“Have a great day! Work hard and be nice to your teachers.”
She hangs up before I can tell her she’s impossible.
Why is she so annoying?
Truth is, I know why. If I hadn’t fucked up so badly in New York, we wouldn’t have had to move here to begin with. SHU was the only college that agreed to even look at my application.
That’s not the only reason we moved, I remind myself, but I feel guilty all the same. Still—life is better here. Life is better away from Brooklyn.
I hit the road again, and turning into the parking lot, it doesn’t take long for me to notice three sweet rides—a Camaro, a Road Runner, and a Chevrolet Bel Air.Nice.I scan the lineup, searching for a glimpse of the Dodge, but it’s nowhere to be seen.Were you hoping to see the Dodge, or the Dodge’s insanely hot driver?
I can feel all eyes on my Firebird as I cruise by.Did one of them just wave at me?What washis name again? I rack my brain. Lane, I think. It’s the first time any of them has even acknowledged me—and socially awkward me just ignores him.
I noticed them as soon as I arrived, way back in September, before I even knew their deal. The Campus Drivers. I’ve had my eye on them for a while now, and if I’m being totally honest, I’d say there’s one of the four who unfortunately interests me a little more than the rest. Too bad he’s not here today.
When I drive past them, my stomach does a somersault. There, on the bench… It’s him. Lewis Conley.No problems rememberinghisname, huh?Every time I see him, I get this weird anxious rush of energy. His eyes slide to my car, and my heart skips a beat.
Focus on driving. Focus on not hitting a pedestrian.
I pull into the nearest spot and kill the engine, steadying my breath as best I can. I can tell he’s still looking at me, and I hate the unfamiliar, unsettled way it makes my body react. I’m not exactly lacking options when it comes to men, but that guy makes my thoughts short-circuit every time he enters my field of vision. And that’s a first.
I stare at myself in the rearview mirror, trying to hype myself up.
Stop being such a goddamn mess. You’re Amy Hitman, badass extraordinaire—act like it.
I roll my eyes at my reflection before pushing back my seat, kicking off my sneakers, and slipping on my heeled booties. I slide out of the car, keeping my back to the Campus Drivers and doing my best to ignore them. They like classic cars—it’s no surprise they’re drooling over my Firebird, I remind myself.
I bend down and scoop up my bag, slamming the door shut and shooting them a quick glance before I head off to class.
What the…?
Lewis Conley.
Lewis Conley is making a beeline for me, his arms swinging as he strides.
I’m urging my legs on, but my brain is in total meltdown. I nearly twist my ankle in my scramble to get away, and I’m still teetering forward when I sense him moving in behind me.
“Hey!”
It’s a good thing I’ve got my back to him—just that one syllable is enough to give me goose bumps.What the hell is wrong with me?I’m considering just ignoring him, but it’s like my body is freestyling. Slowly, I turn, and my walls slam up. I take a moment to size him up—the guy’s huge, but with these heels I’m wearing, I’m almost eye level with him. He’s cut his hair since I last saw him at Thanksgiving, I notice. It’s shorter now. He looks…Oh my God, enough already!
I exhale sharply. He’s waiting for me to say hey back, I know, but I’m literally speechless.
“Lewis Conley.”
Come on, Amy. Think of something snappy. Or scratch that—maybe just introduce yourself. You know, like a normal person.
He tilts his head. “And you’re…?”
“From Brooklyn,” I say, my voice catching in my throat.
Fuck.
“Okay…” He cocks an eyebrow, and I cringe inwardly. “Your Firebird is unreal. Adam says it’s a 1968?”
“Who’s Adam? The Road Runner guy?”
“Nope. The Bel Air. You’ve been scoping out our rides, huh?” He nods approvingly. “You’ve got good taste.”
