic.”
“Sheesh.” She throws her hands up. “I didn’t know it was a…” She waves one of her hands around. “Whatever you said.”
